Chapter Text
Peter dodges a car door aimed for his head when Karen breaks through his focus.
Spider-Man, you have a call coming in from B32. Should I accept it?
Peter took a deep breath through his nose, considering as he ducked under a metal pipe meant for his face. Harry knew where he was, Peter having shot him a look in the hallway before ducking out of school just before acdec practice to respond to this nonsense (because of course a Tuesday afternoon was the perfect time for a superpowered bank robbery). But if Harry was calling Peter it must have been something important. Was something happening at the school? Was Harry in trouble? Peter felt his heart beat faster in his chest.
“Answer it,” Peter told her, the line connecting in his ear.
“Is everything okay?” Peter asked immediately as he swung up onto the roof of a nearby building to give Harry his full attention, the goons on the street scratching their heads at his sudden disappearance. He needed to wrap this up.
“Not for you it’s not. Screening my calls is not a wise survival strategy, Parker,” a voice that is decidedly not Harry chides through the receiver. Peter’s eyes widened.
“Pete, you’re on speaker and they took my phone,” Peter hears Harry call distantly.
“Shut up, Osborn. This whole thing could have been avoided if you’d just told us where he is,” MJ bites, irritation hot in her voice. See, when Peter’s in the suit, Karen has strict coding preventing him from being reached by anyone but Harry and May. MJ must have been calling him about missing practice, and since she hadn’t been able to get ahold of him, she’d gone for a more underhanded tactic.
“Now,” MJ says sweetly, “care to explain where the hell you are and why it isn’t here? We have nationals in three weeks, Parker,” she snaps at him.
“Oh, Spider-Man. Come out come out wherever you are,” one of the goons from below sing songs. This was so not optimal.
“What was that? That sounded like a person, are you with someone?” MJ demands.
“Who all is there?” Peter asks instead.
“That is not relevant to what we’re-” MJ starts but Harry cuts her off.
“MJ, Ned, and me,” Harry supplies helpfully. “No one else is here yet since practice doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes ,” Harry says pointedly, obviously directed at MJ.
“One, I told you to shut up ,” MJ seethes. “Two, I can recognize a pattern. Parker has eighth period with you. Either you two show up together or he doesn’t come at all and I will not tolerate him skipping practice when we have nationals in three weeks . I’m sick and tired of you flaking on us, Parker. So either get your butt over here or so help me-”
“Peter,” a quieter voice cuts in and Peter feels his throat close a bit.
“We’re…we’re
worried
about you, man,” Ned says. “It feels like we hardly see you anymore. Is…is everything okay?” Now, MJ’s anger, though it hurts, Peter can handle. Anger is easier to brush off, to understand. She has every right to be mad at him. Ned and his softer concern…now
that’s
something Peter hasn’t had practice brushing off. Ned has always been the kindest of them, the easiest, the most accepting of Peter’s half truths and bad excuses. For
him
to be questioning Peter about his whereabouts…well things must have gotten to that tipping point Peter had been working so hard to avoid.
(He really was such a shit friend.)
“Listen, I had something come up, I can’t really talk right now,” Peter starts, the words feeling hollow in his throat. He wishes he could explain, give them the answers they deserve. But all they’d be is helpless and like Harry, he’d make liars of them too. The gunmen on the street below are starting to get more agitated. He needs to get to work.
“No, don’t coddle him , Ned,” MJ continues. “Peter, you've been a total flake for months . You didn’t show up to my halloween party despite saying you would, you didn’t go to Harry’s Christmas party, you’ve barely been at acdec practice, you haven’t shown up to any SAT prep, you haven’t come to book club, hell, you barely come to class, I mean Christ , Peter you missed Ned’s birthday ,” she rants and Peter feels each word cut deep. She’s right. He’s been a beyond terrible friend. He’s lied and flaked and hasn’t shown up at all let alone showed up when it matters. These are those sacrifices Spider-Man has always demanded. The price he knew it would cost. His friends don’t deserve to be sacrifices. They don’t deserve his half-assed excuses but they certainly don’t deserve to be dragged into his life of blood. (They’re either sacrifices or helpless. Peter’s losing either way.)
“Woah, MJ,” Harry starts, trying to come to Peter’s defense (even though he doesn’t deserve it).
“ Don’t et me started on you , Osborn,” she seethes. “ You have been just as shitty. Always covering for him and lying and going along with his stupid excuses. I mean god , Harry. You…you know we’ve been, been worried about him. And you just. Let it happen.”
He’s losing them. He can feel it. He deserves it. But by god he can’t let Harry lose them too. He wants to try and explain (he wouldn’t know where to start) but the movement from the gunmen on the street has escalated. They’re too agitated. Soon, they’re going to try for hostages.
“Listen,” Peter starts, ready to tell them he’ll explain later and hang up. But as if she can read his mind, MJ’s voice cuts back into focus.
“Don’t you dare hang up this phone, Peter Parker,” MJ growls at him and at her tone, he hesitates. It costs him because the next thing he knows, he’s dodging a smattering of gunfire.
“ Found you! ” One of the goons (supposedly Captain Goon, given the way the others flank him) shouts.
“Ah shit,” Peter curses as one of the bullets grazes his shoulder.
“Peter!” He hears Harry shout over the phone as MJ’s shriek of Are those gunshots?! splits through the phone.
“What? No,” Peter lies as he dodges another round and frisbees a manhole cover at the nearest goon. “I’m ah, watching that new Channing Tatum movie. White House Down?” He says, sucker punching another goon in the nose, breaking it. Usually, he tries not to get too up close and personal, but these guys are annoyingly superpowered. As if to prove his point, one of them picks up a car and chucks it at him.
“That doesn’t come out until June,” Ned says softly, obviously distraught by this whole situation. (Peter’s feeling pretty distraught himself, to be completely honest).
“It’s the preview,” Peter grunts as he catches the car with his hands, before spinning and shot-putting it back at the man. Before Peter can turn to face his new opponent, a sharp punch catches him in the ribs. The wind leaves his lungs for a second before he’s grabbing his assailant’s wrist and flipping him over. The man spits at him from the ground.
“You’re dead, punk,” the man growls at him. Peter just rolls his eyes and knocks him out.
“Who was that?!” MJ yells, her voice seeming to echo in his mask.
“That was my good friend, uh Juan Pablo,” Peter tells her, spinning out of the way of a knife brandished by another goon. How many of these guys are there?
“I’m gonna kill you!” The man with the knife screams, charging at Peter, who simply sprays him with enough webbing to leave him angrily wiggling on the ground.
“What?!” MJ shrieks again, Peter wincing at her volume.
“Yeah, and that was uh Chad. We’re playing this great game called ‘Try to Kill Your Friends’. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s all over Vine,” Peter informs her.
“I thought you were at the movies,” Ned comments. Well sue him for not being able to lie perfectly while fighting for his life, Ned. Peter feels off balance. There are more gunmen than he suspected; they seem to be crawling out of the woodwork. Everywhere around him is a cacophony of screaming from civilians, shouting from his friends, threats from the goons, the deafening crack of bullets, and the sharp tearing of metal as another car door gets launched at him. He dodges, but it’s a near thing. His focus is split. He’s divided as his two lives seem to be crashing into each other, demanding he be Spider-Man and Peter Parker at once. He- he can’t-
A bloom of pain erupts in his shoulder as a bullet goes straight through it. He can’t help but yelp slightly as he dizzies for a moment. When his vision readjusts, he finds himself face to face with the last five gunmen circling him. Something has to give; and he can’t let it be him.
“Alright,” Peter hisses out, the other end of the phone going silent at his tonal shift. “You’re mad, I get it . But I need everyone to shut up for the next five minutes,” Peter says low under his breath, quiet enough that the goons shouldn’t be able to hear him.
“What are you-” MJ starts, her voice high in a rare show of concern and worry.
“MJ,” he hears Harry say firmly. For a moment, Peter thinks it works. But he hears the start of a Don’t MJ me just as the man in front of him moves.
“Disconnect call!” Peter says frantically as he dodges. He thinks he hears a faint wait from Ned but Peter can’t focus on it as he sidesteps another heavy fist. Spider-Man sinks back over him, pushing his internal turmoil to the side as his focus sharpens on the fight in front of him.
He has work to do.
🕸
It’s closing in on night, dusk slinking behind the skyline, lazily following the set sun. Peter stayed out all afternoon and he knows he’s ruining his precious time management by doing so. But he doesn’t think he can handle being Peter Parker right now. Doesn’t think he can handle the empty apartment, the cold shoulder he’s sure to receive from his friends…ex-friends? He didn’t want to find out. (He can’t lose them, he knows that. But a deep, hollow part of him wonders if he has to. If he has to lose them now, like this, or lose them later…like Ben).
So he stayed out. Like most of his rash decisions, Peter finds it to be a mistake.
“You’re looking pretty lonesome there, Spidey,” a voice calls out from behind him and Peter tenses. His spider-sense hadn’t gone off. His mind whirls though the implications. He’d eaten enough today, given his wounds from earlier had mostly healed, only scabs and bruises by now. Was it stress? Had his fight with his friends thrown him off his game that much? Or…did the person sneaking up on him really mean no harm?
Peter peaks over his shoulder, tilting his head lazily as if unbothered by company on his rooftop. The figure he finds is an imposing one, clad in dark red and black with holy shit, were those swords? (Peter throws the “meaning no harm” idea out the window.) The man was easily over 6 foot, his heavily muscled frame making Peter look down right scrawny. Peter tries his hardest to seem unimpressed but he feels like the man sees through it anyway.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Peter says casually, not getting up from his spot on the roof but muscles pulled taunt, ready to move. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”
“Well me, I’m you're not so friendly neighborhood Deadpool,” the man informs him, stepping closer. Peter can make out his mask now, the black diamonds over the eyes against a solid red mask seem to bore into his soul. At the admission of his name, Karen whirls to life, information about his probable opponent flitting across his HUD. Well. That’s not good.
Just by looking at the man in front of him, Peter would guesstimate that he would have his work cut out for him. Skimming through the information Karen provides? Peter is making plans to get the hell out of dodge fast . He doubts he could go toe to toe with the apparently immortal mercenary in front of him on a good day. And today has not been a good day. Peter sighs.
“I assume you’re here to kill me?” Peter says as he gets to his feet, his muscles sore and aching as he stands. To his surprise, the mercenary breaks into laughter at this. Full body, knee slapping laughter. Peter wonders if he should make a break for it while he has the chance.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Deadpool laughs, whipping an imaginary tear from his eye. “No, I’m not here to kill you, Spider-Man. If I was, you’d already be dead!” The mercenary says it like it should be the punch line to a joke, rather than a threat.
“Don’t worry your little web-head about it though,” the man comforts, “ plenty of people have tried to get me to kill you. Luckily for you, I find a man with a gimmick quite charming.”
“Thanks,” Peter deadpans.
“Now I do , however, have a teeny tiny, incy wincy, itty bitty favor to ask of you, Bugaboo,” Deadpool continues, walking closer. (Peter’s spider-sense remains disturbingly quiet). The man plops himself down next to Peter, swinging his legs over the edge like a little kid on a swing. Peter remains on edge.
“Does this favor involve getting someone killed?” Peter asks blandly.
“Yeah, but no one you’re gonna miss,” Deadpool admits, easy as breathing. Peter narrows his eyes. Peter makes a very, very express point to not kill people. Partially because he doesn’t want to be, y’know, a murderer (he doesn’t think it would do well on his conscience), but also because it would be so easy . Peter had known at the young age of 13 that him killing someone would be a ridiculously easy feat. Peter wasn’t trying to be judge, jury, and executioner, he was trying to help . He was trying to make things better. Spider-Man was supposed to be something bright. Something Friendly-Neighborhood . That title wouldn’t stick around very long if he started ripping people's heads off.
But Peter wasn’t naive. He knew that there were people that deserved, needed to be stopped. Those were people that he took extra care with, extra time with. People he spent months researching and watching, gathering every scrap of data on them he could. People he meticulously arranged the capture of. People whose fate he masterminded from the judge that would be present during their trial to the arresting officer. People he made sure would stay off the streets, one way or another. So far, that plan has worked. In three years Peter had never needed to be the one to do it. His hand was yet to be forced. He hoped it never would be.
He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach it.
“How would you know? Maybe we’re talking about my dear great uncle,” Peter asks. Deadpool laughs at this.
“Well unless your great uncle is Wilson Fisk, I think we’re safe,” Deadpool says.
“You’re going after Fisk?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s gutsy enough to pay you to kill that idiot off?”
“Oh I like you,” Deadpool says conspiratorially. “Some ex-lacky. Who knew blowing up your employee’s wife was enough to warrant assassination these days.” Peter’s chest feels heavy. Fisk is one of those people who’s been just out of Peter’s reach. He keeps his crimes impossibly clean. Peter’s never had the time to go for a full hands on approach to Fisk, never wanted to risk it. Everyone that goes up against the man usually ends up either in a body bag themselves or watching their loved ones funeral. Peter doesn’t have many loved ones left.
“You talk to Daredevil yet?” Peter asks instead. Deadpool gasps, his hands flying to his face as if he were a cartoon.
“Daredevil’s real ? And he hasn’t called me yet?” Deadpool exclaims.
“He’s been a bit busy getting thrown in dumpsters by Fisk’s goons to reach out,” Peter quips. Deadpool laughs again. It’s a surprisingly bright sound for a mercenary.
“What exactly do you want my help with?” Peter asks.
“Just a bit of recon. Word on the street is you’re pretty sneaky when you want to be,” Deadpool tells him and Peter gets the impression the man is winking under his mask. Peter sighs. On the one hand, Peter didn’t really want to get involved. He had enough to do as it was without trying to go after the guy running for mayor. On the other hand, Fisk becoming mayor would undo a great deal of the things he’d already worked on. But killing him isn’t going to make his influence go away. He wasn’t the sort of many you could just remove from the equation all at once. He was a network of weeds, embedded in the system. His removal, in order to be successful, would have to be slow, methodical, systematic, and devastatingly complete.
“I’ll help you take him down, but I won’t help you kill him,” Peter tells the mercenary.
“Booo. You superheroes are so boring with your little murderer aversions,” Deadpool whins.
“Killing him is just gonna create a power vacuum. That’s more work for me to deal with,” Peter tells him. Deadpool tilts his head. “I’d rather deal with him in totality than just turn him into a martyr for the next bad guy to idolize and emulate.”
“Nobody told me you were so vindictive, Spidey,” Deadpool says coyly. “I like it.” Peter just sighs.
“Talk to Daredevil, he’s the one dealing with Fisk right now. I’d prefer you not just kill Fisk out right, but if Daredevil ends up thinking that’s the best course of action fine, whatever. I’ll just deal with the fallout of that when it comes,” Peter says glumly. Daredevil didn’t seem like the particularly murderous type, but who knows. It’s not like Peter had the opportunity to sit down with the guy and discuss his moral philosophy on vigilantism on a whole. Deadpool, for his part, jumps up and down like a little kid.
“Oooh this is so exciting! I smell a team up!” Deadpool says with glee. Peter sighs again.
“Whatever. Nice to meet you, I guess,” Peter says, pushing himself off the building and into a swing.
“Bye, Spidey-Kins! I’ll see you later!” Deadpool calls after him, waving dramatically.
The buzz of Peter’s spidey-sense remains dormant.