Chapter Text
Peter’s life continued on normal after Bucky left Delmar’s. His shifts the following weeks felt long in the silence left behind, but he would rather have a boring day than feel the stress of another interrogation. His head was filled with questions about why Bucky had chosen him to ask about Spider-Man and the club. He had covered his tracks. When he’d make his trip to the club for his assignments, he was always careful to check behind him and listen for following footsteps. So how on earth had Bucky known to ask him.
Since the run-in, Peter had been hesitant to go back to the club out of a fear that he might’ve missed signs that Bucky was tracking him. But his savings were draining, and he knew he couldn't sustain himself off of just his hours at Delmar’s. So he pulled the black mask down over his face and slipped out his apartment window.
The club’s music thumped from blocks away, and, on dark rainy nights, the glow from the windows felt like a promise for a good time. Club goers stumbled out from the entrance in a happy haze, too intoxicated to notice Peter’s suspicious costume.
Ethics aside, Peter could appreciate the community this place offered to the mutants that were otherwise rejected from other spaces. Green scaly skin, extra eyes, or tails that wrapped around champagne glasses while the server passed by were just a few of the characteristics Peter spotted that night. And from where he stood, they all looked rather content.
He wished he felt that way. He wished that even after over four years of living with his mutation that he would feel comfortable enough to put it on display to the other mutants. And even after the obvious risk that came with revealing his mutations that mirrored eerily to those that Spider-Man also possessed, he still felt too much of a freak to let anyone see who he really was.
Mr. Arthur stood in one of the rooms off the back hallway with a gun in hand. Another deserter was facing the consequences it seemed. His head hung low with his arms tied around the back of a chair. Peter knew this one. They’d worked together before. Was working with Peter a curse?
“Boss,” Peter called out, ignoring the situation that stood before him.
“Oh hello, Spider,” Mr. Arthur smiles, dropping the gun at his side. “I was beginning to think it might be you in this chair next.”
Peter smiled under the mask, lifting his head at Arthur. “Doubtful, Boss. I don’t know of any debts I have. But you don’t have to worry about me. I always come back. Don’t I?”
Mr. Arthur nodded, raising his gun back at the man that sat in the chair. “True, Spider,” a shot rang out. He’d hit the man’s foot. It was a warning. “You have yet to let me down.” He tucked the gun into the back of his pants. “Move him,” he ordered to his guards.
They lifted the chair the man sat in and ushered him away. His whines grew quieter the farther he got carried away until all Peter could hear was the music from down the hall. A moment of silence passed between them. It was just the two of them now.
“You here for work?” Mr. Arthur asked.
“Yes, sir,” Peter responded.
Mr. Arthur hummed and folded his arm. “It’s a little slow around here. People have been getting reckless so the business has taken a hit. Our clients don’t trust us to do a good job anymore. But you do a good job. And I know that. And so does someone up top.”
Peter said nothing but mimicked Mr. Arthur’s stance.
“Your reputation is growing. Do you think you can handle something bigger?” Mr. Arthur asked, lifting an eyebrow. The lines on his face were shadowed starkly in the dingy lighting.
“I can,” Peter promised. He could, right?
“The target will be anonymous. I can’t tell you anything about them, but I have their address. They live alone so it shouldn’t be a problem. Simple procedure too. Terminate and leave. Are you in? This job’s $10,000,” Mr. Arthur says.
Peter nodded. The price tags on these assignments never failed to shock him. Part of him wondered if he could bargain for more. But 10K was already going to satisfy a couple months of rent.
Mr. Arthur reached out his right hand to shake Peters. Peter took it and gripped firm. He needed this money. It didn’t matter what he had to do or to who.
Peter left the club out of a side door in a dark alley. The rain had stopped, but pavement was still slick with fresh rain that glowed in the city lights. It was sort of beautiful.
His assignment was in a different part of town, but with enough haste he could finish it that night. He continued down the alley, listening for signs of anyone following him. But it was quiet and the constant dripping from gutters above him eased him into letting his guard down.
Something hard grabbed his shoulder. It pulled him around to face a man taller than he was. His other hard reached up and tugged Peter’s mask off before he could register what was happening.
It was Bucky, he realized. Bucky had followed him and taken his mask off. Bucky knew.
“The fuck?” Peter asked, pulling himself away from Bucky’s grasp.
“Kid, I could ask you the same thing,” he crossed his arms, still holding right to the mask. “So much for not knowing anything about it, huh?”
“I don’t know you. I don’t owe you anything,” Peter said, raising to meet Bucky’s stern gaze.
“So you’re one of their little soldiers, right?” Bucky asked, ignoring Peter’s protest. “You follow their orders and get the job done?”
Peter said nothing and held his gaze.
“Do you kill them?” Bucky prodded, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Peter scoffed, looking away. It suddenly felt too quiet in the alley and too small for the both of them.
“Seriously?” Bucky said, stepping closer to Peter. “You’re choosing this?” He was now inches from Peter’s face. He could feel his hot huffs of air on his cheeks as Bucky breathed hard through his anger.
“I don’t have any other options,” Peter said quietly, his eyes glazing over with remorse.
Bucky stepped away and lifted his right hard up to rub at his forehead. “Come to the tower. We can talk there.”
“Why would I go with you anywhere?” Peter deadpanned.
“Because you’re what – ? Eighteen? Doing this in the middle of the night? I can help you. I can get you some food or just – I can do something to help you,” Bucky said desperately.
“You don’t care,” he accused. “You don’t know me at all. And you don’t care about helping me. You just want me to sell out. So fuck off and leave me alone.”
Peter stepped closer to Bucky and pulled the mask from his hand laying by his side while he was distracted. He backed away from Bucky, watching for a sign that he was coming after him.
But Bucky stood still, his chest moving from his hard breathing.
“Peter – ” his voice died.
He slipped behind the corner at the end of the alley then climbed up to the top of the building. Bucky didn’t follow him. And he hoped that was the end of it. It had to be the end of it.
The address written on a crumpled post-it note led him to a five story apartment building in Brooklyn. The neighborhood was quiet except for the occasional cars that drove by with muffled music. It felt familiar to him. The look of the buildings and narrow roads. His old patrols had brought him to Brooklyn in the past, but did this familiarity go deeper? He wasn’t sure.
In the shadows unreachable by the streetlamps, Peter climbed up to a third story window that matched the instructions and slid the glass up. Once inside, he observed the dark living room. Whoever he was after clearly wasn’t home yet.
He walked quietly around the place. The decor was lacking. No pictures hung on the beige walls and boxes were left unpacked in corners of rooms. It reminded him of his own apartment. It was clear whoever lived there also harbored very little care for creating a new space. With no pictures available, Peter couldn't piece together an image of who he was sent for. The place had no personality.
After 30 minutes of waiting and scoping out the place, Peter decided to take a seat on the couch which faced the front door. He hated this part. The waiting always felt endless. And the longer he sat in anticipation of a kill, the more he questioned if he really wanted to do it. If it would feel good. If it was something he wanted to spend his night doing. Or if it was the right thing.
It rarely is, Peter thought.
In the darkness Peter was able to make out a small picture frame laid face down on the otherwise bare coffee table. He reached out without hesitation to pick it up. It was hard to see. His eyes still hadn’t adjusted completely to the darkness, but once he flipped it around there was no mistaking what it showed.
There was May. Smiling big with her arm around a man. Her arm was around Happy. This was Happy’s apartment.
Oh my god. It’s Happy, he thought.
Peter dropped the framed picture immediately, standing so fast his knees met the coffee table and gave it a shove. It hit the ground hard and the glass shattered across his feet.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, he repeated in his head, backing away from the picture. He looked around searching for any other signs he missed. But there weren’t any. How could he have known?
In his distraction, he didn’t notice the sound of keys turning heavy bolts in the front door. The door swung open, bathing the room in warm light from the hallway and casting a long human shadow onto where Peter stood. He looked up, finding a scared expression on his old friend’s face.
Happy stood still but gripped his grocery bags hard in fear. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Silence passed. Neither moved. Until…
“Are you here to kill me?” Happy asked, still standing in the doorway.
“I–,” Peter tried, but his voice died in his throat. “Yes,” he tried again, then corrected with, “No.”
“I don’t know what to make of that,” Happy said coolly.
Peter remembered this side of Happy. This controlled and formal side of him. He used to hate this version of him.
“I was sent to kill you,” he explained. “You have horrible security. You’re supposed to be head of security,” he laughed.
But Happy didn’t laugh. He just scanned Peter’s black-clothed body for a weapon. Peter could feel his eyes sizing him up.
“I’m supposed to kill you – ” he trailed off, the situation suddenly hitting him.
“Well, what’s stopping you?” Happy asked, dropping his bags in a thud and walking into the apartment. He flicked on the lights causing Peter to flinch.
He looked bad. Dark circles under his eyes told Peter that Happy’s sleep was just as troubled as his own. His beard was long and unkept. His clothes were wrinkled and wore stains. This was a man who wasn’t doing well.
Peter’s eyes fell back down onto the now broken frame. The picture of the two of them slipped easily out when he reached for it. He held it up again, now able to inspect it in the light.
She looked so happy…
“I didn’t know it was going to be you,” he said, holding the photo up to show Happy.
Happy’s face contorted in confusion. His eyes drifted down to the photo then back up at Peter’s mask.
“Put it down,” he demanded. He looked sad. Peter knew that look.
“Do you remember me?” Peter asked. He figured it was worth a shot. What if he did?
“I don’t know who you are, man,” Happy responded. “Do I need to?”
“You don’t recognise my voice?” Peter asked. “You used to make fun of it. Said I was too whiny.”
Happy paused, like he was listening closely.
“Well, I used to know you,” Peter continued, a sadness in his tone. “We were friends.”
Happy’s eyes widened in realization. For a moment, Peter felt hope. Hope that Dr. Strange’s magic hadn’t reached Happy or that he had someone broken through it.
“Wait, Jesus…” Happy dropped his shoulders. “Spider-Man?”
Peter took a step back. “What?”
“God, your voice is familiar. Jesus. You even stand like him. Oh my god. Where have you been?” Happy’s voice trailed off, the reality of why Peter was there returned to him. “Is this what you’ve been doing?”
Peter took a step to the side. The window was still open.
“Someone hired me to kill you,” he said, ignoring Happy’s question. “So be careful. Lock your damn windows. And… matter of fact you should just move. Get out of here. They know where you live.”
“Wait, who hired you?” Happy asked, stepping forward and reaching a hard out for Peter.
But Peter didn’t wait. He slipped out of the window as fast as he could and disappeared into the shadows of Brooklyn.