Chapter Text
Ms. Storm is a little less awkward around him after that night, though she still doesn’t seem to have a solid idea of how to act around him. Ben seems the most comfortable around him of the four of them, but even he’s a little weird.
So Peter makes himself scarce.
He patrols more often, since he can’t take full on assignments without Mr. Stark or Aunt May might actually ground him. Even just hanging out on rooftops and stumbling on petty crime is better than being stuck in the Tower at all hours of the day.
Luckily, the four of them are only staying in the Tower for another week. Personally, Peter knows he would survive it just fine if they needed to stay longer, but he’s not sure Mr. Stark can say the same.
He and Dr. Richards constantly butt heads over the implications of the biochemical changes the radiation made to their bodies, and Ms. Storm and Ben are always as quick to come to Dr. Richards’ defense as Dr. Banner is to come to Mr. Stark’s. The underlying tension is killer.
Dr. Richards has his sights set on the Baxter Building in Manhattan, and Mr. Stark gives him all the connections he needs to make the purchase as quickly as possible.
Peter has the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Stark got the seller to lower the price substantially so they’ll be able to get out faster. But regardless of the logistics, they’re out of the Tower after they agree to come back weekly for testing and training to ensure that, regardless of whether or not they decide to sign the accords, they at last don’t pose a danger to the rest of the population. Particularly Jonathan and Ben.
Once they’re gone, it’s back to business as usual. When he’s not out webslinging, he’s in the lab. On rare occasions, Ms. Potts enlists him in actual intern work. At some point, paperwork gets filed that lists Peter as the head of the intern program and puts all of the grad students-- grad students! --in the program under his jurisdiction.
He’s not stupid; he knows they’re keeping him busy so that at least his waking hours are a little better than his sleeping ones. It’s working too.
The nightmares aren’t getting any better, but he’s getting better at being present when he’s awake. It’s a temporary solution at best, a stopgap until the rest of the world stabilizes enough that they can all afford to just sit down and heal.
It’s not for two more weeks that he runs into any of the crash survivors again, and it’s in his mask.
The city seems to have taken this first drama after the snap and held onto it with a vice grip. Dr. Richards, Ms. Storm, Ben, and Jonathan are all but catapulted into stardom, doing interviews with talk show hosts, news anchors, and magazines. But they didn’t get in any trouble for the illegal rocket launch, thanks to Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark, so there isn’t a scandal to follow.
Without a scandal, things are bound to die down as quickly as they get started. At least that’s what MJ says, and she’s the one studying PR and journalism so Peter is inclined to believe here.
It’s pure coincidence that when a scandal does arise, Spiderman is close enough that Karen alerts him to the disturbance.
“Peter, there seems to be commotion on FDR Drive, near the toll bridge. Would you like me to plot you a course there?”
He’s already on his way there. “Sure. Any specific details you can give me?”
“According to social media feeds, Sue and Johnny Storm have been discovered fully naked in the middle of the street.”
A very small part of Peter wants to laugh, but the majority of him winces. That’s his worst nightmare, personally. Not that either of them have anything to be ashamed of in that category since they’re both absolute knockouts, but in an area like that, when they’re already in the public eye? He can’t help but feel a little sympathy.
He swings by the roof he’d gotten changed on and grabs his backpack. There’s only one change of clothes, but something tells him that Mr. Stark’s old shirt will be more than large enough to cover Ms. Storm, leaving May’s sweats free for Jonathan.
So Peter is a clothes thief, so what?
It only takes him a few minutes to get to the toll bridge. From there, it’s not hard to see where Jonathan and Ms. Storm are, mostly because Jonathan is on fire. The crowd points at him once he’s in sight, ooh-ing and ah-ing (and boo-ing, thank you Mr. J. Jonah Jameson) as he flips nimbly from beam to beam across the bridge.
“Hey! You guys look like you could use a hand.” He lands lightly in front of Jonathan, who’s flames are covering him from public eyes. Ms. Storm is standing behind him, as close as she can without getting burned, so she can use him as a shield.
Peter hands her the backpack. “There’s a shirt in there that should help, and some sweats for matchstick over here. Best I could do on short notice, but I can swing you guys home once you’re decent.”
“It’s more than we expected,” Sue says, holding up the backpack to cover as much of herself as she can. “Would you mind, uh…”
It takes a second for her meaning to sink in. “Oh, right! Totally.”
He goes around so his back is facing hers, shooing off the rubberneckers and giving her as much privacy as he can manage in a place like this. The heat radiating from Jonathan is a bit uncomfortable, but nothing unbearable.
“So…” he says awkwardly, still waving away people who don’t understand the meaning of common decency, “This a powers thing or what? I mean, no judgement either way I guess, just-- I mean I ripped a few doors off their hinges before I got the hang of mine. At least there’s no property damage involved with this, so you’re already doing better than me.”
“You really do talk a lot.” Jonathan sounds more snarky than a naked guy in the middle of the street has any right to be. “Wonder what else the tabloids got right?”
Peter just rolls his eyes, thinking about the Daily Bugle and its weird obsession with him even now. “Not much. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not some creepy thirty year old running around in spandex pretending to save people and then charging them money or whatever last week’s story was.”
“Nah, last week’s was that you were paying them.” Jonathan says back easily.
This is something else that’s been a little jarring: once he’d recovered a bit and gotten into the spotlight, this new side of Jonathan Storm appeared. Gone was the sour guy who spent every waking moment visibly worrying about his family. In his place was this unshakeable pillar of personality and snark. Of the four of them, he was the one with the most interviews, the most spotlight, and he seemed to be thriving on it. Even something like this didn’t seem to be bugging him.
“If you two are done,” Ms. Storm says, sounding irritated, “I’d like to go home.”
Peter turns around, hands covering the visual sensors of his mask. “You decent? Like I said, I don't mind giving you guys a lift home.”
“I’m decent.”
When he uncovers his eyes, he sees that the shirt does indeed cover enough that carrying her will be less awkward than anticipated. Behind her, Jonathan has extinguished and is pulling on the soft grey sweats that are definitely a little bit on the small side.
“You know,” he says in a tone that’s just this side of whiny, “Reed said I could fly.”
“Theoretically,” Ms. Storm is quick to say, sounding as if this is something they’ve had to go over more than once. She turns to Peter. “In the meantime, we’ll take you up on that lift if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it! You don’t live too far and it’s not like I have anywhere to be.” Which isn’t a lie. Crime is down exponentially; most of the time, hanging around on rooftops and scooping cats out of trees is the most action he sees outside of relief efforts.
He puts a hand to his ear a little bit redundantly, to show the Storms that he’s not talking to them. “Karen, logistically what’s the least awkward way to carry these guys so I can swing ‘em home?”
“Taking into account what I know of you, you should have Jonathan on your back and carry Susan with your free arm. Though, given your track record with one-armed swinging, it would be safer and more practical to take them home one at a time on your back.”
“Nice to know you have so much faith in me,” Peter says drily. But, as usual, she’s right. He probably could get them home without swinging them all into a wall, but it would be a gamble.
He looks back at Jonathan and Ms. Storm. “So, my suit’s AI thinks I should take you guys home one at a time. Otherwise we run the risk of becoming building pancakes.”
Jonathan blinks. “Building… pancakes.”
“Not fun, zero out of ten, wouldn’t recommend. Speaking from experience. So!” Peter claps his hands. “It’s about a five minute trip one way, since you guys rock and didn’t actually leave Manhattan. So shall we, Ms. Storm?”
Peter kneels so she-- or Jonathan, he supposes, but something tells him it’s Ms. Storm that’s coming on this first trip since at least he has pants --can get on his back with minimal trouble.
“Don’t drop me,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I probably wouldn’t die and then I’d never forgive you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve done this a hundred times.” He stands up once she’s situated and gives Jonathan a salute. “Back in ten!”
“Can’t wait.”
Ooh, sarcasm. Wonderful. Peter still can’t decide whether he likes this version of Jonathan more than the one he met in the Tower.
Webslinging has a number of cons (see: building pancakes) but no traffic is one of the best pros and Peter isn’t sure he’d give that up for anything. If her excited little whoop s are anything to go by, Ms. Storm is having fun too, once she gets used to the short free falls.
“It’s awesome, right?” he calls back to her.
Ms. Storm doesn’t answer him for another minute or so, until they’ve touched down on the roof of the Baxter Building.
“Not my ideal way to travel, but that’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be,” she admits.
“Beats getting stuck in traffic or on the subway-- what?” Ms. Storm’s eyes have widened as she looks at something behind him. When Peter turns to look, his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he gets annoyed.
The bolt of fire in the sky can’t be anyone but Jonathan, and if May’s sweats haven’t survived the fire, Peter is going to be very irritated.
“Excuse me for a second,” he mutters, “I need to go get your brother before someone else gets to him first.”
The five minute trip takes him two now that he’s irritated and not maneuvering around Ms. Storm. He touches down lightly on a rooftop near where Jonathan appears to be clumsily attempting to stay in midair.
“You know,” Peter calls, “I’m supposed to give those sweatpants back, so I really hope you left them on the sidewalk or something.”
“Trying to get me out of my pants already?” Jonathan sounds like he's kidding, but Peter still chokes on his own spit. “At least buy me dinner first.”
“Tell you what. Turn those flames off and tell me those pants are intact, I'll show you the best darn view the city has to offer. Once you're cleared for flight.” Not a great recovery, but he’s not used to that kind of shameless flirting. Sue him.
“That's a lot of conditions.”
“You're breaking a lot of rules,” Peter shoots back.
“You're literally a vigilante but go off I guess,” Jonathan says, extinguishing his flames and landing hard on the ground. As expected, he’s naked again, but there’s no telling whether the pants came off first or if they burned up.
Peter mimes being shot and collapsed dramatically to the ground, tactfully avoiding landing anywhere that lets him see anything he doesn’t want to. “Oof. Dead meme.”
Being Spiderman is great because he can be as dramatic as he wants without people questioning it. There’s no expectation that because he’s joking around, he’s hiding something. Though, to be fair, the fact that he’s joking around is usually a pretty clear indication that he’s hiding something.
“The meme only dies if you let it, and that one will never die.”
That’s just objectively untrue on every level and Peter is more than prepared to tell Jonathan about each and every one of them in explicit detail, if only because he has nothing better to do for the moment, but before he has the chance Mr. Stark is patched through to his comms.
“Pete? We’re getting some weird reports from Manhattan. Which is, coincidentally, where you seem to be. Explanation?”
“One second,” Peter says to Jonathan, pointing to his mask before going back to the question. “Nothing big, Mr. Stark! Jonathan Storm just discovered that he can fly and I think some people were recording. No threats or anything.”
He barely picks up Jonathan’s cynical, almost offended “Jonathan?” from somewhere above and behind him.
Peter risks a glance over to where Jonathan was before. He nearly cries in relief when he sees that May’s sweatpants have, miraculously, survived, and are on Jonathan’s person. He shifts into a kneeling position and waves at Jonathan, signaling him to get on his back like his sister did. Jonathan may be able to fly now, but there’s no possible way he’s already gotten the hang of it, given how clumsy he’d been when Peter got here. Besides, until Ms. Storm decides on her stance with the Accords, she and Jonathan are both technically not allowed to use their powers without supervision.
Jonathan’s face twists into something that’s almost assuredly sarcastic, but he wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and his legs around his waist.
“Damn, he really can fly? I owe Richards fifty bucks.” Mr. Stark definitely rolls his eyes. Peter is sure of it even if he can’t see it. “Well, tell the kid to be careful. He and Richards can come over tomorrow and we can give him a place to practice until he can get the hang of it.”
Once he’s sure Jonathan is secure and won’t fall off, Peter stands up and starts swinging back toward the Baxter Building.
“Got it.”
“Get home soon, kid. Your aunt wants to make some gluten free casserole monstrosity and I’m not going through that alone.”
Peter can’t help but laugh. “Alright, sir. Will do.”
Mr. Stark hangs up the call just as Peter swings them past the best pizza shop in Manhattan. He makes a mental note to stop by there on his next patrol in the area, since it’s been a while.
“Mr. Stark wants you to practice at the Tower until you get the hang of the whole…” Peter wiggles the fingers of his free hand before his next swing. “Flying on fire thing.”
The sound that comes out of Jonathan’s mouth makes him think the guy is biting his tongue to stop himself from telling Spiderman exactly where Mr. Stark can shove his requests, which is something Peter is actually pretty familiar with. May and Dr. Banner both do it pretty often.
But Jonathan just sighs, close enough to Peter’s ear that he can hear it over the rush of air going past them. “Johnny.”
Blink. Swing. “What?”
“It’s Johnny. No one calls me Jonathan, it’s weird.”
“Alright,” Peter says easily. It’s not a new thing, being told to call someone something other than the first name he decides on out of sheer politeness. It won’t be the last. And despite what Mr. Stark thinks, Peter is actually pretty good at making those kinds of switches. It’s just fun to mess with Mr. Stark about harmless things like that.
Plus, Johnny seems to like Spiderman a little more than Peter Parker. No surprise there, but Johnny never said anything about Peter calling him Jonathan until the mask. So maybe he prefers it from Peter because he doesn’t like him?
Whatever. That’s a thought for another time.
They land on the roof of the Baxter Building a little more than a minute later, and Johnny dismounts almost immediately. He looks at Peter, more serious than the person Peter’s been seeing at interviews and in tabloids.
“The day of the crash,” he says slowly, looking straight into the eyes of Peter’s mask, “you were there. You saved Sue’s life. I never got the chance to thank you.”
Blink. “Oh, um… don’t worry about it. I was just doing my thing. I wasn’t about to let either of you die.”
Johnny considers him for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding like he has a hundred more things to say. He smirks. “So, about that trip you promised to show me?”
“Not ‘till you’re cleared for flight, hotshot. Do me a favor and drop those clothes off to Peter Parker tomorrow.” Peter winks and turns away.
“Oh, hotshot. Real original. How would you even know when I’m cleared?” Johnny doesn’t seem pleased at the mention of Peter’s name, but the smirk hasn’t left his face.
“I’ll have Parker let me know.” Peter smiles to himself under the mask before swinging away.
It’s not surprising that Johnny likes Spiderman more than Peter Parker. Peter does too. Maybe they can be friends anyway.