p. parker

❝ IN THE FUTURE, please do us both a favor and refrain from calling me ❛ BUD. ❜ ❞  There’s a thing or two he could say about the fact that he hadn’t really had a choice in attending the night’s … celebrations.  But he isn’t about to lament to the press about that.  That’s a PR NIGHTMARE they don’t need on top of everything else.

❝ There’s no L in Deputy Director. ❞

FAIR ENOUGH.    Peter offers a little shrug and gets his shot. It’s quite clear that there’s enough quiet dissent among those forced to to take pictures. He really shouldn’t exasperate the issue further. A quick click into the digital camera, he barely looks up before speaking again.    “    ——-    But there’s two in Phil Coulson, right?    ”

He shouldn’t exasperate the issue, but when has he ever been good at that?

“You’re with the press, right?” Steph sidled up to the man with the obvious camera. “I can get you all kinds of inside info on that man right there,” she pointed at Bruce Wayne, standing on the edge of the crowd. She grinned slyly, “And I won’t even charge.” 

starter for @wbbing

" THAT’S THE STORY. ”    The Daily Planet as a trial for some necessary income isn’t the worst gig in the world. He offers a friendly smile. 

the truth about norman fell between them, and the dance stopped. ( he tried to kill me; he murdered gwen; he did not care about you; he did not care about anyone. norman osborn loved only power. ) there was a time harry had seen norman for what he was. there was a time he had clutched mj’s hands and promised they would be more than the legacies given to them. there was a time he shed his last name and ran from norman osborn with an ease he could no longer find. 

“i don’t believe you,” harry lied. it repeated, again and again, in his thoughts: gwen, peter, gwen, gwen, that bridge, the green goblin. “how am i supposed to believe you? you killed him. you killed him. i saw it.” his voice was rising, and his composure was slipping. not here, not here. harry took a deep breath, and he clung to peter like he’d always clung to peter. a lifeline. but everything had changed, and peter felt as far away now as he did in death. he took a step back, and the next questions came quiet, uncertain. “why would he do that? why would he kill gwen?” just because he found out spider-man’s identity? why her? she had been harry’s friend too, hadn’t she?

each question seemed to bring to harry a new sliver of hurt. was hurting an enemy more important to norman osborn than protecting his son? even in hatred, had norman osborn cared more for peter than harry? there were far more layers to this story than harry had ever imagined. 

if you go after may or go after mj — harry became focused again. his eyes blazed, and he found truth in the care he had for them. ( even if mary jane hated him. even if she couldn’t look at him again. even if he couldn’t look at her. )

“mj and may are safe. i wouldn’t — ” he felt heartbreak, sorrowful and sweet between his ribs. it crawled up through his bones, through his blood, resting just behind his eyes. “i could never hurt them.” ( there was a time when the same could said of peter, wasn’t there? ) “i won’t.”

he stared at the flash drive a long, long time before taking it. a choice. 

“peter, i —” what did he want to say, to the man who held so much of his heart, in hatred and love? what did he want to say, to the pain that had sprouted between them? thank you? i’m sorry? he slipped the flash drive into his pocket, feeling the cold of it between his fingers. “i’ll find a way to do it. to kill you. if this is… if you’re lying about him. if you get mary jane hurt. i’ll find a way. you know i will.”

A MASTER AT ADMIRING HINDSIGHT’S LANDSCAPE ,       Peter wonders how much of this could have been avoided had he just told Harry the moment the other showed up in his apartment. Planning out grand schemes of where they would have found themselves if he pushed harder, if he had told his friend the truth from the start. Would Harry have believed him then? Or had the poison Norman laced Harry with already taken hold, long before Peter could even realize just what his friend needed rescuing from? 

“     He died trying to release a toxin into the city.     ”     What had Norman always dealt in but fear, and greed, and power? Convenience, Gwen waiting for him at his apartment led Norman straight to the crippling blow. As with everything that night on the bridge, timing was everything, and Norman rarely swung without knowing he would connect.    “     And he killed her because he could.     ——-    Everything he did was out of greed, you know that.     ”

You know me hangs between them, though Peter knows he would not survive the impact should Harry move from his grasp of that particular battering ram. He doesn’t know what Harry seeks out of playing dress-up as his father, what he hopes to find that all of them hadn’t already known. Norman’s grip on Peter’s shoulder each time he asked about school or the latest project, the dismissal of Harry even when lost in grief or seeking the same validation. Norman didn’t deserve this redemption, but Peter finds himself reaching out to grip whatever part of Harry is trapped underneath the monument being built in his place. 

If you’re lying. If you get Mary Jane hurt. I’ll kill you. I’ll find a way. 

It’s years of training which keeps his voice quiet, even as he releases his grip from Harry’s to taking his face between his hands. Less a hold than it is a request. Look at me, you know me, you know all of me now.

𝙷𝙴’𝚂 𝙲𝙴𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴    to snap a photo of standing on his right and maybe left —– he didn’t check. Dazzling ( and well used, might he add ) smile pinches two lines across his cheeks, however, always prepared for the ‘gram. Or Daily Planet employee in this case.   ❛   You ARE talking to me, right? ‘Cause if not, Mister Mayor is making a b-line for the tables.   ❜

PETER SPARES A GLANCE    towards the spectacular show of schmoozing taking place across the way.   (   Being rightfully compensated for his photos for once may have awoken something in him.   )    Rather than stealing one more snap of the candidate, he snaps one of Barry.    “    ——-    Everyone’s getting pictures of him. I’m just trying to deliver some variety.    ”

there’s a hurricane brewing within her chest and she’s left unsure just what it is she’s feeling,  if not feeling everything all at once. any switch in place to keep her comfortably numb ripped free of its wires as mj desperately grabs purchase at any bearings she can here. peter’s alive. peter’s been alive this whole time. 

beats between his first apology leave her wondering when the last time she cried like this in front of him was. an odd train of thought,  but she tries none the less. and by her best estimates : never,  never like this. harry’s name dropped only provides a bigger shovel;  digging deeper wells until each were capable of holding the last of those surprise tears of hers  —  leaving her with the beginning throbs of a headache at either temple. 

“  i wanted to hurt him.  ”  she began,  a soft hiccup accompanying the admission.  “  really hurt him,  y’know?  he came over  —  harry,  he came over covered in your blood and i called him a monster.  ”  not in those blunt of terms,  might as well have given the look of horror on his face. harrowed and haunted.  “  in his own way,  he was trying to protect me that night. funny thing is,  i don’t need protecting. never have.  ”  

does peter get it now?  tangled up once more,  with her arms a vice around his ribs,  with his hands on her face,  with her head resting against his. did he understand?  “  m’sorry too,  it wasn’t fair to put all of this on you. no one  —  not a damn soul matters more to me than you,  and i … i think i let you believe otherwise. thought i let you die believing that.  ”  mj’s said as much to the empty air of his living room enough times to know. her eyes take refuge on a spot above his shoulder,  holding her breath in a futile attempt at keeping those grief - ridden sobs from an unceremonious return. 

“  um,  so if —  ”  you’re not back for me,  a glaringly unfair question. try again.  “  what brought you here? where have you been?  ”  

HE NEVER REALIZES JUST HOW STARVED OF HER    he’s used to contending with as he does when his hands are on her. Now pushing away tears with the palms of his hands, keeping her close enough that every shuddering breath is caught while feeling the press of weight in each. This is all his doing, partially at least.    ——-    Peter has always known who has always gotten left with the bill for the choices he’s made, to ever delude himself he could save her that price was deluded. 

Shallow breath taken, Peter’s brow ripples,    “    He came to see you?    ”    Stuck in the icy depths of water, or pulled bloody and unconscious, he pushes away what might have happened and clings to the hope instilled in one fact.    (    Harry wouldn’t hurt MJ. Harry wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, and never her.    )

I don’t need protecting. Never have. 

He’d laugh if she wasn’t so close, so wrapped around him. Her forehead pressed to his as a reminder of some forgotten promise. One he had forgotten, one she tried to remind him of. Stuck between I’m still in love with you, Peter and not a damn soul matters more to me than you,  Peter realizes that he has been uncharacteristically nonverbal on these matters. How often he had played conversations in his mind as a way to push through the pain of healing. He watches her as carefully as he can now, making sure to catch every word. There was a time when he had feared she had slipped through his fingers without his knowing, that he had let her slip away without resistance. How his thumb moves to her cheekbone, now he makes sure she knows he’s there.    “    I didn’t. You didn’t.    ”

Her next questions obviously require addressing, but he stays frozen for a moment while standing on the ledge of where they had left each other.    (    The point of Spider-man was to let her know she would never be left at such great heights without someone to catch her. How had he forgotten that?    )    “    Uh, well.    ——-    Space?    ”

“    Aquaman found me, believe it or not. I don’t think I would’ve    ——-    It took longer than usual to heal, there was a lot to heal. They helped.    ”    The abridged version of getting the assist from the whole of the Justice League falls away in how smooth the skin of her cheek is, or what really drew him back.    “    I came back because I need to know if Harry told anyone. Because I knew he would be at this thing tonight. I knew you would be too. I figured something public enough would give me time to figure out how to fix this. How to fix all of this.    ”

per his father’s instructions, harry had learned to dance when he was young, enjoying the classical forms about as much as one would expect. but he had taken this thing his father had forced him into and made it his own; he had slipped into classes his father would never allow ( hip hop, jazz, even tap at one point ) and, when he grew bored with those, began crafting his own dances with acquaintances. the point being — harry osborn was a good dancer, but he did not lead peter in a form that was recognizable. 

harry could not look away from peter. they were closer now than they had been in a long while, and harry felt intoxicated with the nearness, trying to memorize every bit that he could, knowing it would not last, knowing it could not last. they moved across the floor together, and harry tried to imagine the spider-man mask slipping over peter’s face. they spun together, and harry tried to remember the sight of blood against the body he held. his grip on peter tightened. their dance had a frenzy to it. it was sharp. 

you haven’t told luthor yet?  ( of course that was what peter thought of him. how could he think anything else? )

“i thought about it,” harry returned softly. he would dangle the information in front of luthor, hint at it, dance around the subject — but he knew now, at a fundraising event for the man, that he could not give the secret away yet. it belonged to harry. “i thought about what it would mean for the world to see you as you really are. and i kept thinking about that moment on the bridge — how you said my name. how you said please.” 

was it for harry to save peter or to let him go? 

“this was only ever between you and me.” he leaned close, a whisper, a prayer. he did not mean to be cruel; he was. “how do you want this to end, peter?” 

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHY       part of him is still apologizing for the bridge. As if his own blood staining metal and asphalt hadn’t offered retribution to a conversation he had put off. As if he would ever be able to control the way his stomach turned seeing that mask there.     (     He had thrown the first punch, but hadn’t the goblin set the stage for his demise once more?     )   

Peter feels as though he’s eighteen again, pressed against Harry with Norman Osborn hovering somewhere near, ready to snatch the other’s gaze away. They aren’t guarded by some locked door anymore, rather it’s Harry own gaze that flickers and fades into something eerily familiar. He’s leaned in close enough to make sure Peter sees as much. 

How do you want this to end, Peter?

He realizes he’s only been listening to Harry’s explanation, Harry’s invitation. He realizes, only now, this isn’t a matter of them holding on to each other. Peter’s grip loosens, the knit between his brows picking up the slack left off.  

“     ——-    I want it to end.     ”

(   Norman told him he couldn’t die, pitched between the shrill laughter of the Goblin. Peter hadn’t realized what he meant until he met a dead man’s gaze reflected in the son.   )     “     I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was.    ”     The glider had always been some show of technology, some deluded sense of what would better the world. As quietly,     “     I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who your father was.     ——-     He tried to kill me more times than I can count. And he     —-     he murdered Gwen, Har. Because he found out who I was.     ”     Norman certainly never deserved much from Peter, but Harry had earned the right to mourn the idea of a father he never had. An oversight, obviously. 

But what good is science without learning from past mistakes? 

These types of events always come with the incessant clamoring of THE PRESS.  That this is the indulgent kick - off party of the NEW AVENGERS means that everything is dialed up to eleven.  He’s fairly certain you can’t swing a cat in here and NOT find someone wanting a photograph or a statement.

( Phil’d known coming in that it was unavoidable.  Doesn’t mean he has to like it. )

❝ If you must. ❞

" DON’T STRAIN YOURSELF, BUD.    ——-    It’s just a public event you had to RSVP for.    ”   (   A soliloquy. Likability : have thoust ever met Peter Parker?   )    

HE’S RUSTY ,    he knows this.   (   Though you could stand to forgive him as his best friend, who tried to kill him, is mingling among the crowd.   )    So possibly there’s a lack of tact, or awareness of who he is even speaking to as he jostles her camera for effect.    “    Hey.    ——-    I’m with the Daily Planet, mind if I get a picture?    ”

HOW MUCH HAD HE FUCKING MISSING?    (   Not that this is the first time he’s been taken by surprise at the appearance of the other man. But since airing out that particular mix-up about HYDRA, he thought they had been all squared away.   )   Not looking to deliver another kick to the guy’s face, Peter approaches more subtly this time around.    “    Hey, Tommy.    ”    (   Alight, so slightly more subtly.   )    Careful to avoid any potential eavesdroppers, he leans in closer.    “    You know I’m all about a secret identity    ——-    but you coulda picked something a little less goyish.    ”

❛   Hey, new guy.   ❜   Peter. His name is Peter. She knows his name is Peter. And still she’s hot on his trail in a second with the disrespect.   ❛   Feel like earning an extra buck doing something a little less BOY SCOUT APPROVED?   ❜

ud&d starter for @wbbing·

making faces at a half - fogged mirror while attempting to pin back curls constituted time well spent,  right?  mj would rather remain ignorant to the answer,  in an outfit lookin’ like the night sky itself she could get by perfectly fine without peanut gallery input from those judge-y bottles of conditioner. until one spoke her name,  that was. she had dreams like this,  bracing herself against the bathroom door to see him standing opposite herself.  

but they were never quite right;  he was always bleeding under the doorsill,  or her hands were impossibly red,  or taking a step forward revealed that harrowing moment heartbreak ruptured through harry’s panic in his ill - pursuit protecting her. suffice to say mary jane didn’t take to sleep with any amount of ease these days  (  evident by teardrop patches clawed off unceremoniously from under eye when it finally registered peter parker occupied physical space within their home looking very - much - not - dead.  )  

“  tiger.  ”  i panicked and moved back in ALMOST slipping off the tongue as honeyed as his petname. though there were few guarantees this was him,  especially noting what pete had drapped across his arm. and it reminds her for the briefest moment WHY she slept with a baseball bat within reach,  WHY her nightstand had mace ready to whip out at a moments notice. sometimes monsters liked to promenade about her patchwork sidewalk of a life wearing the faces of those she loves.

those guards in place are frayed and sparking,  “  baby?  ”  whispered and she’ll pretend,  just for now,  that he’s her peter. the peter whose voicemail wouldn’t let mj leave any further messages,  the peter she told may was off on a photog job in a more exciting city,  the peter still capable of forgiving her for putting one more problem across his already cracking foundation only to watch him finally succumb  —–  then forgive her again for rushing across wood floor to grab hold of his wreckage a little too tight.

AS MUCH AS HE HAD WANTED,    desperately and relentless, to have her near him again there was just no preparing for how it felt to see her now. No longer some carrot held on the other side of a body that could have easily failed him, or a dream of some imagined future that couldn’t be under these particular circumstances. Whatever vision he had of her is taken along with the tired excuse that their lives had been irrevocably severed from the other.   

He had reasons to stay away, protection he could grant only in his absence. But seeing her, having her so close seemed to break the resolve some other person could hold onto. For this second, where he can’t move quickly enough to brush away the tears that spring to her eyes,  his numb lips can only offer out some lame acknowledgment.    “    Hey.    ”

(    At least this way she’ll know it’s really him.    )

He’s not sure who moves first, but his suit drops to the ground to make room for Mary Jane just as she winds herself tightly around him. It leaves no doubt, not that there ever had been, had she been present she could have held him together.    ——-    He needed to tell her she was the only thing that ever held him together. 

“       I’m sorry.    ——-    MJ, I’m so sorry.       ”

@wbbing !!

harry was a firm believer in ghosts — what were ghosts if not our guilts, our fears, made tangible? what were ghosts if not our own pain? after his father’s death, he had been haunted, a haunting that only had begun to lessen with spider-man’s fall. ( even now, even here, he was afraid of saying peter parker’s name. ) but he should have known that the past would not stay there, that one ghost would only lead to the creation of another. an exchange. harry osborn should have known that he would see his friend again. 

peter parker. spider-man. peter parker. standing in the fundraiser, wearing the most expensive suit that harry had ever seen him in. alive. alive. there. 

( harry ignores the fact that his breath comes easier in his lungs at the sight of peter. he ignores the fact that he must be in a dream and that he will wake up soon. but for now, let him sleep. let him sleep. ) 

he did not know how long he stood there, watching the man. one song faded into the next faded into the next. something was growing in him — that familiar anger, that familiar pain, but something else too, something old and something new. you’ll separate your grief from your father’s rage, a voice whispered, and he wanted to slap it away, to tell it that it was wrong. he felt young and old, all at once; he felt terrified and thrilled. 

did he run through the crowd, or did he slip through it, trying not to attract attention? he could not say which he chose. he only knew that he made his way to peter, that he would have followed the man to the ends of the earth in that moment. for good or for ill. 

and there they were. over the past weeks, harry had been careful to master his mask. he was alone now, the most alone he had ever been. ( no friends, no family. only his name. only his shadow. ) if he did not guard himself, he would die, and it was the only thing that kept him sane then, the only thing that protected him. put away the shock, the sadness, the love, the hate. put it all away. 

his hand was the only thing that gave him away as he held it out to peter parker, shaking slightly. 

i killed you, he wanted to say. haunt me. please. 

“dance with me.” 

WHAT ONCE FAILED HIM NOW IS FELT IN EVERY SHIFT       of an old friend from across the crowd. Even the most minuscule changes in the environment around him could trigger what has been affectionately coined as Spidey-Sense; the shift in wind or a scent carried through it alerting him of another arrival, the call to move before the gun could be cocked. Technically speaking it is through electrical impulses that are picked up by antenna-like hairs on Peter’s arm and sent through the nerve endings at the root of the hair follicle. The electrical impulse is fired to the brain where Peter instinctively responds with either a fight or flight response, often before he is consciously aware of the danger or even his own physical actions. To describe it would be to describe pain, the premonition of threat on a body’s instinct to jerk away. A toll for the ability as instinct depletes. 

The electricity which pulses through him now is nearly unbearable. 

Peter sees him out of the corner of his eyes, open stare chanced only when others focus their attention toward the parade of sanctioned heroes. Whatever they are remains overlooked, separated but seeing each other clearly for the first time. 

Even with the hair on the back of his neck standing at full attention, Peter allows the approach. Nothing pierces through him now, but a hand does extend to him. Familiar as ever, though Peter wouldn’t be Spider-man if he didn’t also sense the turmoil evident in the pulse of the other.     (   It makes him unpredictable, it makes taking his hand a mistake. But Peter isn’t off that bridge yet, mistakes are sometimes worth repeating.    )     Synapses firing, he still doesn’t flinch as they move towards the dance floor.

IT WAS IDIOTIC ,    but luckily the simple acknowledgment some of his more hair-brained ideas are just that allow some leniency as he moves to execute them.   (   The bonus being if he still gets to beat himself up for it later.   )    

There hadn’t been many words about the identity of Spider-man since his disappearance. Tabloids, of course, always seemed to want a celebrity to be behind the mask but it wasn’t as though Harry Osborn had done an interview with the Bugle to expose the Parkers in Queens. Risking this one advantage for the sake of getting a peek inside a political fundraiser seemed a bit beyond his usual beat, but to ensure that he hadn’t been exposed it meant going somewhere he knew Harry would be. Somewhere public. 

But first    ——-    well, first he needed Uncle Ben’s cufflinks.

The suit he was carrying was more expensive than anything he had ever owned, with a hand pressed down low as far over notable eyebrows as he could manage. Odd, then, that when he anticipated being overwhelmed with mail his designated slot had been empty. Even stranger, he hadn’t been evicted.

The answer that awaits him is at once surprising and leaves his heart exposed on the floor, by a fresh little of hairpins littering the apartment. He forgets to breathe or maybe realizes he hasn’t been breathing right since he last saw her. Aware that she was here, he freezes. But of course, when has he ever been able to help himself?