#endgamespoilersahead

[intothestarkerverse]

Highway to Hell

The Best Laid Plans of Spider-Men

Summary:

To respect Endgame, I can tell you nothing but that this will take place post-Endgame and deal with my own cathartic way of working through it. For a more detailed and spoilery description, click to read the first chapter.

Read on AO3

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Spoilery Summary ~~~  Consumed by guilt over Tony's death, Peter devises a very ill conceived plan to bring Tony back to life...but he isn't prepared for his plan to work, or for the repercussions that follow.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

The words echo. I can’t escape them. When I close my eyes. When I try to sleep. Everywhere I look. Everything I see. Everything I hear. Every color. Every taste. Every smell. Everything reminds me.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

He did it for me. That’s what they said afterwords. Did they think it would make me feel better? Probably. They don’t understand, but I don’t expect them to. So many things I never said out loud to anybody. Things I felt. Things I wanted to do. Wanted to say. I should have. Secrets don’t do me any good now. Even rejection is better than never knowing.

You always think you have more time.

I should have stayed on the bus.

But I would have still been snapped. I would have still died. And Tony would have still come home to find me gone and done the same thing he did before. The same stupid, brave, beautiful, terrible, wonderful, awful thing he did.

My heart hurts.

Everything hurts.

Until one day, it stopped hurting because I realized it wasn’t over. Didn’t have to be, anyway.

I woke up from an uneasy sleep filled with the same guilty thoughts…but with a plan. Admittedly, it’s a stupid plan. If Tony was here he would probably do everything he could possibly think of to keep me from doing it. But…he isn’t there. There is no one to stop me, and I’m not gonna stop myself. So…guess it’s now or never, right?

There’s this really old Greek myth about a poet whose wife dies. He goes to hell to get her back, basically. It doesn’t end that well for him…but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad plan. I’m not a poet. I’m a scientist. STEM and the arts. Very different. We tackle problems differently. I’m not going to fall for the things that Orpheus fell for…and I’m going to get Tony back.

As soon as I figure out how you make a deal with the devil…

~ ~ ~

“There’s no such thing as the devil, Peter.”

He’s frustrated with me. I can tell by the tone of his voice and the way Cloaky is fluttering. Doctor Strange is pacing in front of my chair in the Sanctum. The Sanctum was my first stop after breakfast. I’m skipping school. I shouldn’t be, but some things are more important than education.

The doctor didn’t like my plan. I mean, I didn’t really expect him to? I told you, I know it’s a terrible plan. But still, I thought he might understand why I’m doing this and help me anyway. Take pity on the kid who loses everything and everyone he loves. Really, I kind of want to hang onto May’s legs like a toddler because I’m so afraid she’ll go next. Then I really WOULD be alone.

He stops pacing and turns on me.

Boy does he look worried. He scrubs a hand over his goatee. He presses his fingers to his closed eye lids. He sighs and and mutters a curse he doesn’t think I heard. But I did. He’s going to tell me to see a therapist. They always do. As if soft science is the answer to my problems. No offense to Sam, even though he’s kind of a jerk and the only cool thing about him are those wings, but I don’t really think therapy is going to help me at all. Only thing that can help me has cloven feet and horns. Well, assuming the devil looks like Tim Curry in that really old movie Legend. I sure hope not, cause that thing gave me nightmares when I saw it.

Last year.

“Peter…” He squats down in front of the chair, hands braced on the arm rests at my left and right. Pinning me down. Making me listen to him. Maybe halfway resembling a hug?

C’mon, Doc, we’re not there yet.

I can feel something soft brush my fingers in my lap and I look down to see the scarlet cloth of Cloaky petting me reassuringly. Yeah, that’s not a good sign either. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.” No shit Sherlock. Everybody’s lost somebody by the time they get to your age. But did your someone die saving the universe, and did he get himself into that position by trying to save you?

“I lost my sister when I was your age.”

That’s a no. I try really hard not to roll my eyes because that would be insensitive. I mean his sister did die, and that sucks, but hasn’t the doc ever heard of not comparing tragedies. Mine’s bigger anyway, dude.

“She was the person I cared about most in the world, and losing her was terrible. If someone had told me I could make a deal with the devil to get her back, I probably would have…but you can’t do that, Peter. No one can. Those are cautionary tales about making deals with people without understanding the terms. They’re not real. Heaven and hell are not real.”

“H..How do you know?” I hate how whiny my voice sounds. Strained like I’m holding back tears, and I’m totally not…because I can feel the wetness on my cheeks and I 100% know I’m already crying. So there. “Wizards aren’t supposed to be real either, but you’re real and you’re here. You have lots of magic books, right? So…so go look at them and find out what I have to do to get Tony back.”

“You can’t get him back, Peter.”

I stand up abruptly, knocking Doctor Strange backwards and away from me. Only Cloaky keeps him from falling to the floor. As it is, he’s kind of hovering in a weird seated position for a moment before Cloaky helps him to stand again. “You’re going to feel really dumb when I do, Doctor Strange. Really,really dumb.”

“Peter…”

I don’t care what he has to say. I really don’t. I don’t even care if he calls May. I know he doesn’t have her number, but he has Tony’s old number and Pepper definitely does…but I don’t care. I don’t care what any of them say or how stupid this idea may sound to any of them. I’m going to do it.

Trouble is…I don’t know who else to turn to.

Doctor Strange is the only wizard I know. Thor’s not really around. Not that I think he knows the devil either. Since he’s not REALLY a god. There are a few occult stores in Queens. I could go there, look at some books, buy some magic thinga-ma-jigs like they use in the movies, but…I don’t know. If things like that really work, you’d think there’d be a lot more deals with the devil going down, huh?

I end up walking. Hands in my pockets, head down, lost in thought. I need a plan B, but plan A wasn’t even really much of a plan so it’s not looking good.

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. It’s pretty dark. There aren’t any people around. I think I walked most of the day? I don’t even recognize this part of the city, so that’s probably a bad sign. I’ve gotten really good at navigating the city since I started as Spider-Man, but I guess the city looks different from up there.

There’s a sound behind me, the rhythmic thud of footsteps.

Great.

Someone’s going to try to mug me.

I have web shooters on under my shirt. I can probably even activate that Ironspider suit before the guy gets any closer…but I doubt I even need a suit to stop a mugger.

And then it hits me.

I’ve never felt anything like it.

Spidey Sense always feels uncomfortable. Like static shock after you slid your socks on carpet or like the beginnings of a stress headache or like the burn of a sneeze before you sneeze all wrapped up into one. This time, it’s like all of those things have been multiplied by a hundred. I feel like my head is literally about to explode and everything in me is telling to run as fast and as far as I can away from those footsteps.

But I don’t.

I don’t because I’ve turned around to look in their direction and I’ve seen what’s coming.

Human sized. Not big. But still really fucking scary. Tim Curry in Legend. Bright red. Curved horns. Cloven hooves. His black eyes are staring straight at me and I’m frozen.

My last thought before he closes the last few yards that separate us is that Doctor Strange probably shouldn’t have quit his day job.

[intothestarkerverse]

Highway to Hell Pt. 4

Summary:  Once again, I will reveal no details about the story’s plot to respect spoilers for Endgame.  If you want to read the fic, click below and have at it, though!

Read on AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“So, the Wizard, huh, you just have a thing for surly old men?”

I snort softly and hazard a sidelong glance at Mr. Stark as he takes a seat beside me on the sofa, sitting askance so that he’s still facing me, giving me his undivided attention.  My leg burns where his knee touches me, but I try very hard not to let that show.  “Yeah…Doctor Strange isn’t really my type…”

“Good to hear.  Didn’t think he was.  So why are you getting your sorcerer’s apprentice on then, kid?”

I shrug, pushing my glasses back up my nose again as they slide down.  I don’t really want to look at Mr. Stark.  I don’t want to look anywhere but at my hands fisted in my lap and looking down makes my glasses slide.  I’d almost forgotten what it was like to wear glasses which is dumb since I’ve worn them more in my life than I’ve not worn them…guess I should get used to them again.

The whole world is muffled now.  I guess I got used to feeling everything with super-senses, and readjusting to human levels isn’t going to be easy.  It sounds like I’m listening to people talk under water.  My hands feel like I’ve been sleeping on them all night, numb and prickly.  I can feel the pressure I’m putting on my fingers, but I can’t quite make out the texture of my jeans or the sofa cushion or even my own hands when I press them together.  The tea tasted wet, not sweet or hot or anything but wet against my tongue and my throat.  I feel like I’m made of cotton.  I’m sure Doctor Strange could explain it all with brain surgery speak, what with my brain learning to process such intense stimuli for so long…

Will I always feel this way?  

Will I readjust?

Is this what my life is now?  And if it is, shouldn’t I be more afraid of what that means?

But all I can do as is steal a glance at Mr. Stark and remind myself that it worked and that it was worth it.  A cotton life with Mr. Stark living and breathing is better than the life I was going to live in a world without him.

“Doctor Strange is surprisingly open-minded.  I mean…he…he wasn’t open minded about the selling my soul thing, but mostly he just lets me talk to him about the things I’m feeling and thinking and he doesn’t make me feel bad about them.  He doesn’t tell May.  He doesn’t try to give me advice.  He just listens.  I needed somebody to listen to me…Dr. Banner tried to help me with the science stuff, but Doctor Strange listens…”

“I can listen.”  Mr. Stark sounds almost defensive, and I find myself frowning at him.  No, Mr. Stark, you’re good at so many, many things, but listening to me isn’t one of them.  “In fact, there’s a lot of things I’d like to hear from you right now, Pete.  Like why you did it, we can start there? I know I’m a damn fine teacher, kid, but even I’m not good enough to justify this…”

I let out a another snort.  “You’re an okay teacher, Mr. Stark.  I’ve had better.  I’ve had worse, but I’ve had better.  That’s definitely not why I did it.”

“If you hadn’t just made a deal with the devil to bring me back to life, I’d be offended.”

He was joking about it already?  I can’t help but smile, actually looking up to meet his gaze and hold it for a few minutes until I get a good chance to read the expression in his eyes.  I don’t like it.  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that level of guilt.  He’s really good at the self-hatred, but this…this is a new low, even for him.  “Mr. Stark…”

“You ruined your life for me, Kid.  You think that’s what I want?  You think I’d want to live knowing that because of me you’re less than you could be?”

“I lived for fourteen years before that spider bite, Mr. Stark, I can live without it again.  The powers were fun, and I loved being Spider-Man, but there are things I love more…”  And Spider-Man isn’t all that I am.  I’m not nothing without the powers, I’m just not..super.

Mr. Stark is shaking his head, pushing up from the sofa to begin pacing anxiously in front of me.  “You don’t know what you want, Kid.  No one does at your age.”

I don’t want to get mad, I really don’t.  After mourning Mr. Stark for so long, I want to hug him and just enjoy the fact that he’s alive again, but I guess I can’t help myself, because his words spark something and I can’t really stop the words from coming out of my mouth.  “Which age?  Cause my passport says I’m twenty-two, now.  I mean, I wasn’t here for all twenty-two of those years, only seventeen of them, but the government hasn’t figured out what to do about all of that yet.  So, as far as the world is concerned…I’m twenty-two.” I shrug, not hesitating to let that fact sink in before I continue.

“And I’m sick and tired of all of the adults in my life thinking they know everything about me because I’m younger than they are.  You don’t.  None of you do.  You either think I’m too young to have real feelings, or maybe just that my feelings don’t matter until I’m old enough to get drafted and buy alcohol and get a hotel room in Panama City.  But that’s really dumb.  It’s insulting. I’m not some dumb kid.  I’m smart.  My IQ is pretty damn high, thank you very much, and I may make mistakes…but the rest of you make plenty of them, too.  You want me to list how many mistakes the senior members of the Avengers have made?  Because I can.  You included.”

“That’s not necessary, Pete, I’ve got a pretty good tally of my own.”

“Good.  You should.  You may have lost your parents when you were young, Mr. Stark, but that doesn’t make you an authority on what it’s like for me to grow up without mine.  Doctor Strange may have lost his sister, but that isn’t the same as what happened to Uncle Ben or you.  Captain Rogers may have gotten super-soldiery, but that’s not the same as being bitten by a spider against your will and getting sick and getting powers and not knowing what’s going on or what to do and having to figure all of that out on your own because there’s no one to turn to, talk to, no one trust.  He had a whole army and Agent Carter and the Howling Commandos.  For months, I had me.  Just me.  Even after Germany, I still just had me until you actually decided to pay attention to me.  You all think you can relate to me because there’s some half-assed parallel between my life and yours, but you can’t.  You don’t.  I took responsibility for the well being of a whole damned burrough when I got my super powers…because that was the right thing to do.  I fought criminals in a homemade ‘onesie’ with webshooters I made dumpster diving, and I did all of that before you came looking for me, ready to recruit me to fight in your war for you.  I’m grateful, Mr. Stark, I am.  But you ignored me for months afterwords. Months when I was fighting on my own, trying to make something of myself.  Trying to be like you and the Avengers and without any guidance at all.  I took down the Vulture on my own in that same damned homemade suit because you were teaching me a lesson.  I had a building dropped on me.  I fought a supervillain on a plane without backup, without a parachute, with a half-assed plan, but dammit I did it.  You may not remember it, but I came to help you fight Thanos, too.  We went to space.  I fought a giant purple monster and I died.  I watched you die.  I’ve lived more life in seventeen years than most people do in seventy, so stop giving me shit about my feelings and about my age and recognize the fact that I may not have as many days under my belt, but they were damned important days and I made them count.”

I don’t think what I said helped Mr. Stark’s guilt and I instantly regret the way he’s just staring at me now with his dark eyes gone bright with something I’m not sure I can describe.  It’s not going to soften the blow, but…  “I may be young, Mr. Stark, younger than all of you…but I was no less a hero than all of you.  My feelings are every bit as valid as any of yours.  None of you ever gave a damn about them, but they mattered.  They still do, powers or not…and I’m not going to let you do what everyone else has done since you died and let you cheapen what I felt for you and try to turn it into something less than what it is because I don’t have gray hair or laugh lines or because I was enough of a man to admit that I needed a mentor and didn’t try to do this superhero thing on my own.  It’s ageist and it’s wrong and I’m tired, so tired, of the disrespect.  The one thing I really should have earned by now, from all of you, is your respect.”

My throat is burning by the time I’m done.  I think I’ve pushed my wounded vocal chords about as far as they’re going to go, and getting those last few words out was a struggle.  Still, they seem to have had some kind of an effect on Mr. Stark, because for once in his life he’s actually quiet.  Staring at me.  I don’t know what that look means, and I’m afraid to say anything else, so I just sit and I wait..for what, I don’t know.

He doesn’t sit beside me again, he kneels down in front of me, resting a hand on my knee and cocking his head as he keeps staring into my eyes.  “All right, Peter, so let’s say that you’re right and the rest of us are wrong…You care to tell me what it is you feel for me?”

No.  Absolutely not.  I’m not going to say it because I’ve gone over this scenario so many times that I know exactly how it’s going to play out, and no.  

Nope.  

Never.

If I hear him say the words, ‘not in that way’, than I’m going to lose it.

I just give a cowardly shake of my head but Mr. Stark isn’t having it.

“C’mon, Pete.  You said  it, I died.  You died.  You sold your powers to have me back here in front of you.  I’m trying to understand your reasoning here.  I’m willing to concede to your argument. You’re right.  You are a hero.  You earned my respect ten times over.  You’re the absolute best of us.  People think Rogers is a boy scout, but he’s got nothing on you.  You’re goodness and bravery and kindness to its core.  I deserve to know why you’d make that kind of sacrifice for me…and if you’re feelings are so valid, than you shouldn’t be afraid to express them.”

“I’m not afraid of my feelings, I’m afraid of yours.”  I wish I didn’t sound so petulant when I say that.

Mr. Stark sits back on his heels, looking at me through narrowed eyes and I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach.  “Spill it.”

I helplessly shake my head and look away, towards the closed door that Doctor Strange exited out of only a few minutes before.  He was the only one I ever told, and even though I’m pretty sure he didn’t approve, he’d kept it all to himself.  Even left me alone with Mr. Stark, now.  Did he want me to tell him?  Maybe.  It’s hard to know, really, but if I could face the devil but not Mr. Stark, what kind of coward does that make me?  Fine.  Hearing him say the words can’t hurt more than watching him die.  Can it?

“I…I think you’re great, Mr. Stark.  You care about people.  Not in an obvious way, it’s subtle.  You don’t think about it, you just care.  Someone falls, you pick them up.  Someone needs reassurance, you give it.  It’s an instinct, a reflex.  It’s just part of who you are and most of the time I don’t even think you realize you’re doing it.  I’ve heard the story about Cap and the grenade during basic training, but Mr. Stark, you do the same thing.  You fly into wormholes with nukes.  You fight purple aliens and you wield infinity stones.  You give everything you have, always. If someone has to trade their lives for the greater good, you’re always the one willing to make the exchange.  You’re hero a because you’re human but you fight alongside gods and super soldiers and you still manage to be earth’s greatest defender.  You act like your so full of yourself, but you’re just as insecure as the rest of us…you just show it differently.  You’re brave because you’re scared and you’re scarred both emotionally an physically and you’ve been through so much but you push yourself to keep going.  You can build arc reactors out of trash and invent new elements in less time than it takes my laptop hard drive to defrag.  You’re not the kind of man I want to be, Mr. Stark, you’re the kind of person I want to be with.  But you’re the only you there is…and you’re never going to love me…and…and that’s okay.  I get it.  I know it’s hopeless.  I know it’s never going to happen and you’re never going to love me that way but I love you anyway.  I accept it…I’ve accepted it for a long time…”

Mr. Stark is still just staring at me, and I think he might have stopped breathing.  Did I kill him?  God, that would suck…sell my powers to get him back and kill him with a declaration of love.

“You realize why, don’t you?  What people would say?  What they would think?”

Ugh, really?  That’s worse than ‘not that way’.  Really, Mr. Stark?  You had to go there?  “You only care about what people think when it comes to me, then, huh?  Cause you haven’t seemed to give two fucks about their opinion of you until now…”  I really can’t help myself, maybe because the feeling in my stomach is getting worse and it’s make me cranky.

“I’m too old…”

“I mean, not as old as you used to be…”  I’m tired. I’m starting to feel really sick and my throat is burning and every word I’m saying feels like I’m gargling broken glass.  I know this.  I recognize this, and my verbal filter is slipping.  “If it’s a no, just say no, Mr. Stark.  I may not be Spider-Man anymore, but I’m stronger than you think I am.  I can handle rejection.”

“What if I can’t handle rejecting you?”

That shuts me up.  Now it’s my turn to stare at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed into a grimace, nose scrunched and brow furrowed.  What the heck is that supposed to mean, anyway?  

“You think I’m so great, Peter, but you have no idea how singularly amazing you are, do you?  Everything about you.  You’re right, you are strong.  There isn’t another Avenger on our roster that could have fought alone as long as you did.  You’re a self-made man.  I’d like to think I helped your come into your own a little faster, but you never needed me  You’re the best of us, Peter.  The absolute best.  Selfless and smart and brave and good.  All of our best qualities and none of our worst.  You have your downfalls, because no one is perfect, but you’re about as fucking perfect as any person I’ve ever met.  I’m only earth’s greatest defender because the world hasn’t had a chance to meet you yet.  Powers or no powers, Peter, you could change the world if you set your mind to it.  You deserve someone as amazing as you are, not some washed up billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…”

“And what I want doesn’t matter?”

Tony chuckles softly.  “Was it dying that made you so sassy, Peter Parker, or is that a side effect of the devil business?”

“Both probably.  And don’t deflect.  Answer the question.  Does what I want not matter?”

“It matters very much, Peter.  But I don’t think you can know if you truly want something you’ve never had.”  The statement has be confused for a moment before I realize that Mr. Stark is rising.  The hand on my knee has come to rest on the sofa beside my leg.  His other is planted on the back of the sofa next to the opposite shoulder.  He’s so close that I can smell the toothpaste he used that morning and the subtle aroma of aftershave that costs more than May’s apartment. My brain isn’t working.  I still don’t know what it is happening until I feel the warmth of his breath and then the soft brush of lips against mine.  Silk and sandpaper.  It’s the first thing since giving up my powers that I’ve actually felt, and it makes me feel weightless.  I don’t want it to end, I never want it to end.

It has to end.

It has to end right fucking now.

My hands go from resting on his shoulders to pushing against his chest as hard as I can,   He breaks contact looking worried, as if he thinks I actually disliked that kiss.  But no, that’s not the problem.

He barely has time to move away from me before I feel the bile and thicker things rising in my throat.  I barely have time to twist to the side to avoid coating him in retch.  I’m so embarrassed that I want to die, but my stomach still hurts and I feel awful.  I want to apologize to Mr. Stark, but before I can get the words out, I realize that Mr. Stark is already yelling for Doctor Strange and he sounds…frantic.

That’s when I taste the copper in my mouth and I look down to see the blood red hue of the stain I’ve made on the floor with my sick.

That’s not normal…

[intothestarkerverse]

Highway to Hell (Part 2)

The Devil Went Down to Queens...

Summary:  Once again, I will reveal no details about the story’s plot to respect spoilers for Endgame.  If you want to read the fic, click below and have at it, though!

Read on AO3

Part 1

I can smell him.

The stench of his fear is a cloyingly sweet aroma that caresses the back of my throat and makes my mouth water.

Humans are so gullible and weak. They will believe anything just because they’re so afraid it is true. I have built an empire on the superstitions of this earth and it’s people. Their fears solidify my power.

This one.

He will bring a prize to my collection that I have coveted for quite some time. Never have I found desperation enough to provoke him into a business arrangement. His soul is too good, too pure, too filled with a need to help others. That will make his destruction all the more satisfying.

I can see his hands trembling at his sides as I approach. He fists them, stuffing them into the pockets of his jeans when he sees my gaze trained upon them. Though his fear is palpable on the air, he stands his ground and does not avert his gaze.

Brave.

Stupid.

But brave.

He says nothing, does not move, does not even remove his gaze from mine as I stop within arm’s reach of the boy.

“Peter,” He does not flinch when I use his name. He does not look away. He still does not speak. He simply watches me, his pupils pinpricks of fear in a honey-colored sea. “I believe we have a business matter to discuss.”

For a moment, just a moment, a corner of his lips quivers up into a half smile. “Yeah, guess you could say I’ve come to bargain.”

I do not share his humor. He is no Master of the Mystic Arts, and I am no Dormammu. I find it amusing that the wizard has shared this tale with the boy and that the boy thinks I am as easily fooled as the Faltine. The sovereign of the Dark Dimension thinks he needs to consume entire worlds to strengthen himself. I know better. I choose my meals carefully. I prefer to savor it than wantonly gorge myself on every soul I encounter. “What do you have to bargain with, boy?”

I watch his eyes narrow, lips drawn to one side in a pensive frown before he answers. “What do you want? My…my soul?”

I cannot help but laugh, and the sound does not seem to reassure the boy who backs away a step, seemingly without thinking. “Enslaving you in my dimension would not bring me much pleasure, I’m afraid. Watching you suffer would, but not long enough to make a matter like reshaping your reality worth the time and effort. If I’m going to bring the dead back to life, I will need something infinitely more valuable…I want your powers.”

“M..my powers, but…” It is not the answer the boy is expecting. He takes another step back, a hand rising to rub the back of his neck as he considers the terms of the arrangement. His gaze is directed to the street in front of us now. I expect him to take much longer to consider my offer than he does. “I have conditions.”

My head cants slowly. He has conditions? The boy thinks he can outsmart me.

Let him try.

“What are your conditions, boy?”

The pretty, fragile human swallows forcefully, an audible sound. “My powers…you can’t undo the spider bite. There are people I’ve helped, lives I’ve saved, crimes I’ve stopped. If I didn’t do the things I’ve done since I was Spider-Man, than…people would get hurt. Doctor Strange might have died on the ship and then Mr. Stark wouldn’t have had to use the stones like he did…and that’s not what I want. If you take them, my powers, you take them from this moment and not from the past.”

I nod.

“And Mr. Stark…you can’t bring him back wrong. He was stabbed on Titan before…and the Stones did…they did awful stuff to him when he used them…I want him back like he was before…” He stops, seemingly trying to pinpoint a precise moment in time. “Before the aliens came to take Doctor Strange’s necklace. Before they fought. No injuries. No sickness. Mr. Stark the way he was that morning. And you can’t interfere in his life or his life span or his cause of death or anything. He doesn’t die cause of anything you do or anything anyone else does for you. You can’t mess with his life once I do this. Once I give you this. You bring him back healthy and happy and you leave him alone.”

Not quite as stupid as I thought. The boy appears proud of himself, reassured by the loopholes he has closed.

If only he knew how many he had still left for me to exploit. If only he knew what he was giving me.

Peter Parker has no idea what his powers truly mean or what I can do with them once I have them…

“This deal is satisfactory. Let me take your powers, and the Iron Man will live again. Your conditions will be met. You have the word of Mephisto.” I hold out my hand to him. He looks uncertain about what to do, but finally reaches out with trembling fingers. The moment his skin brushes mine, I feel it. With my free hand I grab his wrist, pulling him in closer, bearing down upon his hand with the full weight of my fist. A small cry escapes his lips, the whimper rising in pitch and volume until it has become a scream that contorts his face. Pale skin ignites in shades of lavender and crimson as he shrieks. The pain drives him to his knees on the cement. His free hand claws at the ground, fingernails breaking and leaving thin trails of blood in their wake. Tears scorch his cheeks and the agony of what I am doing to him can be seen written clearly on his angelic features. I can hear the moment his vocal chords have been exhausted and his scream dies into a rasping cough.

I let go of him and he falls, a huddled mass of human flesh on the cement. He’s trembling all over, fingers pressed first against his eyes and then his hears, opening and closing his mouth as if a bad taste persists on his tongue.

“The deed is done, Peter Parker…”

No longer visible to the human eye, I remain a spectral presence at the fringes of their reality, watching as the figure that was not there a moment before tries to make sense of his surroundings.

He stands in the middle of the dark alley, looking around with wide eyes filled with suspicion. He is in the process of going on the defensive, expecting an attack, expecting everything but what he sees…the broken boy on the pavement in front of him with barely the strength to lift a hand. His gaze somehow still finds the familiar figure, though, and a barely audible rasping of “Mr. Stark?” Can be faintly heard as the man drops to his knees.

“Kid? What the fuck happened to you?"  A broken sob is the only answer he gets...that and the desperate clawing of a single hand at at his jeans, a hand that seizes the older man’s with much more strength that I thought I'd left him.  "…Hey, kid, hey...it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here now…”

It is not okay, Tony Stark. Not for you. Not for Peter Parker. Not for your world. But for me…things are much better than just…okay.