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Abe is terrified of the apartment two doors across from his own. Despite what Flash says, he knows this fear of his is completely reasonable. Flash was just too superhero and vigilante obsessed to understand the pure and utter horror of watching the Deadpool walk into an apartment missing one arm and covered in blood that was most likely not his own.
So yeah, Abe thinks he is justified.
Abe, his family and all his neighbours avoid the plain, innocuous door. They keep their heads down when Deadpool shares the elevator and gossip about the occasional people who do not hold the same fear they do – the other vigilantes (because who else would they be?) who occasionally kick his door in.
Thats the other thing about that door. It's never locked. Abe knows how Deadpool doesn’t lock his door. He knows his name is Wade Wilson and he watches The Great British Bake Off in his free time between being a mercenary and murdering people.
No, Abe isn’t freaking out, what are you talking about?
The point is, Abe avoids that door and everyone who enters it like the plague. That is, until one otherwise normal Saturday.
He has just come back from his part time job working customer service at a candy store because his parents want him to learn responsibility or something and is tired after dealing with a Karen who had ripped a kid’s bag of candy from their hand and spilled it all over the floor. He trudged to the elevator instead of taking the stairs and looks up from his phone only when he is at his door. Then he catches the sadly familiar smell of gunpowder (its only half his neighbour’s fault. Just as much of it is the fact his classmates are all nerds at a nerd school with no sense despite all their brains).
He looks up and, instead of making eye contact with Deadpool like he had expected, he catches the eye of Peter fucking Parker. Peter, who has been skipping classes and AcaDec practices like it's going out of fashion, is at Deadpool’s door with a knife sticking out of his gut. They stare at each other. Blood occasionally drips onto the floor with a drip, drip, drip.
“Baby Boy!” Deadpool exclaims, opening the door.
He doesn’t even blink at Abe or the knife, just ruffling Peter’s hair. Peter's wide eyed expression is replaced with a scowl.
“Godfuckingdamnit Wade,” he snaps. “Can you tell me the next time you have the only crisis of conscience in your life? This-” he gestures at the knife “-is your fault.”
Deadpool puts his hands to his face in what would be a comical overexaggeration except Abe is silently panicking and hoping he doesn’t notice him.
“Oh poor you! I have a med kit.”
“Good,” Peter says, elbowing his way in and closing the door behind him. Abe hears something about not going to a helicopter parent except Peter doesn’t have parents.
Abe stares at the door for a good ten seconds before he opens his phone to text Flash and comes to a horrible conclusion.
Is Peter a prostitute? Is that why he is skipping class? Is that why being stabbed is wade’s fault?
Abe had insisted to Flash that Peter was a prostitute who knew Deadpool. The whole AcaDec, if not the whole school, knew he lived near Deadpool but that was just ridiculous. Flash could believe Penis Parker was a prostitute (it would make his nickname for him even more fitting) but, for all that shoving him into lockers and tripping him in the halls was funny, he didn’t hate Parker. If he was a prostitute at only 15 (everyone knew his aunt’s money struggles, it wasn’t the strangest idea), he was going to do something.
It’s lunch break when Flash puts his plan into action. He needs to confirm Abe’s theory first. He practically inhales his food and waits until Parker and his nerd friend are heading out of the cafeteria together, as always earlier than anyone else, and gets up himself.
“Sorry guys, gotta talk to someone. See you later.”
Abe, Sally and his other friends all acknowledge him with nods or little jeers. He follows them.
“-can come over on Friday, maybe?” Leeds says, half hidden by his locker.
Peter smiles apologetically and shakes his head. “No can do. I have internship stuff.”
“Internship or “Internship”,” Leeds asks, and Flash’s mouth drops open. Holy shit, Abe might actually be right.
Parker winks playfully and with much more confidence than Flash is used to seeing from him. “Both.”
Leeds closes his locker, and the pair notice him. Flash panics. He acts like he normally would. He shoves his shoulder against Parkers and passes without a word. Parker’s hand brushes against his hip and Flash turns back to stare at him but if it was purposeful, he wasn't showing it. Flash chooses, for the sake of his sanity, to ignore it.
That afternoon, he is walking back home instead of going by car to avoid his parents and the arguments they are undoubtedly having. He is on his phone, scrolling through the #spideysightings tag on Instagram when a hand wraps around his arm, and he is yanked into an alley way. Before he can scream, a hand is slipped over his mouth.
He goes to kick, struggle, whatever when his maybe-kidnapper lets him go. Flash finally gets a good look at him and feels all the colour drain from his face. Standing half in the shadows is the Daredevil. Flash double checks with a look over his shoulder but he hasn’t accidentally walked into Hell’s Kitchen.
(Flash is valiantly attempting to squash down the desire to ask for an autograph.)
“Bag,” Daredevil says, not asks, holding out a hand. Flash is not about to argue so does as asked, presenting his school bag and hoping he isn’t about to have it trashed.
Daredevil spends a few seconds rummaging around before he pulls out a flash drive Flash knows for certain is not his. It's painted red with the letters ‘T&P’ painted in gold and blue respectively. From further in the alley, there is a feminine sounding snort. Flash has only a second to realise and then freak out internally over the fact that he’s pretty sure that’s Power Woman – HOLY SHIT, HE’S MEETING DAREDEVIL AND POWER WOMAN – before his bag is thrown back to him and Daredevil disappears. There is no other word for it. One second, he’s there and the next he isn’t.
Flash takes thirty seconds to hyperventilate, freak out and nearly burst into tears before he slings his bag over his shoulder and pulls out his phone to tell Abe and Salley everything.
Sally is very fucking tired of her best friends. She, Flash and Abe have known each other long before Midtown and would hopefully remain friends long after and are practically siblings. She does not use that term in the idyllical way people typically say it. Currently, Sally is resisting the urge to jump across the bench and throttle them both.
Ever since a week ago now, when Flash had apparently met Daredevil, they have been talking not about whatever the fuck that was but instead on trying to work out if Peter Parker is a prostitute or some other shit.
“Maybe-”
“Guys,” she says through gritted teeth. “Can we not?”
Abe and Flash stare at her like she is the insane one.
“You expect us to-” Abe begins.
“Yes.”
Flash crosses his arms and juts out his lower lip in an over exaggerated pout. “And what if we don’t want to?”
Sally doesn’t even deign that with a response. She grabs the strap of her backpack, slings it over her shoulder and starts in the direction of the school building. She ignores the half laughter, half complaining happening at her back and, once out of sight, changes direction so she is instead walking around the perimeter of the school. The further from the school building, the emptier it is, and she much prefers the silence or just a few people to the crowds that seem inescapable inside.
She rounds the corner to the point furthest from the school and freezes, the blood in her veins turning to ice. The Punisher, the motherfucking Punisher, is standing with his back to the school fence. He isn’t wearing his signature skull shirt, but Sally has a very vigilante and superhero obsessed friend who sends her enough articles, memes and other paraphernalia she is sure it’s him.
“-Just stupid. Remind me why we don’t have someone patrolling there?” She hears someone say. It is then she realises that the small building the Punisher and the other person is hiding behind is hiding her as much as it is hiding the other speaker.
“Because it’s past your territory but too far out for you. And the rest of us like to keep living,” the (fucking) Punisher says, gruff and low. The other person laughs.
“I wouldn’t kill you,” the voice says sweetly and fuck, shit, fuck, Sally recognises that voice. Ok, what the fuck, Peter Parker? The Punisher glares at Peter Fucking Parker.
“It would be nice if you did.”
There is a giggle, then quiet.
“I can probably manage to check it out tonight. I’ll just need some help from M.O.D.”
The Punisher frowns. “Can we really trust him with all this.” He gestures around as if to encompass something Sally has no idea about.
“‘Course. He’s a vigilante before anything else, just of the international variety.”
The Punisher snorts like there is a joke there she is not catching.
“Yeah, sure, kid. Don’t you have class to get to?”
Peter grumbles. “In case you forgot, it was you who dragged me away from my friends.”
Sally, realising she is about to be caught, slowly backs away.
How Peter doesn’t notice her, she decides later while franticly informing Abe and Flash, she has no idea.
Cindy’s parents are out of state for the weekend. They have some business deal to make in Massachusetts and, point is, she is alone. She knows her parents don’t like her uncle and his boyfriend because of said boyfriend (and doesn’t that just sting, considering how many girls make butterflies flutter in her stomach) but she has not technically been banned from seeing them. And it’s good to spend some time with people she looks up to who know. Her friends and the AcaDec know, but that’s not quite the same as having an uncle ruffle her hair and tell her she’s just perfect.
So, instead of skipping her turn hosting the academic decathlon meeting, she invites them to her uncles’ in Hell’s Kitchen. Charles is the first to arrive, then Michelle, then Sally, Abe and Flash as a group. They sit around the living room, chatting while her uncle Foggy hands out drinks and returns to the kitchen with its two-seater mini dining table. Cindy barely even notices him sitting in the chair opposite her sort-of-uncle Matt as they whisper to each other, probably about their work.
“Where are Ned and Peter,” Charles asks eventually. Flash squeaks, Abe begins to flap his hands, and Sally lets out a little gasp. This, obviously, gets her, Charles and Michelle’s attention.
“What?” Cindy asks.
The trio proceeds to explain everything they had seen and their various theories. These range from “is a prostitute” to “is dealing drugs” to “is secretly a spy”. Each are more absurd than the last and, while it’s all good fun, Cindy isn’t really taking any of it seriously. Every once and a while, Matt will begin to chuckle, and Cindy really has no idea why.
Finally, there is a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Matt says and gets up before Cindy or her friends can react, white stick clacking, clacking, clacking on the floor.
“Hello, sir,” Ned’s voice says. “Are you Cindy’s uncle?”
“I’m the boyfriend,” he says, smiling. “Come in.”
He holds the door open and Ned comes bounding in, followed by Peter who is staring at Matt.
“Hey guys! Sorry we’re late – Spiderman webbed up someone right in front of us.”
For some reason, this makes Peter’s jaw twitch. Then again, Cindy notices he looks a little off. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he keeps eyeing Matt like he has personally offended him. And, look, Cindy knows her uncles do work that make some people angry, but she is pretty sure Peter doesn’t know anyone involved in the legal system and he’s not giving uncle Foggy any of the same heat. That means only one thing.
“Peter,” she hisses just loud enough for Peter to hear. “Are you seriously getting pissy with my blind uncle?”
Peter splutters. Back at the dining table, Matt bursts into actual laughter over something Foggy must have said.
“What- no!” he says and folds his arms across his chest but doesn’t look at Matt anymore.
From there, their practise goes as normal even if Peter does seem to be pointedly ignoring Matt. Soon enough, three hours have passed, and everyone is getting ready to head home.
“See you,” Charles says, giving Cindy a quick hug before he goes. He is the last to leave.
“Well,” Foggy said. “That went well, didn’t it?”
“Yep,” she says more cheerfully than she feels, still a simmering anger at how Peter had treated Matt burning around her lungs. Matt, though, seems practically giddy.
“Oh yeah, very well.”
Cindy notices that, under the table, he is slipping a piece of paper between his fingers. She thinks that’s just a little odd since he cannot see what’s on it but he isn’t acting like it’s strange and maybe he just wants to fiddle; she’s not going to judge.
“I’m just going to-” she points a thumb over her shoulder towards the larger guest room that is just her room at this point.
They let her leave. Before she has closed the door, she catches Matt asking Foggy to read the note and saying he will be gone that night.
They make a group chat. Charles calls it ‘Peter Fucking Parker’ and everyone agrees with him, which is a rare, rare thing. He gets the impression Michelle knows more than she is letting on but, well, Charles is nowhere near brave enough to confront her. He doesn’t know if the amusement she radiates whenever the topic of what the hell is wrong with Peter is brought up is a good or bad thing.
Now, Charles likes to think he is relatively normal about things. His interest in the “Peter Fucking Parker” situation is natural considering what he knows and, while he likes the vigilantes and superheroes (who doesn’t) he’s not Flash levels of obsessed. Then again, that would be a tricky bar to beat. The point is, he’s not super into any of this stuff.
But he is a nerd. It's a title he wears proudly. And, because he is a nerd, he obviously recognises Tony Fucking Stark even if he is wearing a hat, unflattering sunglasses and a puffy jacket that is so far out of his typical ballpark even his signature goatee is not getting him recognised at the back of their mock academic decathlon competition. For this, they have allowed parents and family to watch them and, at the back of the low-lit audience, sits Tony Fucking Stark.
Charles stumbles and fumbles the first half of the competition but, slowly, manages to forget about their observer. Not entirely, but enough to not mess up each time. He wonders, absentmindedly, if he is wrong. Because why the hell would Tony Fucking Stark be here?
Unbidden, his gaze falls on Peter Fucking Parker who has just answered one of the hardest questions yet.
The team has been split in half for this mock and, really, it’s not a surprise when Peter’s side wins. The audience claps and they scramble off the stage with much less decorum than they would use at an actual event. Mr Harrington doesn’t even try to stop them.
Charles’s dads hug him when he reaches them. It’s with his head over his dad’s shoulder that he notices Peter – who didn’t have anyone there but, then again, never did – walking over to probably Tony Fucking Stark. Peter greets him with a flick to the arm which makes Charles gape like a fish when his dad pulls back.
“You alright, son?” his papa asks.
“Just peachy,” he says, strangled. Tony Fucking Stark just flicked Peter back. He then hands him something Charles can’t see and stands. Peter grins, confident and almost demonic. Then they walk out together.
What. The. Fuck.
He texts the group chat.
+ 1
Peter Parker is done. He is done with the evil sun and his teachers and homework and his friends and life. He has slept a total of five hours in the past week but its Friday. It's the last day of the week and, once today is over, he can sleep all through the weekend if he wants. Tony had offered to get him out of classes, but he had said no, said that he skipped way too much and that he could do this.
He was regretting the decision the more time passed.
Ned’s hand on his shoulder is warm and comforting. It's there so that, the moment any of the teachers come near by their corner of the library, he can subtly press his fingers or palm in, and Peter can pull his head out of his folded arms. Across from him, MJ is flipping through a book. Peter knows because he can hear the swish of the paper. That sound, along with the thousands echoing through Midtown’s halls keep him from slipping off to sleep, but he does get to doze.
And then an enhanced guy dressed in orange and black breaks through the library wall. His classmates are screaming and running for the door. Peter is just fucking done.
“FRIDAY,” he asks into his phone. “How many people are in here?”
Karen is an extension of FRIDAY and, after the recent mission, Tony had agreed to allow him access to FRIDAY and her all seeing eyes. Sure enough, she responds after just a moment.
“Nine individuals detected. Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Eugene Thompson, Cindy Moon, Sally Avril, Charles Murphy, Abe Brown and an unknown detected.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
Has Peter mentioned he is done?
He is so, so tired. That is the excuse he will use later for the reason he readjusts his web shooters and shoots at the attacker's feet.
“Wha-”
Peter walks straight up to him and punches him hard enough his eyes roll back and he drops.
“Peter...” Abe says. Apparently Peter’s luck is worse than he thought because, instead of running and hiding like normal people, his academic decathlon team is standing right there with a perfect view of Peter using Spider-Man's – his – web shooters. Peter does the logical thing and puts his head in his hands and screams.
No one interrupts him for the half a minute he goes for. Funnily enough, he actually feels a bit better once he is done.
“...You good?” Sally asks while Flash, Cindy, Abe and Charles gape like fish.
“Good is relative,” he says and then scrolls his phone for Tony’s number. Once he finds it, he presses it and puts the phone to his ear for when it answers barely a second later.
“Hey kid, aren’t you in school right now?”
“My academic decathlon teams just seen me web one of the stragglers to the library floor. Oh and the bastard broke a wall and I’m pretty sure my school is evacuating. So, if you can do something that would be great.”
Tony sighs but Peter can hear him getting up.
“I’ll be there in five. In the meantime, go hide your friends somewhere the authorities won’t look until I can smooth everything over.”
“Thanks, Anthony,” he grins.
Tony, who had asked Peter to use his first name and had swiftly regretted it, doesn’t even react anymore. He just puts the phone down. Peter turns back to the rest of his team being kept in place by Ned and MJ standing in the only exit for the rest of his team.
“I have orders to hide you until Tony can clean this up. Want to go hide in one of the top labs?” he says with faux cheer.
Charles opens his mouth to protest but one sharp look from MJ has them all moving militantly up the empty stairs. He takes them to the furthest lab and they all settle on the floor in a circle. The exhaustion is creeping back up his spine and he just wants to drop off to sleep.
“So...” Cindy drawls. “Are we going to talk about this? ‘Cause, we know now so there is no point in lying.”
“This- everything makes so much sense now!” Flash burst out. MJ begins to snicker. Even through the haze of exhaustion clouding his mind, he has enough awareness to notice something is off about the way he says it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, a little more defensively than he intended.
Speaking over each other, the decathlon members not in the know begin bringing up different moments. By the end, Peter is thinking he needs to ask Daredevil for stealth training because – fuck – he thought he was better than this. He raises a hand and they fall silent.
“I’ve been working on something for the past month,” he reveals.
Everyone perks up, including Ned and MJ who he hadn’t had the time to tell the details to.
“I- well- I got stabbed trying to scope out a base because DP dipped, then I was being watched so I had to subtly get some info out. Then Frank had some concerns, he pulled me aside when Tony wouldn’t have found out. Then Tony took me and the other vigilantes cross country and...” he rubs a hand down his face. “A lot of shit has happened. No, I’m not getting into it because Tony isn’t done wrapping everything up on his end and, even if it was, you really, really don't want to know. Live in bliss.”
Their eager faces have softened or tensed with a touch of guilt.
“Wait,” Ned says, the only person he didn’t expect to have any questions. “Why was Tony Stark involved in vigilante work.”
Peter blinks, then tries to rethink over everything his told Ned about his other life.
“Huh... I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it?”
“Mentioned what?” MJ asks.
That Tony is as much a vigilante as the rest of them. That he helps them by sending info under the name M.O.D (Merchant of Death, it had taken Peter an embarrassingly long time to work out). Of course, Tony is absolutely, definitely not supposed to do that.
“Nothing,” he says. Then, he remembers that one decathlon practise.
“Oh, and I’m not ableist,” he says, looking pointedly at Cindy. “Matt is Daredevil”
“What!”