boy falls from the sky

intro / headcanons / stats

( AN OPEN WINDOW IN AN EMPTY APARTMENT; CRUMPLED LAB NOTEBOOKS; BRUISED RIBS, DARK CIRCLES, AND A GOOFY SMILE )▸ welcome to latverion, PETER PARKER (SPIDER-MAN). it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 22 and use HE/HIM pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as a STUDENT, or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution. ( CLAIRE, 24, GMT, SHE/HER, CHARLIE ROWE )

“are you sure you can’t keep him for another week?” his tone was a combination of jest and solemn. ‘i told you so’ just on the tip of his tongue, requiring a lot of strength to restrain himself from letting them slip out; a funny thing because he barely said anything about the sleepover, though he hoped that the friendly neighbourhood spider-man had picked up the silent and subtle warning. “it’s been a while since we’ve had peace and quiet. surely he’s not that bad of a roommate, right?”

@greatresponsibility​​

Having a roommate was kind of fun, actually. Sort of. He’d never had siblings; he’d grown up alone in that old house with his aunt and uncle, no one else his age rattling around. Company had been good, in theory. He and Harry had done alright before--but the Spider-Man of it all... well. And they’d had a place much, much larger than his now. Peter did love Johnny, really, he did, even when he absolutely terrorized the place. But he wasn’t about to admit that. He wanted to be able to use the bathroom without worrying about another alien rave.

🧬 — He reacted to the threat. How could he not?  He knew the power behind the words, knew better than to underestimate them. That said, he was anticipating the outburst — had crafted it — so outwardly he just blinked his deep, dark eyes at the masked vigilante. Gwen Stacy would always matter, having a place in their genetically identical hearts. The nerve is struck, and Spider-Man admits it… repeating his claim. Peter Parker didn’t have a brother. It pushed the puzzle pieces just close enough to be recognizable as a picture. Peter hadn’t lost her yet.

“That’s her. She’s your Gwen, isn’t she?” Not that he didn’t believe Peter was above projecting his feelings on another… Even Jackal himself used her occasionally as a crutch for his own grief. But the threat, it was too raw to just be that. “Long story but, she and I, we’re mutually exclusive. If your Gwen’s alive — there’s no Ben Reilly.” He keeps his neutral tone, not trying to be overtly friendly as he was at the start but lacking intimidation. It wasn’t just the fact Peter had buckled, ending their game. He had no idea who or what Ben was. It left behind a funny feeling. One he wasn’t familiar with. Unlike the dull aches he was used to. Something wretched and somewhere deep beneath the vast numbness that was his hollowed out chest. 

“She’s no one’s Gwen,” he hissed. “She belongs to herself.” It was a horrible cliched romance novel line, but he wasn’t going for originality right now. He was just trying to figure his way through this, one beat at a time. Here was what Peter knew: There was a man standing in front of him with his face, a few years older. He said his name was Ben Reilly. He said he was from another universe. He said he was Peter Parker’s brother. He knew who Peter was. And Peter didn’t know him.

There was a simple solution in here somewhere, a collection of the simplest answers that, when added up, formed the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. There was a longer one, something involving a lot of spying and mind games and manipulation and a deeply sick sense of humor. The problem was, in his experience, simple was never simple, and overcomplicated to all hell was just called Tuesday. There were ways to get answers--take him at his word, trust his gut, snag some of his hair as he swung off to run tests in the lab, maybe panic-text Tony and/or Reed, whoever had the most bandwidth for this current existential multiversal crisis. There was also just freeze, fighting down every urge to beat the shit out of this stranger.

The man was going to be the death of him. One week. One night out. One face mask. Give Johnny a break from living with the in-laws; take his own mind off Gwen. That was it. But Johnny, of course, had never been one for boundaries, which was one thing in the abstract and another entirely when you went into the bathroom and found your toothbrush dangling haphazardly off the edge of the sink to make way for a chemical plant’s worth of skincare. Or you opened your closet to put on something that wasn’t grease-stained from the lab to find... Well.

Unstoppable force, immovable object.

greatresponsibility​:

Aw, of course he was whining. Peter had just saved the Torch’s sorry little ass, and he was whining. Of course he was! If he had been anything but a brat about this, Peter would have had to make sure he wasn’t a Skrull (Question: How many pairs of Spider-Man print boxers do you own, and why is it more than zero? Answer: Probably at least two, but will pretend to have no idea what you’re talking about.) At least whining was proof of life. Reassured that the Fantastic Four hadn’t just become the Fantastic Three on his watch, Peter turned to blast one more web over the Lizard, making sure he’d stay down. (Rule #2: double tap. Worked for zombies; probably worked for scientists who’d accidentally mutated themselves into giant lizards.) Just in case. Johnny was probably nursing a healthy head injury, and Peter didn’t need to give him any more reasons to whine.

And he did look hurt–not awful; even after literally falling out of the sky, Johnny Storm looked frustratingly, stubbornly good–but Peter saw the way he leaned forward to support himself, and he winced. “If it helps, I don’t think they like you either.” The mask hid the way his mouth tugged at the corners, its thin, nervous line twitching into something that was either a smile or a grimace. Did he offer him a hand? Did he try to help him up? Did he let him sit there as long as he needed, nursing his ego? “Yeah, thank you for distracting me. Liz and I had a whole thing going. Super choreographed. We were gonna go out for Dancing with the Stars. I think we had a real shot. Next time I need someone to play Icarus, I know who to call.”

Sometimes, Peter wore Spider-Man as a skin–sometimes closer, sometimes there was no divide between them at all. Sometimes, he was so very aware of the costume. The mask, the quips, the obnoxious suit; it was a song and dance routine, carefully designed to hide him in plain sight. The red and blue hid blood and bruises; the black-and-white bug eyes hid very real, very human ones; spiderwebs disguised the way his face softened into a smile. He was Spider-Man, super-powerful and super-cool superhero extraordinaire, and he was a boy whose friend had been hurt. Johnny could hold his own, usually. He’d be fine, probably. Peter hadn’t asked him to butt into the fight–he would have, in fact, asked him to butt out of–but it had been his fight in the first place, and it was his to handle. His to make sure no one else got hurt, not even Johnny fucking Storm.

Peter dramatically pressed his hand to his chest. “Oh, my heart. Y’know, you make a cute damsel, Torchie. You should try it more often.” Johnny leaned on his shoulder as he stood up, and Peter reflexively wrapped an arm around him for support, ignoring his own battery of cuts and bruises. He’d take stock of those later. “I got you,” he said. “What do you need? I think our scaly friend’s out for the night, so–do you want to head to the Baxter Building? Somewhere Ben won’t laugh at you? Just say the word.”

He stood and tried to keep his balance, Johnny’s head dancing enough without trying to make sense of Peter’s babble. But that was pretty much par for course. Johnny just closed his eyes and listened, let Peter’s voice wash over him. He liked the babble. It was comforting, especially after he’d just gotten wiped out. “Do you ever stop talking?” Johnny asked, aiming for exasperated. He was pretty sure he’d skated right past that and into embarassingly infatuated I’m-completely-in-love-with-you-and-also-wouldn’t-mind-seeing-what-you’ve-got-under-the-suit territory. It was fine, though. Pete wouldn’t notice. He never noticed. “Like, I literally have a head injury here and you’re making it worse,” he added, groaning. 

Years of insult after insult, fireballs and web missiles, Johnny knew the script, knew this frustration in his chest.  He felt jittery all over, on edge, full of fire. It had always been like this. Peter would drive him crazy, so much he couldn’t think, and Johnny would do his best to be annoying right back. So what if he’d never really gotten past the throw some fireballs stage of managing his feelings? It worked for them. Mostly. Peter stepped closer, his arm wrapping around Johnny’s back, close enough that if Johnny turned his head, he’d be right there, and there it was. Right on cue. He couldn’t think.

“That right?” Johnny widened his eyes, playing along. He was still a little breathless, but he figured that could pass as part of the act. “Oh, Spider-Man, how can I ever reward you?” he said, fluttering his eyelashes. He could feel the warmth of Peter’s arm at his back. It was all a little much. Everything Johnny wanted, right there.  For a second he thought of just trying it, kissing him. Even just once. Pulling off the mask, Peter’s hair wild underneath, more handsome than he had any right to be. He’d still be talking, too, that smart mouth going at a hundred miles an hour, the remnants of stubble on his jawline if he hadn’t bothered shaving - which, knowing Peter, he probably hadn’t. He was always kind of a mess. That should really be a turnoff, Johnny thought and felt it again, so much wanting it actually hurt. Same old story. He had to do something with it. He just wasn’t sure he was up to a fireball yet, so Johnny stuck his foot out and around Pete’s ankle instead, and tried to trip him over. 

What he needed was space. He needed - distance. “Yeah. You always come through, webhead. It’s kind of annoying.” Johnny coughed, ignoring the ache in his chest, and stepped away. What did he need? Geez. Pete really was clueless. He shook his arms out, tentatively prodding at his powers, letting a trail of fire slowly run the line from his wrists to his shoulders. “Anyway. I’m back, baby! Race you to - well, guess the usual place is out. Race you to the roof of the Baxter?” Johnny challenged and then took off. “Last one there’s a rotten spider!”

the  place  is  a  mess.  it’s  just  that  he  wasn’t  expecting  visitors,  and  he  prefers  to  have  someone  clean  for  him,  and  also  the  gremlins.  they’ve  figured  out  that  it’s  less  of  an  issue  during  the  day,  given  the  science  building’s  relatively  decent  natural  lighting  and  the  little  creatures’  desire  to  evade  anything  that  isn’t  shrouded  in  darkness.  that’s  worked  out  well  enough,  at  least,  it  gives  them  more  time  to  move  around  and  regroup  without  risking  bites.  the  suit  keeps  him  safe,  sure,  but  it’s  not  the  most  comfortable  thing  to  try  pulling  together  lunch  in.  so:  stick  to  the  light,  keep  the  blinds  open,  avoid  dark  corners,  all  tips  he’s  happy  to  follow  while  they  work  out  how  to  actually  get  rid  of  these  things.

so,  the  elevator.  it’s  not  his  favorite  place  right  now.  ❛   do  i  look  like  i’ve  been  herding  a  ferris  wheel ?   ❜  then  again,  peter  doesn’t  really  either.  actually,  he  looks  fine.  tony’s  going  to  have  jarvis  run  a  full  health  scan  just  in  case,  but  he  can’t  deny  that  the  lack  of  any  obvious  evidence  of  being  near  crushed  by  a  wheel  is  comforting.  the  elevator  dings,  and  tony  shoves  peter  onto  out  to  his  floor,  what  remains  of  daylight  shining  in.  off  to  the  side,  he  hears  a  telltale  scuffle  in  the  vents.  annoying.  

❛   yeah,  sure,  best  day  of  my  life.  there’s  pizza.   ❜  he  flaps  a  hand  in  the  general  direction  of  half  an  oven  pizza  before  taking  a  seat.  ❛   felt  rude  to  ask  for  delivery.  i’ve  got  a  map  of  everything  going  on  and  a  pretty  cohesive  list  of  who’s  handling  it,  but  that’s  about  it.  hey,  you  have  to  leave  before  sundown.  that’s  when  they  come  out  of  hiding.  i  think  they’re  hungry.   ❜  which,  really,  should  be  enough  of  a  look  into  how  tony’s  day  is  going.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Do I? Does anyone? There’s no page on that in the manual--The Big Wheel and You: What to expect when a madman drives a unicycle through Midtown! I mean, there also isn’t a manual.” Peter frowned. “We should write a manual.” As Tony shepherded him out of the elevator--a little too forcefully, quickly, nervously--he heard something clattering in the shaft above them. Peter looked up, but there was nothing there. He didn’t make a crack about the new pets; he saw the way Tony tensed up, and followed him quickly out.

He’d never seen the lab clean. This was Tony Stark, who preferred loud music and flashy tricks to remembering to clean up after himself, and, Peter was pretty sure, didn’t know how to run a vacuum cleaner that wasn’t robotic. Not that he could judge; his workstation back at ESU was a nightmare on a good day, and his apartment, well. The less said about that the better. (Sorry, Aunt May.) But this was worse than usual. It could have been the gremlins--it was probably the gremlins, but it could also have just been Tony. Peter picked up an empty soda can and lobbed it in the general direction of a trash can. That was... helping.

@greatresponsibility

Lockheed had shifted speed several blocks back, now gliding like a dragon on a mission. Kate did her best to keep up. Even accidentally shorting out several cell phones of pedestrians she chose to phase through rather than run around.

Suddenly his trajectory changed to sky upwards to the roof of a multistory apartment building. “Oh come on,” exasperated she dove into the alleyway. Pushing hard off the nearest garbage bin, she managed to wrap her fingers around the bottom rung of the fire escape. Her muscles tensed as she pulled herself upwards. All her time in the danger room had paid off apparently as she felt the burn in her arms. As her feet met with the ladder her timing quickened until she was running up flight after flight.

With one final leap Kate found herself landing atop the roof. Not to her surprise, Lockheed was not chasing a villain, but a friend. Her small purple friend was sitting on the ledge squawking at a nearby red and blue spandex clad figure. “Spider-Man,” her breathing was still a little labored as she offered a greeting.

He’d gotten good at dodging pigeons. They had the right of way; he’d learned to swerve at the sound of a squawk and give them their space or risk heading home with a few new holes in his suit. Also, half his villains flew for some reason. A thing in the sky making sounds in his direction? Historically not great for him. When he heard wingbeats and what he thought might have been something like a chirp or a yelp--it wasn’t quite birdlike, but the pigeons had never been birdlike--he reflexively dropped onto a ledge until it passed.

But it wasn’t a pigeon; it was a little purple dragon, absolutely beside itself with excitement. “Glad someone’s excited to see me,” Peter said, holding out his hand for the dragon to sniff. “This doesn’t happen very often, little dude. Stay as long as you want.” The potential bank robbery four blocks over could wait. He’d get them on the way out. And, he realized, he recognized this dragon. It was Kitty’s--sorry, Kate’s. Lockheed? He was pretty sure its name was Lockheed. Probably. “Hey, boy, where’s your... uh... mama?” 

“you know you’re not helping your case by admitting me these things, right?” the words might sound like he is annoyed, but he wears a small smile. “the plan hasn’t change. let’s go, spidey. let’s kick this son of a bitch.” matt angles his billy club towards a flag pole and presses the button. the grappling hook is deployed and he launches upwards. as he leaps in the skies, his radar sense shows him that there should be a shallow roof just to his 2 o’clock. he lands there and aims his billy club to another flag pole to propel himself further up. he continues doing this for the next block.

he’s by no means as fast as spider-man, but matt manages to close in on big wheel. god. he hates how loud the machine is whirring. it’s almost deafening to matt’s ears. focus elsewhere. he recalls the lessons from his youth. so, he focuses instead on the driver’s heartbeat. as matt waits for spidey to do his part, matt continues trying to reach the meeting point they agreed on. just a little bit more… maybe matt ought to reach a little further, in case big wheel decides to give spidey a hard time…

“My mouth and my brain, you know? They don’t always work in sync. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, man, but sometimes I just start talking, and the only way out is through.” It was tactical, too: criminals in animal mech suits really didn’t like his incessant yammering, and it threw them off their game; it was a sense of humor to distract from the bleak violence of what he was really doing. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to shut up. He could, at least, follow a basic plan. Probably. In theory. Peter wasn’t great with teams, or delegating, or listening in general, but he’d make it work. “Let’s rock and roll.” He looked over his shoulder as he swung towards the wheel, winking back at Daredevil. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s a wheel. It rolls--”

🧬 — Stone cold. He admired that. This Spidey, for what it was worth, was far less tired than his brother had been. Ben remembered this version, remembered being that patient. For a second too long, he looked deep into those lenses; past them and into eyes he knew he’d recognize. Then it’s back up. The façade he had crafted so well, the one that tricked his world into believing he were Peter Parker. The liar’s mask. But his intention isn’t to deceive this young hero, no. It was far too late for that. Not after he had teased open the curtain, shown him a piece of the madman behind it. No, no. He wanted the contrast. He wanted to show two could play this game, and that he was dealing himself in. An impasse, but only for now. 

Brow softened then firmed to a pensive, albeit thoughtful look. As if the prattling on about slumber parties and bug costumes wasn’t what he expected the hero to resort to. “He’s my brother. My Spider-Man,” he answered, with that same pensiveness that made the lines in his face seem battle worn. Playing the role of him starting to believe that, maybe, he had made a mistake. Taken the wrong bet. “But if you’re not him.. if you’re not Peter Parker, then he isn’t anything like my brother either.” He being the young man attending Empire State University. The one that, conveniently, had avoided meeting his clone’s older variant. Dark eyes broke contact, lost for a moment. “That’s good. Gwen will be safer that way,” he thought aloud. Ben looked back. “Right…” he trailed, as if the egg were on his face.

“You keep her name out of your mouth.” It’s out before he can stop himself, before he even realizes he’s saying it. The keeping cool, calm, and collected thing is gone in an instant; Ben found the fissure, the crack, the chink, and he wrenched it open. It wasn’t that he was wrong--no, he was very, very right. Gwen was safer without Spider-Man. Her father was dead because of him. Her life was ruined, a man was buried, he wouldn’t watch her throw her cap at graduation, wouldn’t walk her down the aisle, wouldn’t make something stupid and fancy for dinner (who casually just made branzino, anyway?), and it was all because of him. Gwen Stacy would be better off without Spider-Man, and so she would be better off without Peter Parker. He knew that.

But how did Ben?

“guess you were,” natasha chimed back, smiling brightly at him as she waited for him to answer her initial question. still, with a silent good-natured gesture she reached over and slid the last slice of pie his way, giving a nod to the pastry to show it was all his if he wanted it. though his little remark about calling her older and crankier did make her second guess her gesture of kindness. “careful, i can swipe that pie from you before you even blink - and if you manage to get it from me, i won’t hesitate to shoot you in the legs.” she warned, though her smile still remained - a bit more harrowing. “on banner? no - but if you mean doom, then yes. here - ” opening her locked drawer she slid a file over to him. “it’s all on what’s going on outside the safety of the cities - concerning sounds and rumors of large rampant beasts and undead. stuff we should all be more aware of and that doom is trying to cover up.”

Felicia may of had a complex relationship with the bug boy but it was one she valued. One of the few people who made her see that the world wasn’t completely full of horrible people. One where perhaps she could play nice. One where she didn’t have to hate everything. She was still a work in progress of course and she could never stick to being good like he did. However, she was good at being bad so she guessed that counted for something right?

“Hope you aren’t here to kill my vibe. Last thing I want to do is through you in Doom’s arena.” She humored as she folded her arms, her eyes behind the goggles looking into his lenses directly. “Tell me about it. Those things really love the chase but you know me. I know how to maneuver around.” She stepped forward towards as he took a step towards her. “Isn’t that the truth.” She poked fun at him as he mentioned not being picky. “I am just scouting. Being out like this is when I feel the most free. What is more exciting than potentially cracking Doom’s big Latverion safe?”

He should have hated her. He really, really should have. She was a thief, a suited criminal no better than any of the others. Except... Except. He liked chasing her around the city (tailing her, if you will). He liked having someone to rib at, someone to rib at him, someone who was’t nearly as bad as she seemed deep down. He was sure of it. He liked her company, despite herself. But she was still a thief.

The Baxter Building had a big eyeball. Manhattan had a big wheel (mostly under control, all thanks to yours truly, and a little bit thanks to Daredevil). Gwen had a big dinosaur. They had, you could say, a big problem. As much as he wanted to sit at home and watch The Masked Singer Latveria, and he did, he so desperately did, because he had ten doombucks riding on the guy in the glittery Emperor Doom mask being Doom himself, that wasn’t how this worked. He’d learned that a long, long time ago. When trouble came calling, you put on a pair of pants and dealt with it.

So here he was. Dealing with it. Which mostly  meant checking in with a slightly more adult adult who wasn’t currently fighting a giant eyeball and two small children, and who probably had access to the good tech. And maybe, just maybe, had some fucking idea what was going on here. And yeah, maybe Peter was putting too much faith in Tony Stark, but he had to put it somewhere.

He wasn’t entirely alone here. Gwen was here. Johnny was here--the whole team was here. They weren’t his team, or his family, but they felt something awfully near to it. He had no other family, not here. Peter wouldn’t let himself think about what had happened to Aunt May, or where she was, if not here. And she wasn’t here. Harry wasn’t either. There was a Harry, sure, but he’d made it loud and clear that he wasn’t from Peter’s universe; he wouldn’t let him forget it. It wasn’t his Harry, they didn’t know each other, but best friends in one universe had to count for something, right?

The operative word here was study. Study date. Not a date. It was two people who used to kinda like each other a few lifetimes and world ago, sitting in the same room, looking at quantum mechanics together so one of them (high school valedictorian, thank you very much, as if it counted for anything), didn’t fail out of college. No feelings attached. No baggage. Just E and m and c, which was sometimes squared. Compared to Doom, relatively easy. (Hah. He was saving that one for the next physics-themed villain he faced, because there absolutely was going to be a physics-themed villain. Maybe Reed would appreciate it.)

It was just studying, which meant the pounding in his chest meant that he just wanted to make sure he was still good at this stuff, not that he was worried about really seeing Gwen for the first time since her father died--since he got her father killed--or that he was afraid the sight of her, and those massive blue eyes, and that stupid blonde hair, would throw him all off track. He was over it. That was over. She was smart, and Peter missed her, and he’d never promised Captain Stacy he wouldn’t be friends with her, right? Right.

🧬 — The effect didn’t go unnoticed. But Ben, he doesn’t bat an eyelash. Does nothing to throw him a lifeline. Whereas, in the past, he would have been sympathetic toward the others plight… in this moment, he felt very little empathy all. Not apathy, no — his sadism far too grand for that. Even in an incursion-riddled multiverse, the Jackal had all but grown numb to it all. Not to this. This was a scratch to an itch he didn’t realize he had. How could he?  It was a string, plucked; tuned to a fine, deafening note. Peter Parker, unraveling.

“That’s the thing, Pete…” Whatever gentle nature he conveyed, all the playfulness he feigned.. as familiar as riding that saddle had felt, it was gone. Vanished, melted off him in less than an instant. Of course, his “brother” had already seen through it. Noticed how the ill-fit of the mask. Now gone, it revealed an expression as old and cold as the ancient persona he moonlighted as. It wasn’t just to match energies. No, this was for his own twisted enjoyment. He wanted Peter to see him — the real Ben Reilly. The man who killed Spider-Man. “You don’t know me.” 

Pete. He tried not to flinch. Flinching was a tell that the name meant something to him. It was something to him. It meant that hearing it in not-quite-his voice out of not-quite-his mouth--the man’s mouth--Ben’s mouth-- hit him somehow. He had a secret identity to uphold, and Pete was home in his shitty little studio studying for an exam, wasn’t he? This was already blurring the lines between his lives too much. This whole thing was playing with something dark and dangerous, crawling beneath his skin and constricting itself around his chest. He wasn’t about to add Pete to the mix. If he flinched, Ben won.