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Most people spend summer vacation at the beach getting a tan, with their family, or doing absolutely nothing but watch YouTube and Netflix for weeks on end. Nothing very productive, but it gives the body a prime amount of time to finally catch up on all the sleep it's been missing over the previous months. If Peter were a normal teenager, this would probably be him. Before the spiderbite, he, his aunt and uncle likely would have taken a week long camping trip (camping is cheap-the only vacation they could afford) and then Peter would have gone home and binged a pirated TV series on YouTube for a few hours. Probably Star Wars: The Clone Wars. This year as last year, Peter does not have that. It's been two years since the last camping trip and after Spider-Man, pirating YouTube videos seems wrong.
But still.
Camping sounds nice, it's been years, though he has his doubts he can convince May.
Sleep. Sleep also sounds nice. And Netflix.
Peter has never hurt in every body part before, but he's pretty sure that were someone to name a muscle, he could tell you was it was by feeling. This is beyond excruciating. How can they say that they're trying to help him? He's being tortured twice a week by choice.
He's dying.
Everything hurts.
Peter lets out a long groan between his teeth and lets his head flop onto the tabletop.
Netflix.
Why can't he be like a normal person and just watch Netflix? He's never even had a subscription to Netflix before.
No, not him.
"My entire body is a mess." Peter groans aloud to the non-sympathetic listener on the other side of the table. "I'm dying." He shoves the cup of coffee towards the middle of the table and some of the liquid sloshes onto his hand. It hurts, but it is nothing compared to the pain between his shoulder blades. "Please help me," he groans, "or at least bury my body somewhere nice."
Why does he keep agreeing to go get beat up?
They're lying to him.
They have to be.
Oh man.
Why, why did Natasha have to train him with daggers today? The woman is a freaking ninja assassin and Peter is not. Not that Peter was using the weapons, but he was dodging her attacks as she jumped at him with daggers. It was unfair, stupid and he got nicked more than a few times. "I'm dying." Peter repeats firmly.
"Yes, I'm certain." He looks up at the dark-haired Asgardian across from him, calmly sipping a cup of tea as he flicks through a book, and scowls darkly with annoyance.
If anyone had told him in September of last year that by July he would be close friends with a known supervillain, he would have been concerned for their sanity. But now, here he is at the beginning of July and sitting at a table having coffee with Loki.
The thought is still jolting, no matter how many times it's come into play.
Even after Loki stopped him from bleeding out when he got shot and healed his fractured skull a few months ago. He grew up with the knowledge that Asgard wasn't real and then suddenly it was and Loki was a murderous psychopath that everyone needs to avoid to stay alive. That was just common knowledge, and something Peter abided to until he didn't. The world view, as it often is, wasn't exactly the case.
"Are you even listening?" Peter questions desperately, resting his hands on his palm, "Natasha tried to kill me."
Loki calmly takes a sip of his tea and flips a page in his book, not bothering to look up at him. "Yes, you've mentioned as much."
Peter deepens his glare. "I hate you."
Loki nods with understanding, "Most people do."
Peter huffs quietly and sighs digging his palms into his eyes. "I don't even know why I agreed to this. My aunt is going to murder me. Then Natasha. Then me again."
May is never exactly happy when he comes home looking like he got beaten to a pulp, but she's never wavered with her support since she learned about his alter-ego. It was actually at her recommendation to Tony—offhandedly—that got the training started. That and probably when Peter came home with a knife in his liver a few months ago. His spider sense is great in all, but sometimes when it buzzes and buzzes, it's impossible to make out what it's trying to warn him about.
So: the stab.
Loki wasn't very happy about it either.
Or the other Avengers.
Peter wishes they would stop smothering him. He's sixteen. He doesn't need a mother hen, alright? Nor does he want one. Yes, he cracked his skull open, but that was once. And it was months ago. Why do they keep assuming that if someone breathes near him, he's going to fall apart? It's embarrassing. And frustrating. He spent months trying to gain their respect and suddenly he's a helpless kitten again they can't trust to do anything.
He hates it.
Peter bites out a breath between his teeth and peeks through his fingers towards Loki. The Asgardian is still skimming through the book (Macbeth—he's not even surprised, that nerd), but looks up towards him. His dark hair is slicked back and though he is not attempting in the least to hide his appearance, no one around them seems recognizes him as known super-villain/sort of helpful on the weekends—occasionally workdays—to the Avengers (ever since Peter's unfortunate fall from the building, Loki has made a habit of showing up on Avengers battles more often and assisting them. He personally dragged Dr. Doom into the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, and left him in Director Fury's office with a note. To this day, no one is certain how he got past all the security), which is a relief.
Peter doesn't really want to awkwardly explain, again, to a concerned police officer that "no sir, I had no idea that was Loki! How horrible!" as Loki scampers off and avoids the public for a week. It has been happening more often than it did before, but that's probably because Loki's been getting more media coverage.
The lack of recognition is probably the jeans and science T-shirt with one of (Peter's not certain, but he's fairly sure) Thor's jackets. Peter gave him the shirt about a month ago after he learned from Thor when Loki's birthday is. He missed it by about six months, but hey, a half birthday celebration is better than nothing, yes? He'll get on time when it arrives again in January.
Loki's face when Peter had shoved the bag in his direction had been nothing short of jubilant when he realized Peter's intent. It had made him feel warm fuzzies like none other, along with a slight tinge of sadness when he realized how unaccustomed Loki is to receiving presents. But nonetheless. The shirt is warding off S.H.I.E.L.D. from coming and arresting Loki, or anyone else outside the coffee shop from running with fear.
And that's nice.
Ugh. Everything hurts. He's been beaten up by muggers before and it's been less painful than this. How does Natasha do that? Clint never leaves him feeling like he's been hit with a sledge hammer, and Steve is usually much more gentle. Natasha is not.
He sighs and rests his head on the table for several minutes in silence, listening to the busy streets around them and Loki turning the page of his book from across the table. Loki owns almost every work by Shakespeare, in various languages, and apparently—so Peter's been told—he has a signed copy on Asgard, which is pretty cool.
Loki closes Macbeth, dragging him back to the present and sets it next to Peter's abandoned coffee. "You stopped talking."
"I'm dying." Peter reminds dully.
"Right." Loki agrees. "My mistake."
Not funny.
His next training session is on Saturday, but he honestly doesn't think he should go to it. He's leaving on Monday and he doesn't want to be stiff when he starts to chase young children around screaming at the top of his lungs.
Yup, babysitting is not something he's skilled at.
Spider-Man can handle children, Peter cannot.
Stupid college.
Peter releases a breath and looks up, "On an unrelated note: do you have any babysitting tips?"
Loki's eyebrow raises, "Are you caring for children? Is this for one of your classes? I thought your school hadn't started yet."
Peter nods, "Yeah, it hasn't." At Loki's puzzled look, he appends: "I'm applying for colleges, 'cause I can graduate early if I want to and I need more community service hours." Which is one of the dumbest things, along with heavily ironic. It's not as though he can write down "Two hours as Spider-Man" on an application and be taken seriously. He spends a good majority of his life donned in the suit now, helping the community, but he doesn't have enough service hours yet.
May has jabbed him about it constantly since they learned this at the end of June and he can't see it going away any time soon.
Which is not a plus.
After some searching online, May found a day camp for young preschoolers that needed a volunteer watcher for the five through six year olds. It would only be for four days and Peter decided after some consideration that between everything else, it's the lesser of the evils.
He starts Monday.
His stomach keeps making weird back-flips of anxiety and stress when he thinks about it. He isn't good with social situations and children want to talk to you. Peter...Peter isn't looking forward to this. Ned's younger sisters are different because they're older than five and Ned can wave them off if needs be. He can't do that for these children.
It's just four days. He can make it four days.
"Get them thinking," Loki suggests, and Peter looks up at him, "they're quieter that way."
Oh.
Yeah.
That makes sense.
"What do five year olds think about?" Peter questions, running a hand through his hair, "I don't have any younger siblings. They like crayons, right? I feel like children are always drawing, but I didn't really draw when I was younger. Should I bring drawing prompts?"
"Spider," Loki addresses calmly, drawing him back to the present, "you're overthinking this, as usual. How long are you their guardian?"
"Monday through Thursday next week." Peter answers, "I'm not going to the training session on Saturday, it's with Nat again and she's going to whip my butt so hard I won't be able to stand until Wednesday. I hate assassins."
Loki looks mildly amused by this. "Yes, she is fun to engage in battle with, isn't she?"
Peter stares at him. "That's not fun. You're messed up."
Loki smiles thinly, "I'm mad, Spider, what more do you expect?"
Peter whacks him over the head with Macbeth in response.
000o000
He spends the rest of Friday working on a Lego set with Ned, then meets Michelle for a movie and patrols for a few hours. The sun is well beyond set when he drags his aching body to bed and sleeps until noon the following Saturday.
May has a double shift she has to work because one of her co-workers is on maternity leave with "the cutest baby, Peter! Look—I have pictures" so when Peter wakes up, she isn't home. He shoves down as much cereal that he can manage then slips outside with the suit donned, prepared to spend as much time as he can assisting the citizens.
This, this feels more authentic than the service hours he has to write down for school with the dumb projects he was forced to do or working with children. He really doesn't want to work with children. Spider-Man does something for everyone else, Peter...doesn't.
The afternoon is far from quiet. Peter stops two attempted bank robberies, six muggings, stops three near severe car crashes and helps an older woman carry her groceries into her apartment. By the time it's a little past five PM, he's exhausted. His muscles are still stiff from Natasha's beating yesterday and the work he did today probably didn't help much with that.
He's on his way to the nearby sandwich joint to stop by and grab something for dinner when it happens. It's a route he's taken dozens of times without an issue, so he wasn't nearly as prepared as he should have been. Or really at all.
When he arrives on the street, people are streaming down the sidewalks quickly in the opposite direction. The sound of fire is burning dully in the back of his senses, but he's mostly focused on what's in front of him.
A man is lifted some twenty feet off of the ground by a metallic arm wrapped around his throat in what is clearly an attempted murder. The thing with the metal arms has a human figure with four cybernetic tube-looking-arms attached to the back in a way that isn't normal, or looks very comfortable. Peter barely has a second to process all of this before he's swinging forward.
"Whoa! Karen!" Peter hisses, "Why didn't you say anything about the crazy murder bot?" He demands, swinging forward.
"I had no knowledge of such action," Karen answers, "the security cameras aren't showing this scene."
Great.
Peter frowns before firing a web towards the robot-arms-man and tugs one of the feet away from him. "Whoa, watch yourself there, pal, I hear that knees give out at the worst times." Peter quips as octopus man tumbles. The captive slips from the sudden tug and Peter swings forward, catching him before he can splatter against the ground.
Octopus-man lets out a loud shout of frustration and Peter buries the worst of the adrenaline.
He looks down at the man, "What did you do to anger him that much?"
The redhead's lips curl into a sneer, "Put me down! I refuse to be manhandled!"
Peter rolls his eyes in exasperation and adjusts his grip appropriately as he swings away from one of octopuses stray arms. "Yeah, no can do, sorry about that. You gonna give me an explanation or what?" His spider sense blares suddenly and Peter quickly dives out of the way of one of the arms, chancing a glance behind them. The octopus man is giving chase, and he doesn't look very happy. Oh boy.
Peter fires a web, taking a sharp turn away from the screaming civilizations.
"Now!" Peter commands.
"He worked for my company," the man rushes, "he's not very happy that I let him go."
No duh.
"Yeah, didn't guess as much." Peter assures and turns his gaze away from the redhead, "Karen, where are nearest police located?" He demands.
"The street to your left." Karen answers.
Peter swings in that direction and spots the familiar car a second later, he swoops down low to the ground and releases the man, landing for a second. The police officer looks up at him, "Medical attention and protection." Peter says quickly, "There's a guy who's trying to kill him and I'm gonna go deal with that."
"Wait, Spider-Man—" The officer starts, but Peter is already gone before he can finish.
He webs to a nearby building intending to do some surveillance, find the octopus-man, then maybe call some backup from the Avengers. He scans around them for a long moment, trying to see between the slow smoke rising into the air for the attempted murderer.
"Karen, have you got anything?" Peter questions. His spider-sense is quiet. The streets are silent of the high pitched whine of the walk.
"No, Mr. Parker, my scans report nothing. The surveillance cameras are also missing footage." Karen answers.
Well.
That's great.
Peter breathes out through his teeth, but turns. There's plenty of mess, but a noticeable lack of octopuses. Octoice? Octopi? Whatever. Dr. Strangle-an-innocent-man is gone.
000o000
Should he have called the Avengers at this point, or some other adult? Probably. Did he? No.
Instead, with two sandwiches in the crook of his arm, Peter jogs to the Creedmoor Hospital Medical Center. While he is still in pain from earlier training, this visit is for May, not his own benefit. And he is definitely late. Very, very late. May probably thinks he was kidnapped, murdered, or beaten up unconscious in the back of an alleyway, and if she's feeling creative, some mixture of the three.
His phone ran out of battery before he could text or call her—should have plugged it in last night—so while he's expecting a later lecture, the most he can do is hope she doesn't ground him.
Peter had prowled the streets, looking for any clues as to where the octopus man had gone, but for a giant robotic dude, he left a surprising lack of evidence. All that he turned up during his search was a bent streetlight, an annoyed dog, and a pile of discarded hockey equipment. Some of those clues probably weren't related to octopus-man's escape.
He pushes through the medical center's doors and is immediately greeted by the staff at the desk, Mrs. Johnson. She's an older lady with graying red hair and a thin pair of glasses on her crooked nose that Peter's fairly certain she only wears to look more intimidating. She's usually here when Peter comes to get dinner to his aunt on Saturdays and has come to learn him by name. "May was about to put a BOLO out for you."
Peter snorts quietly to himself. "That would have been fun, it's always nice to feel wanted," he replies with a slight smile. Mrs. Johnson, as expected, does not return it. Instead she thins her expression and lifts a thumb behind her.
"She's in the breakroom," Mrs. Johnson remarks, returning her gaze to the computer screen before her.
"Thanks, Mrs. Johnson," Peter calls over his shoulder. He really hopes May will let it slide tonight.
"Don't mention it." Mrs. Johnson replies.
In blatant disregard to Mrs. Johnson's request, he greets May with: "Mrs. Johnson told me where to find you," then he adds: "Sorry I'm late."
She looks up from her phone and sighs quietly, pushing her glasses up her face, "Peter, I've been texting you for over an hour. What was it this time?"
Peter puts his free hand in his pocket to find his phone, to hold up a visual aid, "I forgot to charge it."
May lifts a skeptical eyebrow.
"Really!" Peter insists, "I got home last night and didn't charge it. Happens to the best of us."
"Don't let it happen again, Mister," May reprimands.
Peter smiles, but it's tight. "I won't," he reassures then offers one of the sandwiches out to her, "Your dinner."
May takes the food, then pats the seat next to her.
Peter, after a hesitation, sits beside her.
Aside from the far off barking of a dog, and the distant moans from a patient, dinner is taken in silence.
Later, Peter learns that the attempted murderere was Norman Osborn. Which is um—yeah, so, he should probably be used to famous people by now, but he still isn't. And he stopped Norman Osborn's murder.
000o000
They both go home and sleep for a long time. Peter still doesn't feel rested when he wakes up, but spends the day playing stupid games with May until she has to slip in for another shift, unfortunately.
As is the way of summer days, the rest of the day slips away, until he finds himself in the hold of Monday.
Sleep evades him like Ned's cat avoids bath time, but with less growling and scratching. He stares up at the ceiling for hours after attempting to sleep, but his mind won't settle. There's an anxious energy pressed between his collarbone and his throat and he doesn't know how to ease it.
Peter sighs, then scrunches his nose at the smell of his morning breath. Gross.
He's not going to sleep tonight.
He's been trying for over three hours now.
Peter looks up and spots the Spider-Man suit tossed carelessly over a chair and hesitates, then rises to his feet. Peter can do nothing right now, Spider-Man on the other hand...he's helpful. He does things. He saves people. Peter can do that right now instead of sleep.
He slips out the window, tugging his mask on.
000o000
In the early morning few people are out (as few as you can get in a city that never sleeps) aside from morning joggers one of which is in the "mode" as Tony likes to call it sometimes. Where it's not running, or jogging, but sprinting like they're being chased by a wild animal. Peter doesn't envy them. He doesn't dislike running, per say, but he definitely wouldn't choose it as a side hobby.
Peter does rounds of the city, swaying with the swing of the webs, the movement more resting for him than sleep was. When he's swinging, he isn't trapped in dreams or vivid nightmares. He's just free.
Peter launches another web toward a building, when his spider sense gives a loud blare and a clawed, metallic object wraps around his leg and tears him from the sky.
Peter lands on his back with a loud, thwap, heart pumping through his chest with panic as he tries to quell back memories of his fall several months ago. He shoves his stomach back into its proper place and jerks his attention to the present.
The metal is digging into his calf unpleasantly and hisses out a breath before a figure appears over his face. It has a human shape, but with four weird legs sticking from it's back in an unnatural manner. Dark tangled hair spills over the shoulders where a thick pair of green-glowing-glasses are firmly pressed against the eyes, covering them from view with a green lens. Dr. Octo-man-thing-almost-murderer.
"Spider!" A deep voice growls.
Peter shoves down a burst of panic and does what he does best when he's stressed: He makes a stupid, cringe worthy joke: "What has four legs, an ugly coat, and needs to see a hairdresser?"
He attempts to squirm from the grip, but the little metal ends are digging into his skin, drawing blood. It's probably going to stain. Ugh. Blood is not fun like that. He fires a web towards the man's face, but it only makes him growl and tighten the grip.
Agony shoots through his calf, and Peter bites back a drawn scream.
He can do this.
He's fought other supervillains before.
Between short breaths, Peter answers his question, "Quattuor-dude. Quattuor means four."
"Has someone never taught the Spider-Man not to take what's not yours?" Peter's attacker crones.
Um?
Say that one more time? Peter didn't understand a word.
"Whoa!" Peter pauses, and manages to squirm from the grip, tearing a muscle and hisses with pain, but swings to a nearby building firing a web at the man's face again, "I am not a thief, dude! I think that you're looking for the other blue and red dressed vigilant with a thing for spiders."
The man ducks away from the web, and catches Peter by an arm before he's out of range.
This.
This sucks.
"Karen!" Peter yelps as he's ripped away from his perch. "Assistance!"
"Would you like me to activate instant kill mode?" Karen inquires calmly.
"NO!" Peter shouts in retaliation.
Holding Peter by the arm, a mechanical limb lands forcefully on the back of his head. If he was trying to knock him out, he needs to go back to bad guy school. Peter swings a kick towards the man's face and it momentarily stuns him, giving Peter enough time to wiggle. He slips precariously, but doesn't slide from the grip.
"Contacting the Avengers, I have gotten ahold of Jarvis," Karen says in the background as one of the hands comes to claw up at his face again, nearly gouging out his eye. "Assistance is on the way."
Peter scrambles to fire another web, and it misses. The octopus man swings his hand smacking the back of Peter's skull and making his ears ring. Is he going to bash his skull in!? Peter yelps and squirms again, trying to escape the grip, but it doesn't happen. Instead the fabric of the suit lifts away from his hair.
"You took from me! And now I take from YOU!" Octopus growls. "Thieving—" Octopus stops, startled.
Peter's stomach is plummeting to his feet and everything feels numb and detached.
He just took his mask.
He just took his mask!
No.
No.
No!
A fresh breeze tickles Peter's face, which would have been nice, if his face shouldn't have been covered to protect his identity. Should he web his own face to protect his identity? Can he even do that his point? It feels to late. His panic is thrumming through his fingers and making them shake, he can't get them to press on his web shooters right.
"Hey I've got a really bad case of acne today, I need that. I can tell you know what that feels like," Peter calls, reaching out to snatch the fabric back. The Octopus pulls the arm holding the mask out of reach, then with his non-mechanical, gloved hand, he grabs Peter's chin and stares.
Stop it.
STOP IT!
"Okay, now I'm feeling really self conscious," Peter rambles, struggling to break free. Having a supervillain knowing his secret identity would equate to no more public outing, no more delivering sandwiches-sandwiches to May, no more ice cream parlor visits—and—and—and—Peter isn't sure where he's going with this.
Murder.
This could result in May's murder.
Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh—
"Hey!" A voice shouts beneath them, and Peter swivels his head with recognition to it.
The Octopus-man laughs, releases Peter's face, and the mechanical grip on his trapped arm tightens. At the swing, Peter accidentally cut himself on the sharp edge of the blade attached to his arm and now his chin is leaking blood. His shoulder feels like it's on fire, and Peter is reminded once again why he doesn't hang from his webs with one hand anymore.
Peter lets out a yelp of pain, and tries to wrench free.
Steve, from below them, lifts up the all intimidating stray piece of piping. Peter feels something in his chest unclench with relief. Stray piping is always roaming the city streets—it's probably not healthy. Dr. Octopus lets out a barking laugh. "What is this? A civilian has come to test my might?"
He shakes Peter firmly, and Peter's brain rattles in his skull.
Steve's eyes narrow, and he doesn't look amused; readjusting his grip on the pipe.
"Never underestimate the strength of those willing to stand up to bullies;" Steve's deep voice utters. He doesn't sound amused, or anywhere near happy. He sounds murderous, and it isn't something Peter's heard often before.
"A bully!?" Dr. Octopus hisses, "Get you of way before you become collateral damage. I will not be deprived my justice once more."
Peter lets out a noise, though he's not sure what for and Dr. Octopus's looks back at him. "A child." He hisses, "All this time. You stole from me my rightful justice and you have been only been a weak, pathetic—"
The pole slams into Dr. Octopus's face and the man rears backwards with pain and surprise, his grip on Peter slipping.
Peter slams to the ground with the arm, as the Octopus man tries to steady himself, but finds little success. Steve breaks into a run and skids to his knees beside Peter while simultaneously throwing three separate little disks at Dr. Octopus. They slam into the three other legs and an electrical charge hisses up to Dr. Octopus's body. He writhes and lets out a loud yell.
Steve drags the teeth of the arm away from Peter's arm and grabs his head, turning it to look back at him. Peter's lips aren't working right and the only thing he can get out is a gasping wheeze. Panic is being to sink in.
Someone saw his face.
A murderous psychopath saw his face.
Dr. Octopus just tried to kill him.
May.
He might go after May—
"—backup," Steve says, snapping Peter back to the present, his phone is pressed against his ear and he's speaking rapidly to whoever is on the other end. "Bring Bruce." There's a pause, then: "Yes. I told you. Notify Fury, we have a stray—"
Peter's spider sense blares in warning before Steve exhales sharply and ducks forward, covering Peter's body with his own. Peter distantly sees the shadow of one of the arms swing over their heads before the distinct clunk-clip of Dr. Octopus arm's wrings through the air.
"This won't be the last you see of me, child!" He cries, "I shall have my vengeance then I will finish my mission!"
Steve whirls and throws two more of the disks—Natasha's Widow Bites, he recognizes distantly— but they miss Dr. Octopus by a good two feet.
He swings over the top of a building and Peter turns to Steve, burying a rouse of anxiety that threatens to bubble across his chest. His face. Dr. Octopus saw his face.
Steve grabs the phone again, swearing under his breath.
000o000
Peter is taken to Stark Medical and checked over by Bruce who assures that "it's nothing that won't heal over time—but his leg is a mess" before the Avengers swarm on him with their concern. Peter's been released to crutches and is dragged into the common room where the Avengers shove him onto a couch then gather blankets to help with what Peter's suspecting is shock.
Clint and Natasha move into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast, but they still haven't addressed...it yet.
His face.
A supervillain saw his face.
Tony takes a seat beside him and sighs quietly, wrapping a hand around Peter's shoulders. Thor is sitting across from them, a phone between his fingers and is rapidly typing. Steve is pacing with a set expression that Peter can't determine and Bruce is standing next to the couch, his arms crossed, but lips pressed together.
Tony rubs at his upper arm. "Hey," he addresses, forcing Peter to look up at him by habit, "it's fine, kid, breathe."
He can't.
Anxiety is pressing into his stomach, and panic is wrapped around his throat like a noose.
"My mask. Mask." Peter breathes, digging his nails sharply into his skin. "Has someone contacted May?" This must be the twentieth time he's asked, but no one snaps at him because of it. Tony's grip tightens slightly.
"Yeah, kid, your aunt is fine. We sent Coulson to pick her up."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.—"
"Still knows nothing," Bruce assures, "Coulson is our handler, he decides how much goes in the official reports and we asked him to slip this out."
Peter nods again.
His mask. Someone took his mask—
Peter feels naked and exposed.
Thor shifts abruptly, his eyebrows lifting and Peter tilts his head up, curious before there's a sort of cinnamon smell and Loki materializes in the common room with a blur of blueish light. In one hand is his phone, and Peter can tell from one glance at his wrinkled clothing and messy bedhead that he just woke up.
Tony, Steve, and Bruce lurch slightly, but none of them go for a weapon, which Peter considers to be a plus. A few months ago, this wouldn't have been the case. After his aid with battles and saving Peter's life a few months ago, the Avengers general opinion on Loki has shifted from hate to...maybe acceptance. He is not an Avenger by any means, still occasionally rampages New Jersey on a freelance basis, but when he stops by the Tower and raids the kitchen, no one is really surprised any more. In fact, Tony started buying a brand of canned fruit that Loki likes for when he pops in looking like a half dead corpse and then retreats.
Loki releases a curse in his native tongue, then turns to Thor, "You said it wasn't serious."
"I said that he wasn't dying." Thor returns.
Thor was texting Loki.
Oh.
Loki's jaw clenches, but rather than pick a fight he strides across the room and stops in front of Peter, slipping his phone into his pocket. Tony's grip doesn't loosen and Loki kneels down next to him after a second, green eyes narrowed.
He lifts a hand up to Peter and tilts his face side to side, staring at the long gashes. Loki releases his face, and his eyes narrow thinly before Peter feels the familiar warm rush of his magic surging through him and the pain on his face begins to lessen.
Loki's veins are glowing a dull goldish color and Peter is momentarily hypnotized by it before Loki sweeps black hair from his face and through thinned lips asks: "Are you alright?"
No.
He most assuredly is not.
Peter digs his fingers deeper into his palms, but Loki's hand catches his right wrist. "Don't do that." Loki chides quietly.
"He…" Peter whispers, "He—"
Loki glances back at Thor for a second before returning his gaze to Peter, "Yes, my brother explained about this...villain's unique information."
Peter buries his head in his hands. "I can't do this right now." He avers, "I have to go take care of children for the day. I'm supposed to be at camp in two hours."
Tony draws back from him, "You can't be serious."
"Peter—" Steve starts, his voice frustrated.
Peter looks up at all of them, "They don't have anyone else and it's too late to bail."
"You were almost murdered," Tony draws slowly, "and you want to go take care of children?"
He needs to get out of here.
He's suffocating.
"I have to." Peter insists. "You guys can take care of May for a few days and we can think about this when I get back. It's just a day camp. I come home for the evenings and we don't even know if Dr. Octopus knows my identity, he only saw my face." Peter reminds, but he doesn't feel like he should be arguing in favor of this.
The mask. He took the mask and—
The Avengers look ready to argue until kingdom come, but Loki looks up at Peter, "Fine, but we're taking no chances. You will not be returning home to your aunt, until this matter is solved, you're staying with me."
"Whoa, wait—" Tony starts.
Loki looks up at him sharply, fingers slowly weaving Peter's skin back together, "Stark, listen to reason. His aunt will be within S.H.I.E.L.D. protective services, but Peter doesn't have that option. Spider-Man is a known ally to the Avengers, where would be the first place you search for him?" Loki questions.
Tony pauses, and Peter sees Bruce and Steve's shoulders slump. Tony releases a sigh, "Here."
Loki nods, "Exactly. You are not even aware of where I live, this...Doctor will not find success in his endeavors." Loki turns back to him and his expression is strangely anxious, "That is, of course, with your agreement."
Peter has stayed over at Loki's apartment more than once before, admittedly more so when Loki's injured and refuses to get professional help, but he feels safe there. This feels like a solution, and Peter doesn't want to trade it for something else.
His mask. He took his—
Peter gives a slight nod of his head.
"Well then," Loki doesn't sound any happier about this than anyone else, "it's settled."
000o000
Peter gets stuffed with breakfast via Natasha and Clint before calling May to explain the situation in person, calm her anxieties, then explain about where he's staying for the next few nights. She isn't very happy, but gets it. She says that Coulson assigned himself as her bodyguard until further notice and that she's going to be at the hospital—trying to pretend nothing is amiss—for the next few days. She wishes him good luck with the kids, then hangs up.
Peter lets out a shaky laugh before returning to find the Avengers. Loki is missing and it sticks out with a sore thumb, but Peter doesn't comment on it. Tony offered to drive him, and since Peter has no other means of transportation he agreed.
They swing by his apartment to pick up his gear and Peter grabs more web fluid before slipping outside. Tony drives him to the campsite, brushes down Peter's messy hair before sending him off into the wild. Peter waves and buries rousing exhaustion before watching Tony exit the camp and turns to find the other councilors.
There's six. The day camp is from five year olds to ten year olds and there's a handful of other volunteers beyond Peter. The woman in charge introduces herself with a bright smile and far to much makeup as Savanna Pain and the remaining counselors as, respectively, Amada Ivanova, Matthew Jensen, Greg Trade, Charity Perkins and Thomas Olson.
"Now," Savanna addresses Peter cheerfully—the woman seems incapable of saying anything without an exclamation point firmly attached to the end—"you agreed to work with the five through six year olds and Thomas is the councilor in charge of them. He'll be your head adviser while you're here. I assumed that they explained your duties in the paper we sent out?"
"Yeah," Peter assures, shrugging the strap over his shoulder as he narrows his eyes at Thomas. The man is a tall and wiry with a little plastic name tag pinned to his bright yellow shirt. His face is hidden behind a baseball cap where a ragged beard is growing across his face. He looks every inch a mountain man.
"Excellent!" Savanna says and gives him a gentle push towards Thomas. "The campers will be arriving at ten, so we've still got a bit of time to know each other. Go find your camp spot and get everything that you need to set up! We'll meet for a community lunch!" She says and waves them in the direction of a thick over brush.
"Well," Thomas says in a thick accent that Peter can barely make out words from before he turns to him, "let's go, kid."
Peter follows after him with slight reluctance.
They arrive in the clearing where a picnic table is set up, overlooking a grassy field that connects the other camping spots. Thomas dumps a container Peter wasn't aware he had on hand on the top of the table and turns to him, green eyes vivid.
Peter sighs with irritation before walking forward and grabbing one of the small wands likely supposed to be used for playing fairies and slams it against Thomas's nose.
"Ow!" Thomas cries in outrage, stumbling back a step as Peter jabs him in the face with a finger.
The green light shimmers before fading and Peter reaches up and plucks the baseball cap from Loki's hair. Loki stares at him for a second, expression slightly surprised. Peter suddenly realizes that Loki looks ridiculous in his bright shirt.
There's a stretch of silence before Loki's lips spread into a strained smile. "I did think the beard was a bit much." He admits.
Peter bristles, "You said—" He starts.
Loki lifts up his hands in defense, "Well, yes," he stammers, "but I thought that—"
Does no one trust him to take care of himself? He was doing just fine before the Avengers interfered, yeah, having the Stark Suit has helped immensely, but Peter just wishes that they...Ugh! Adults are impossible. He hates this.
Trust.
He hates that they don't trust him, there. That's what it is.
No trust, and it's aggravating.
Peter throws up his hands in indignation, "Unbelievable!" He cries, "I'm sixteen, Loki, I don't need a babysitter."
"I'm not—" Loki tries.
"My only job is to take care of children! Why can't I do that?" Peter demands, then a thought occurs to him. "Oh, gosh, Loki what did you do with the original counselor?"
Not murder.
Please not murder.
Loki waves a hand, looking mildly irritated. "He's currently wandering around his home with a wicked case of amnesia that will wear off in a few days."
Peter swears. Loudly. Then repeats a word that he's heard Loki and Thor use as a curse several times. Loki's eyebrows shoot up his forehead in response to it. "Loki—" He starts.
"For the love of the Norns, Spider, I am just trying to protect you." Loki explains in exasperation. His tone is strained, and strangely vulnerable. Normally, Peter would end here. He would recognize that it's time to stop pressing before he snaps something he shouldn't, but he hasn't slept in more than thirty hours, he was nearly murdered a few hours ago, and his body is twisted with so much anxiety, someone could give him a good prod and he'd snap.
"Stop it!" Peter exclaims, shoving at Loki's shoulders to forcefully push him backwards. "I don't want you to do this! Just because we're friends doesn't give you permission to interfere with my life! I'm not spending the nights with May, can't it be enough for you? It is for the Avengers and they're actually heroes."
Loki rears backwards like Peter has struck him.
Peter recalls a conversation he remembers them having, months ago, before Peter cracked his skull open where Loki admitted that he wished he could have been more than a bad example and Peter had nudged his arm and said with a roll of his eyes and Loki is a hero in weird way.
Loki had taken it seriously.
And Peter just ripped that from him.
Wait.
Stop.
What did he just say?
Peter feels his face blanch and horror drop to his toes.
Loki's hands fall loosely at his sides, "I—I—I thought—" Loki stammers, but stops his tongue twisting in his mouth.
Peter thins his lips, then releases a breath through his nose and quells anxiety in his stomach.
He's messed up.
Badly.
How could he be such an idiot!?
Loki inhales deeply and composes himself as best as he can, but it isn't much. "I'm sorry for intruding, if you want me to leave, I will. Please forgive me."
Peter shakes his head and mentally curses himself before resting a hand on Loki's shoulder, "Hey, no stop it. I'm sorry. I'm just being stupid. You can stay here if it will make you better. I'm not angry with you."
Loki looks doubtful.
Peter thins his lips and then lightly nudges Loki's shoulder. "Hey, bræður, remember?"
Loki looks up at him, and though he's chewing on his lower lip he nods slightly.
By the time ten arrives, Loki's illusion is set firmly into place again, and he and Peter are ready for the children.
000o000
They trickle in slowly, hands attached to their parents with pleading looks and tear filled eyes as they are eventually left alone. There's ten of them, four girls and six boys all with wide eyes and a small backpack or purse in their hands. And they're tiny. Peter hasn't seen young children like this since he was this young and he's never been the tallest among his peers.
Two of the ten immediately begin to cry and Savanna sweeps them away with wide smiles and promises of candy.
The other eight remain.
Peter and Loki share a look before waving them forward to participate in the crafting activity. The two return about thirty minutes later with the promised suckers in their mouths that Peter can see getting stuck everywhere.
Ugh.
It's been about two hours with the children mostly entertaining themselves before one of the boys, a young boy by the name of William, slams his hands down on the table and looks up at Loki with narrowed eyes.
"Mr. Olson?" William questions.
Loki looks up expectantly from where's his valiantly cutting paper hearts for Riley, a young girl who's making a sort of collage or something that needs a lot of glue and dozens of paper hearts. Peter looks up from where's he's helping one of the other girls, Mary, trace a hand on the paper.
"Yes, William?" Loki questions, his fake accent thick and making it hard to make out the individual words. He momentarily lapses in his cuts.
"I don't think that that beard's real." William says. Peter feels his spine stiffen, but Loki just blinks at him and doesn't even look surprised. Peter can see the bare edges of amusement on the edges of his eyes.
"What do you mean, boy!" Loki barks, "I grew painstaking every hair myself!"
William shakes his head, "Nnnmmm." He disagrees, "It keeps winking at me."
Loki's eyebrow lifts to where it's hidden beneath his New York cap and he shakes his head, "Bah, children." He insists, returning to cutting out the hearts for Riley, "You're all da' same. I sit around and grow my beard al' nis and pretty—with no added help mind you and you accuse me of cheatin'. Well, boy, where did it come from if it wasn't grown by my head?" Loki demands.
"Ooh, ooh!" One of the other girls hands, Abigail, shoots into the air, pick-tails bouncing on her head.
"Peter," Mary addresses, and Peter looks back down at her realizing that she's finished with the trace of his fingers. Peter pulls his hand back quickly and Mary begins to fill in the blanks with fingernails and color the paper a light green.
"Tis' cause you're beard is so ugly that it winks at you?" Abigail demands.
"Abby." One of the boys, Nathan, hisses under his breath. Peter snorts under his breath and lifts his gaze up to the rest of the table. Most of the other children are watching them intently now, staring at Loki's face with open horror or curiosity.
Loki stares at Abigail for a long moment, then looks at Peter, "Yes, that must be it, isn't it?"
Peter stutters for a second, "Um, yeah." He agrees.
Abigail smiles, pleased, before she turns to continue drawing her rainbow across the paper.
A few hours later after wrangling them from doing stupid things (why did John think it was a good idea to eat that stick?) their parents arrive again and Peter and Loki send the children home with art projects and Abigail with a strand of hair from "Mr. Olson's" ugly beard. Loki turns to him after they've departed and gives a strained smile.
"Well then. Shall we?"
Peter crashes on Loki's couch and doesn't move until Loki lightly drops breakfast on the edge of the seats. Peter scrambles into a seated position, heart racing and blood pumping, but stops when he sees the distinct lack of anything harmful.
"Hurry," Loki instructs, "we're meant to be arriving at the camp soon and we need to take a car to keep up appearances."
Peter has his license, he can drive—there is no way that he is letting Loki drive, the Asgardian is terrifying enough waiting in lines. A thought occurs to him as he begins to dig into the waffle Loki left for him. "Do you even own a car?"
Loki's brow raises, "Of course not, if I need to get somewhere I have sedir, and if that proves to be unhelpful there's always the subway."
Spoken like a true New Yorker.
They're tainting him.
"So the car?" Peter presses.
Loki lifts his phone, rocking it slightly, "I called a taxi."
Oh.
Yeah.
He could do that to.
000o000
The children arrive this time without tears and skip towards Peter and Loki waving lunchboxes with happiness. They immediately take their positions at the picnic table and begin to chatter.
"Mr. Olson, Mr. Parker, look!" Abigail commands, hopping off her chair and coming to a stop in front of them. She lifts up a picture of a face with a green-purple beard splotched with yellow in some places. She gives them a beaming smile, "I drew Mr. Olson's beard!"
Peter can see Loki restraining a smile as he shares a quick glance with Peter. He looks down and gently grasps the paper, lifting it up for inspection. His lips quiver with laughter before he lifts it to Peter. Though Loki likely would have made a comment, Mr. Olson snorts with unamusement. It's slightly startling to Peter to remember how skilled of an actor Loki is, he's never seen Loki portray a role for this long, but it his performance is flawless.
"How thoughtful." Loki grits out.
Abigail nods, "I know." She assures, taking the paper and running to show the other kids.
Today they're supposed to be doing sports, but to be honest Peter has never understood the rules of most of them and Loki isn't from Earth so it doesn't really go over well. They spend most of the morning kicking a ball around and trying to make it seem like they're teaching something when they aren't. The children, however, are oblivious.
After the community lunch, William disappears with Sam for ten minutes "on an adventure to the bathroom" and when they return, they're lugging a watermelon between them. "Look!" They demand, "We found our new ball!"
The children make oohing noises as they come to inspect it.
"Pretty!" Mary insists.
Peter makes an alarmed face towards Loki, but the trickster seems only amused.
"Um, I don't know guys," Peter says, where did they even get it anyway? "that might not be the best choice—"
"No, of course it is," Loki disagrees and waves them forward, "children! Get yer' lazy butts back here."
The children assemble and Peter groans.
No way. This can't be happening.
Loki is the worst.
"Alright, kick yer ball over that way to the tree." Loki commands, jerking a finger towards where they have a net set up. William nods and valiantly takes a running start, slamming his foot into the melon. A loud wail escapes him from pain, but the watermelon goes rolling and the children chase after it. They're committed, and Peter is not going to get the melon back from they no matter how hard he tries.
Peter tugs at the end of his hair and turns the blind eye as they continue to kick the watermelon from who knows where.
Everyone goes home that day with bruised, wet feet, but Loki refuses to apologize and can't stop the random bursts of laughter that escape him. The watermelon is in pieces all over the campsite and will likely attract bears and other wild animals, but with a wave of his hand, Loki has cleaned it.
Peter turns to his older brother and gives him an angry scowl. "You owe me s'mores." He tells Loki firmly, jabbing him the chest. "A gallon of them."
Loki gives him a puzzled look, "What are s'mores?"
Peter gawks at him.
000o000
The third day passes much as the first two and Peter has come to the conclusion that children and Loki shouldn't be allowed within a mile of each other. Loki easily allows them to try stupid things, like when he encouraged Amelia to lick the paper, but not eat it and assists in the thievery of the campsites cookie supply when Thomas gets homesick. But the thing is, Loki is good with them too. He's gentle when he needs to be, patient, he explains things time and time again and has a long suffering patience when his fake beard continues to be belittled.
Peter learns to deal with them to; his anxiety calms the more time he spends with them and on the morning of day four, he actually finds himself upset that the day camp is over. He and Loki take a taxi to the campsite, set up everything for the day and when the children arrive they spend roughly three hours together before it happens.
Peter's taking Amelia and Mary to the bathroom for the third time that morning when his spider sense gives a warning blare in the back of his head and he grabs the two children and tugs them down, covering them with his body.
A metallic hand strikes through where his head would have been a second later, and Peter whirls, turning to look back as Dr. Octopus slowly clambers down the pathway. He looks deranged with his messy hair and clothing that hasn't changed since the last time Peter saw him.
"SPIDER!" Dr. Octopus yells.
The two girls let out screams of terror and grip at his arms.
His heart leaps into his throat, but he forces himself to remain calm. "Amelia, Mary go find Mr. Olson and tell him that we're being attacked.
"No!"
"I'm scared!"
"GO!" Peter shouts, shoving them in the direction of the campsite as he dodges another attack with a dive. He rips up his jacket's sleeves to reveal his web shooters and fires a web at Dr. Octopus's arm when he attempts to make a grab for the girls.
Not today.
Not anyday.
Mary and Amelia take off, screaming at the top of their lungs for help and Mr. Olson.
He just has to defend himself until Loki makes it here. Loki can deal with it. Peter has seen him take out a giant fish thing that the Avengers spent more than twenty minutes trying to detain in ten seconds.
Peter tugs at the arm, taking the advantage and pulls it beneath Dr. Octopus.
He scrambles, but he doesn't tip. "Such tricks shall not work on me anymore!" Dr. Octopus cries victoriously, jerking his arm and tugging Peter forward.
"Whoa!" Peter yelps, "Whiplash is always what gets you!"
"You think yourself funny?" Dr. Octopus growls.
Nope, he doesn't. He finds his sense of humor cringe worthy. Peter shoves his tennis shoes into the ground and release the web, firing another onto a nearby tree. "Yeah, I do actually." He says, "Gives me the confidence boosts I need to survive through the day."
"Peter Parker," Dr. Octopus hisses, "a high school student. You prevented my ONE CHANCE at taking the revenge I deserved! Norman made me like this HE TURNED ME INTO A MONSTER!"
Peter swings a web at the leg and dives under Dr. Octopus's body, giving a firm pull, "No, you make the monster by yourself." Peter assures, "You did try to murder him. And me. And everyone else on that street. Including Captain America. And that's just rude. He's the Captain."
Dr. Octopus snaps the webbing and growls.
Yep.
He should probably stop talking now.
"You pathetic worm!" He catches the back of Peter's hood and drags him back several feet, end of his other arm spinning like a saw blade. Well. Um. Crap. This is why he no longer wears a hoodie when he goes out as Spider-Man.
The blade makes a go for his neck, but is halted in its track. Dr. Octopus makes a noise of protest and shoves harder, but it isn't shifting.
"Equipment can malfunction so often, it must be aggravating." Loki says behind them. Peter whips his head back to stare at where Loki is standing, his illusionanry face removed in his leathers, staff in one hand and his fist raised with a light glow surrounding it. Loki caught the blade with sorcery.
Dr. Octopus stops and Peter can feel the grip lax with surprise, "You're—" Dr. Octopus starts.
"Angry." Loki answers before Dr. Octopus can finish, "And you will not survive this encounter because of that."
Loki tugs the hand away from Peter's face and dives forward with a cry.
Peter has seen Loki fight in many battles now, but it's always hypnotizing. Loki uses skill, sorcery and his mind to best his opponents and Dr. Octopus is no exception to this. Within two minutes, Dr. Octopus is losing clearly and this doesn't bode well with him.
Peter pulls punches and throws webs where he can, but Loki takes the bulk of the fighting a blur of weapons and flashing sorcery.
Dr. Octopus hisses angrily before apparently in a last ditch effort to finish what he came here to do, shoves his arm forward like a knife towards Peter's open chest. Peter makes a noise of surprise and attempts to squirm out of the way, but he doesn't need to. He's shoved.
Peter hits the ground as the blade goes through Loki's ribs cleanly.
Peter stops, breath seeming to ring in his ears.
Oh gosh.
He just stabbed Loki.
Dr. Octopus just stabbed his brother.
Dr. Octopus rips his arm back, slick with Loki's blood and Loki collapses, gasping for breath as he claws at the open wound.
Peter sees red.
He leaps at the supervillian, grabbing his arm and tangling it beneath another, climbing along a third as he webs the two together to put the doctor off balance. He swings around the man's body before landing on his back and rips the lab coat apart, looking for some sort of power-source on the arms. They have to have one. They run on electricity.
There! Peter jams a hand into the small fracture between the metal and pulls. The arms immediately give out and Peter jumps off of Dr. Octopus body as the man goes tumbling down to the ground with a splat. He's unconscious and probably suffering from a head wound. Peter can't say he has to much sympathy.
He scrambles to Loki's side, grasping at his shoulders, "Oh my gosh, are you okay?" He demands, panic beginning to ring in his ears, "Talk to me you idiot! LOKI!"
Loki's eyes flutter and he moans quietly, but doesn't answer.
"Mr. Olson!" Several voices cry out and Peter turns to see a small army of ten children come running across the road to them, eyes beginning to water. Peter doesn't have time to comfort them. Loki is dying and he doesn't know how to help or—
Phone.
He has his phone.
Peter shoves his hand into his pocket and scrambles to call one of the Avengers, shoving it in Mary's direction. He doesn't want to talk to them. He doesn't want to have to explain. "Tell them to come." He pleads with the young girl.
She nods seriously and begins to talk in a high pitched voice of terror.
After a few minutes, Loki's eyes pull apart and he looks up at the eleven faces of concern and sighs softly, but when he meets eyes with Peter, he looks relieved. He presses a hand against his chest and winces, but Peter can see the golden light beginning to work against his veins as the healing magic starts to weave the stab closed. "Mmm." He says then looks at Peter with an attempt at a smile, but it's a grimace. "It's just a flesh wound."
Peter wants to slap him.
One look at the children makes him stop his muscles before they can fulfill his quest.
The Avengers arrive a few minutes later with what Peter later suspects was easily half of what S.H.I.E.L.D. had on hand in New York. Director Fury and his men take Dr. Octopus's unconscious form, clasp a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists and drag him back to the awaiting cars.
The young children fawn around the Avengers asking for autographs and hugs, but beyond when Bruce gives one of the older kids a fist pump, they don't really pay attention. Instead, they beeline for Peter and Loki.
"Are you okay?" Steve demands, looking between the two of them.
Peter shakes his head, and Loki gives a weak grimace. The Avengers share a telepathic look before Tony gently rests a hand on Peter's shoulder, "Hey, bud, I think let's get you cleaned up. Thor can take Loki to medical."
Prison. Loki never contacts outside help because he should go to prison and—Peter blanches, "But, he's still not legal and—" he starts.
Tony shakes his head, "No, calm down. Stark Medical. He'll be fine. Promise. For now, just breathe."
Peter echoes the movements of Tony and allows himself to be dragged off by the Avengers as Thor carefully helps Loki stand. Peter watches from a distance as Loki collapses into Thor's arms and wraps his arms desperately around his older brother.
000o000
They both get cleared from medical and life returns to mostly normal. He and May go back to the apartment, the forest is cleaned up and in a fit of what Peter's suspecting is anger, Loki rips through Oscorp undercover trying to find the origins of Dr. Octopus. He does so. And uncovers how shady the organization is in the process, revealing Norman Osborn's trial drugs called "Green Goblin". He ships it to J.J. Jameson under the name of "Thomas Olson" and he and Peter quietly snicker over it for months following.
A few weeks from the incident, Peter shows up on Loki's doorstep with a pack of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. Loki opens the door, dressed in pajamas and with a fit of bed hair. Peter smiles cheerfully and lifts up his supplies.
"You have a gas stove. And you owe me." He reminds. Loki mentioned it months ago when Peter was working on an assignment in school and complained that he couldn't test a theory out on his and May's stove-top because it didn't have gasoline fueling it.
Loki looks at him for a second, then narrows his eyes. "If you're going to attempt to do chemistry in my kitchen, again, Spider, I swear—"
"No." Peter assures, "We're making s'mores."
Loki's eyebrows lift, "Oh. Yes, I'd forgotten."
Peter shakes his head, "You're hopeless. This is s'mores, Loki, you can't forget s'mores."
Loki's lips quiver upwards in a smile and he stands to the side to invite Peter into the apartment, then replies with fondness: "No, bróðir, I suppose not."