Chapter Text
Marc came back to himself in foggy fragments, the corners of his vision dark whilst his surroundings gradually came back into focus. He was immediately daunted by what he saw, the roar of his heartbeat cacophonous in his ears.
" Oh my God ." He felt the oscillation of the words leaving him, but not the sound that they made, the hand he brought to his chest was meant to be a self-comforting gesture but instead only added to his mounting horror. The whites of his fingers came away slick and red. He was temporarily glad that Steven was elsewhere, or he might have gagged at the sight.
At the sight of all of it.
The bodies were strewn haphazardly across the warehouse floor, people pinned to the walls with Moon Knight's crescent darts. Finn was prone at his feet, throat slitted open and dark hair matted with blood. Upon even further inspection, there was Peter, shoulder leaning heavily against one of the pillars that supported the balcony above. His fingers were closed tightly around his arm, stemming the flow of an injury that continued to seep into the fabric of his sleeve.
Marc balked, "Hey, kid- you okay?"
But when he stepped forward to console him, to find out the extent of the damage, Peter recoiled. There was a round, wetness permeating his gaze, making him look his age. He could tell the kid regretted the action as soon as he did it, but Marc's heart fell right through his stomach regardless and all of his actions came to an immediate halt.
"I won't hurt you," He promised, masking the hurt that he felt, "I just wanna have a look at your arm. Can I come closer?"
"Wait, are you-" Peter shifted, wincing when the movement jostled his arm, "-Marc? S'that you?"
"Yeah, yeah it's me."
"Oh. Okay," his mouth dropped open a fraction, recognition replacing his wary gaze, "listen, I think there's, there's something you should kn-"
The moment was disrupted, tilted off of its axis while Marc hurtled into intermittent castings of darkness. The world was swept out from under him in an instant.
☽
Marc woke up on a train. Peter was drooling on his shoulder, jaw slack. He had a familiar jacket cloaking his shoulders, obscuring the state of his arm from view, and some rising instinct made him want to lift it up and look.
[ Is that our coat? ]
Steven sounded groggy, accent stilted by an unfamiliar drawl. His presence was faint at most, probably only surfacing at the sudden surge of protectiveness that Marc had stamped down. He replied with a measly grumble, the train rattling as it crept along the tracks.
[ Yeah, I think so. ] Sitting atop his knees was none other than Peter's messenger bag, the strap shredded and torn. When he peeled back the flap he saw several sets of mangled papers, a camera with a shattered lens, and the Spider-man suit crammed into the very bottom. Marc carefully closed it back up, teeth pressing harshly together.
[ That could have gone very badly . ]
[ I know. ]
[ Did our third step in? ]
[ Yeah. ]
[ What'd they do? ]
[ You- ] Marc could have choked on that pervading stench of blood that had soaked the air back at the warehouse, convinced that a thin layer of it still coated the lining of his lungs, [ -you don't wanna know. Trust me, Steven, you don't. ] The conviction of it was ripped right out of his chest. The heel of his palm found the gouge of his eye, where he dug in until he saw spots, sighing ruggedly.
"Fuck," letting the expletive hang morbidly in the air, "just… fuck ."
[ Marc , ] Steven's placating tone took off an edge he hadn't even known was there, [ We'll be okay, mate. I bloody know we will. Let's get Pete home and worry about the kinks later, alright? I could take the wheel if you're feeling the need for a little shut-eye, even. I can tell you're knackered. ]
His fingers traveled to his temple, massaging the divet of his skull where a headache had formed. His head dipped into a nod.
[ Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Steven. ]
[ No problem. I'll let you know if we ran into any dire straits. Have a good sleep. ]
☽
Marc was cradling Peter's wrist in a delicate grasp, the teen's shirt torn up the sleeve to expose the bullet hole that marred the skin of his bicep. He realized that they were at their hotel, a first-aid kit next to him on the table. There was a receipt there too, telling him that it'd been purchased on a whim. A smart move, considering that they didn't have anything other than conventional painkillers filling the bathroom cabinet.
Steven's voice trickled in, [ Thought you could take the reins on this one, maybe? I just, uh… the blood. ]
"Right," He rotated Peter's arm slightly, studying the pinch in his expression as he did so. There were tweezers set aside that he readily picked up, "I'll have to fish the bullet out before you heal over it, okay? Deep breaths, kid."
"I've had a building collapse on top of me," Peter babbled, anxiety kicking in when he realized that it was no longer Steven's careful hands rotating his arm, "and I've been hit by a speeding train. This- this is nothing . Basically a flesh wound."
"All of those statements were very concerning, Peter."
"Just- just do it, okay? Bullets are a walk in the park. How'd you- how'd you know about my healing factor, anyways? People usually just think I'm strong and stick to walls."
Marc dabbed some of the pooling blood away from the dip of his elbow, "We spar. I know I've hit you hard enough to bruise. But every time I see you afterward, they're yellow, almost healed. I do enough observing to figure out things on my own- the important stuff, anyway. Steven's a little more attentive to those kinds of details," and suddenly plunged the ends of the tweezers into Peter's arm, swiveling until they clasped the tip of the bullet. Peter howled, his leg kicking out and knocking against Marc's chair, wood splintering and startling them both.
Marc slapped a hand on the table to keep himself steady and yanked the bullet out, dropping it and the tweezers simultaneously to grapple Peter back into calmness.
"All done," He hurriedly soothed, "no more digging. Just need to wait for your super healing to kick in, nothing else. You're okay."
Peter sucked in a noisy breath of air, his face damp with a glistening layer of sweat, "okay, okay, okay. That fucking sucked ."
☽
"Language!" That was Steven lurching forward, clasping both of Peter's hands in his own. Despite his chiding, concern rolled off of him in enormous waves, a downturn of his eyebrows morphing his face.
"What? But Marc gets to curse all the time!"
"Well, Marc's got a potty mouth. Don't be like him, you hear?"
[ Hey!]
"But Marc's cool!"
"And- and you're still bleeding ," the color started leaving his face, "Oh, Gods. let me- Let me just…" He trailed off, picking up the rag that Marc had used earlier to press it to the wound. He felt markedly better without the droplets staring him directly in the eye, shoulders drooping.
"...How on Earth did you get shot in the first place, Pete?"
"It's-" Peter stopped to rub at the begrudging tear that gathered beneath his eye, "-not. Not that big a deal, really. I just kind of got caught in the crossfire. Your other alter is super intense."
[ Shit . ]
"You- you met?" Steven was unable to fight the tremor that enveloped the words, "did they say anything? Talk to you? Did you-" A sparkle of tentative hope unfurling in his chest, "did you maybe… get a name?"
Peter fidgeted beneath the attention, gaze dropping to the carpeted floor, "You haven't met him, then," He confirmed, "he told me his name was Jake. And he protected me, sort of," pausing to shakily exhale, "by… by killing all those people. All of them. It was a bloodbath, Steven. And then afterward he…"
Steven stopped himself from fractionally increasing the pressure of his grip, held taut by the anticipation. He'd known their third, Jake , was capable of killing, but these details had him flush with the desire to know more. He was done with being the person left in the dark, knowing nothing.
"What happened afterward?"
"He said he was going to take me home. And he was really, erm, curt? And cussed a lot in Spanish. I think I freaked him out a little when I dozed off on his shoulder."
"Oh." He'd retreated sometime while they were on the train, then. Steven was unsure whether this was good or bad news.
[ So his name's Jake , ] Marc said, sounding both reverent and haunted at the news, [ That's better than nothing. ]
"We knew he existed," Steven admitted quietly, following up with Peter, "but we've never, I don't know, talked or anything like that. We only started suspecting something during our final fight with Harrow, but when we started looking back, there were signs of him before that," sorrow rolled heavily in his gut, "I wonder how long he's been around, neither of us knowing a bloody thing. I can't imagine how lonely he must feel."
[ Are you seriously sympathizing with him right now?]
[ Does that bother you? ]
[ Fucking of course it does. ]
Peter placed his hands over Steven's, silently communicating that he would hold the rag in his stead, and his calloused fingers withdrew. There was still one more thing he needed to address, hesitancy palpable as he drew out the words.
"Pete," Steven started, cautioning, "I am- I am so sorry you got caught up in our mess. We should've been able to protect you from it and we couldn't and I just- I can't apologize enough . You absolutely deserve better than that. Than us . And we have no right to ask for your forgiveness after what we've just put you through. Whatever you decide next, Peter, Marc and I will respect that. We wouldn't give you anything less. A bloody awful influence the both of us have been, haven't we?" A self-deprecating laugh broke up his apology, "And we're supposed to be the adults, looking out for you. Look how that turned out."
Steven settled heavily back into his seat, ignoring the tilt stemming from the newly-broken leg. It creaked under the glide of his weight and he was startled by Peter's abrupt movement, capturing Steven's bunched-up sleeve like he suspected he was about to get up and leave.
"Don't," lilt desperate, bordering raw, "you- you guys are my friends . I would never- I can't even fathom the thought- you. You can't just say stuff like that, okay?" A sniffle followed. For the first time since being kidnapped, he seemed on the verge of genuine tears.
"Okay, okay, I understand. I won't go anywhere, promise," His mouth pursed, "I just… worry. We're putting you in so much unnecessary danger just by being seen with you. What happened tonight could easily happen again. And you're sure you're willing to put up with that?"
"... I enable the Bugle's attempts at criminalizing Spider-man by selling them my selfies so I can afford rent," Peter's grip relaxed, his usual snark encroaching his admission, "I'm willing to put up with a lot, apparently."
"That's- fair if I'm being quite honest."
[ He'd still be safer with us looking after him. ]
He could see Marc's reflection in the microwave over Peter's shoulder, reading his posture and the tense lines on his face. He'd seemed satisfied with how the conversation was proceeding thus far, but something about his aversion to meeting his eye had Steven dragging his attention back to Peter's face.
"You remind him of someone," Steven said, his emotional intelligence boiling over. He could feel Marc burning holes in the side of his head with his gaze alone, daring him to continue on, "... a little brother he used to have. He treats me the same sometimes too, protective and overbearing but overall… well-meaning . What's one more pseudo-sibling, you know? We'd be more than happy to have you on this little train-wreck of ours, though I do have to warn you- Marc's probably going to double down on training after tonight, and not only for your own sake. He's bloody awful at showing it, but Marc worries about twice as much as I do."
"I can kind of tell," Peter pressed two fingers in the space between his eyebrows, exaggerating the fold created there when he bunched them together, "he gets these wrinkles right between his eyes when he's having a serious moment of emotional turmoil. It's kind of funny."
[ Oh my god. ]
"Oh my god," Steven couldn't help his snicker in response, hand slapping his knee, "you're exactly right, you know what? I've noticed that too."
[ I hate both of you. ]
☽
It'd been exactly one month since the incident with Finn, and Marc was admittedly surprised when his phone pinged with a message, a text from Peter, asking if he'd be up for donuts and coffee. It was an out-of-the-blue invitation and he had no reason to say no, but before he had the time to even tap out a response Peter was elaborating.
[WEB-KID:] there's someone I want you to meet
Well, shit .
[YOU:] This isn't some sort of elaborate trick is it?
[WEB-KID:] of course not!
[WEB-KID:] …
[WEB-KID:] well, maybe?
[WEB-KID:] i'm more or less trying to trap you in a conversation because i have something important to tell you
[WEB-KID:] something i haven't told anyone
[YOU:] This is starting to sound serious. Are you safe?
[WEB-KID:] yes? why?
[YOU:] Well, this came on kind of suddenly. Are you sure I'm the person you want to be confiding in?
[WEB-KID:] you helped me deal with a body
[YOU:] Yes. And?
[WEB-KID :] only true crime-fighting bros do stuff like that!
[YOU:] Oh my god. Peter.
[WEB-KID:] but it's true! i don't really have any other friends i'd call up for that sort of thing
[YOU :] You're literally a fetus. There's no way I was going to leave you to deal with a dead. Fucking. Body . I have a functioning moral compass, believe it or not.
[WEB-KID:] …so you only helped me because you felt obligated to?
Marc, at some point, had reclined so far back onto the arm of the couch that his phone landed directly on his nose when his arm jolted at the jarring bluntness of Peter's statement.
"Fuck." He rubbed some of the redness blotching his nose and sat up. Marc was so shit with kids. This is why he usually only taught him hand-to-hand; Steven was so much better at the buddy-buddy stuff, his jubilant behavior too much for any one person to withstand. For the longest time, the only exception had been Steven's boss, Donna, but they'd left her in the dust after the bathroom debacle. He picked up his phone again and saw Peter typing and Marc realized with a start that he'd have to reply soon or else the kid would think- he would think -
[WEB-KID:] kidding! i know you're a softie at heart
[WEB-KID :] and super bad with words. i think this is why you don't have too many friends
[YOU:] I have Steven and
He hit send too soon. Marc whacked his fist on the back of the couch, and alternated into pacing across the floor instead. He racked his brain for names. Something. Anyone.
[WEB-KID:] and…?
[YOU:] Layla.
[WEB-KID:] i literally have no idea who that is? AND you forgot to mention me!
[WEB-KID:] i honestly feel so hurt right now /s
[YOU:] Was that a typo?
[WEB-KID:] what
[YOU:] /s
[WEB-KID:] omg
[WEB-KID:] dude, it's a tone indicator
[WEB-KID:] im being sarcastic
[WEB-KID:] and i know your ability to tell social cues is subpar, so
[YOU:] So you decided to use /s to demonstrate sarcasm. In a text.
[WEB-KID:] exactly!
[YOU:] I don't know how I should be feeling about this.
[WEB-KID:] however you want to feel about it i guess? i just didn't want you to think I was srs about my feelings being hurt
[YOU:] Okay. Thanks.
[WEB-KID:] is it possible to sound constipated over a text? bc you're really selling it rn
[YOU:] I'm leaving now.
[WEB-KID:] WAIT!!!
[WEB-KID:] i was being srs, before
[WEB-KID:] about wanting you to meet someone? and about telling you something!!
[YOU:] where'd you have in mind?
[WEB-KID:] there's this place, peter pan donut and pastry?
[WEB-KID:] hold on, let me find the address
☽
Marc was wrong-footed, trying to collect himself at a street corner minutes before he was supposed to meet up with Peter. The place he had asked Marc to wait for him had a ridiculously silly-ass name and he found himself reluctant to go in as a result. Plus, what if he ran into whoever he was supposed to meet and made a bad first impression before they even had a chance to be introduced? It was completely likely to happen, counting on his luck.
But he didn't have much time to spend dwelling, seeing Peter careen around the corner on the same block with worrying speed. He all but skidded to a halt in front of Marc, gripping the strap of his satchel like his life depended on it, face flushed pink.
Marc knew about his enhanced stamina and wondered how long he'd been running to wind him so drastically.
"Sorry!" The word was almost a physical force expelled from his lungs, one of his hands withstanding the gradual slump of his body on the adjacent street sign, "it was- it was just, the Bugle's a ways away and I didn't want to suit up and swing here and I swear not a single taxi pulled up to curb no matter how many I tried to wave down. It was like, I don't know, the universe itself trying to sabotage me! I wasn't trying to be late. And these things happen to me a lot, like a lot a lot, and I've been working on it, seriously. I left like twenty minutes early!"
Marc, suddenly equipped with the patience of a Saint, waited for him to finish, then glimpsed down at the watch adorning his wrist, "... You're actually right on time."
Peter sputtered, "Wait, what?"
"You're not late. Now, are we getting donuts and coffee or what?"
"Oh. Huh. I must be a faster sprinter than I thought?"
He started trailing behind Marc as he began towards the shop's front door, "Which is probably something you should learn to keep under wraps. Those kinds of displays of your enhanced abilities will get you scouted, or worse, found out ."
"My identity, you mean?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
Peter hesitated, "I… I don't really have to worry about that? Not anymore, I mean."
"... What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm gonna tell you! Seriously , that's why I invited you here in the first place."
"And why does it have to be here?"
"Oh! Because my girlfriend works here."
" Oh ." Marc had no idea. It wasn't usually a topic that came up between the two.
"-well, my sort-of girlfriend. We're kind of on a break right now because she has no idea who I am."
Peter was a master at throwing Marc by intentionally withholding any form of context whatsoever, "I hope 'thing' you're about to tell me will clear all of this up because you're getting real close to sending me into an early grave, Peter."
"It will! I promise."
Marc held the door for him and kept his eyes planted on the teen as he ducked under his arm. It was blessedly empty, save for the girl working the counter, and Peter waltzed right up to her.
"Hey! Um- hi."
"The 'Peter Parker' kid, right?" She had disspationate mien, as if the statement in itself had only come to her once she saw him. The number of question marks looming over Marc's head only grew, and he went ahead and joined their cozy little space on opposing sides of the countertop.
"I'm Marc," He said, beginning to extend his hand-
Only to have Peter snatch it back down at his side with unnatural speed, his smile forming something tenser as opposed to nervous.
"Right!" He said, brushing right over Marc's introduction, "um, we'll just get two coffees. And if, if you don't mind, could you turn up the music a little? We're gonna have a bit of a sensitive conversation, but I promise we won't be long. Ten minutes tops. You'd be doing me a really big favor."
The girl behind the counter, Michelle Jones , her name tag read, eyed him warily up and down before conceding, "... Yeah, okay. Enjoy your stay."
Peter bobbed his head and Marc stepped in to pay for both of their drinks while he was distracted, afterward opting to occupy a booth in the furthest corner of the room. The warmth in his cup was a welcome reprieve, but he was reluctant to sip from it yet, instead cradling it in his palms and sapping away the meager warmth that it provided.
Peter finally sat across from him, "So what I'm about to tell you is going to sound so incredibly insane and complicated that I wouldn't be surprised if you asked me to explain it to you multiple times."
"Try me."
"Well, you know Doctor Strange, right? Powerful sorcerer that lives in an ancient sanctum with a super awesome sentient cape?"
"Yes?"
"Well, he cast this spell…"