𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘺, 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧-𝙢𝙖𝙣 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
webshoots) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
logsinthenight2019-10-23 08:45 pm
webshoots) wrote in logsinthenight2019-10-23 08:45 pm
—closed.
characters: peter parker, eleven
location: the village
date/time: early-mid bury a friend event
content: peter parker feels guilty but hey: when does he not
warnings: TBA
[ peter feels bad.
this isn't exactly new.
as far as these things go, it's an emotion he's well-acquainted with, something he's managed to boil down to shame mixed with regret. logically, he knows he couldn't have known that the conversation was going to take that turn; logically, he also knows he couldn't have anticipated her response, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have chosen his words more carefully, been a little more cautious.
—especially, especially given the circumstances.
he'd waited a little while — officially thirty minutes, but it'd felt like longer, and there are only so many ways to distract oneself in beacon and peter isn't good enough with the ocarina to pick a spirit to talk (quote unquote) at — before deciding that he was going to check on her. he didn't know if she'd be willing to see him, or if—
(ugh, ifs. don't think about those—.)
even here, even though the need for spider-man is really very thin (not ideal, because peter gets antsy), he still wears his suit underneath his clothes. now that it's getting colder, it's not just a sartorial statement — if anyone catches sight of it (who? how? questions for the age) he's wearing long-johns — and functionally speaking, it does help. what that does mean, though, is that he is a bit chilly when he crawls out of the window to his room in the invincible, lantern webbed up in a pseudo-rucksack he carries on his back; he crawls up the outside wall and perches on the roof, just for a moment.
(the village, she'd said.)
when he gets there, it takes him a few minutes to locate castle miners. there's a thought, as he rests on a wall by a window, that he doesn't have any way of knowing which room is hers, and he could just be tapping on steve's window (who is steve, anyway?) or nancy, and that'd—
well, that'd just be really very awkward and not entirely easy to explain. ]
location: the village
date/time: early-mid bury a friend event
content: peter parker feels guilty but hey: when does he not
warnings: TBA
[ peter feels bad.
this isn't exactly new.
as far as these things go, it's an emotion he's well-acquainted with, something he's managed to boil down to shame mixed with regret. logically, he knows he couldn't have known that the conversation was going to take that turn; logically, he also knows he couldn't have anticipated her response, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have chosen his words more carefully, been a little more cautious.
—especially, especially given the circumstances.
he'd waited a little while — officially thirty minutes, but it'd felt like longer, and there are only so many ways to distract oneself in beacon and peter isn't good enough with the ocarina to pick a spirit to talk (quote unquote) at — before deciding that he was going to check on her. he didn't know if she'd be willing to see him, or if—
(ugh, ifs. don't think about those—.)
even here, even though the need for spider-man is really very thin (not ideal, because peter gets antsy), he still wears his suit underneath his clothes. now that it's getting colder, it's not just a sartorial statement — if anyone catches sight of it (who? how? questions for the age) he's wearing long-johns — and functionally speaking, it does help. what that does mean, though, is that he is a bit chilly when he crawls out of the window to his room in the invincible, lantern webbed up in a pseudo-rucksack he carries on his back; he crawls up the outside wall and perches on the roof, just for a moment.
(the village, she'd said.)
when he gets there, it takes him a few minutes to locate castle miners. there's a thought, as he rests on a wall by a window, that he doesn't have any way of knowing which room is hers, and he could just be tapping on steve's window (who is steve, anyway?) or nancy, and that'd—
well, that'd just be really very awkward and not entirely easy to explain. ]
no subject
it's easier for him, he thinks — whilst he relies on his spider-sense more than he'd ever care to admit and whilst it doesn't tell him what's real and what's not, it does at least tell him what's a real threat and what's not. the hands, apparently, are not. the voices — well, it doesn't tell him anything about those, but he knows that gwen isn't here. can't be here.
(although truth be told, the occasional pumpkins he catches at the edge of his vision do give him pause. norman osborn isn't someone he'd flatly rule out of being anywhere.)
she stops and starts, and stops and starts, and peter takes a breath before dropping noiselessly to the ground and making his way over to her.
(he hasn't really given much thought to the fact that a man in a black spandex suit and mask with no visible features beyond 'giant white eyes' and 'giant white spider' might be slightly terrifying to someone unfamiliar with one, spider-man and two, anyone currently unsure if they're able to trust their own senses.)
he stops a few feet away from her, and holds a hand out — empty, and almost as if he wants to shake her hands — before: ] Hey, Eleven, right?
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So she startles, and when she looks up she freezes, eyes wide and an expression of horror slowly creeping onto her features.
It looks vaguely person-shaped, walking on two legs with two arm like appendages. But it's black, solidly, with large empty white eyes and a white symbol on its chest, and the way its head is shaped makes her see, for a moment, the seams of demogorgon maw slowly opening...
Eleven pushes to her feet, screaming - but this isn't terror. The fight or flight instinct kicks in, hard, and slams solidly onto 'fight'.
The Mindflayer may have killed her - but she already defeated the Demogorgon. Something that looks like it doesn't terrify her into inaction, but spurs her into action.
Her hands come up, a thick drop of blood runs from her nose, and just like that the 'monster' will feel himself picked up and thrown at the nearest wall like a ragdoll. ]
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Wait!
[ he slams into the wall, the impact registering all at once — back, shoulders, head (it's okay, he doesn't need to be able to use any of that, right?), before — as he drops to the ground (at least the ground isn't concrete, he supposes.) it's punctuated by a groan, the noise a mix of regret and 'god, that hurt', and then he lifts his head.
(uuuugh.)
he takes a breath. (okay, parker, this could have gone a lot better, you could have thought this through a little more—.) he doesn't move otherwise, not immediately. if eleven was a threat — or, more accurately, if eleven was anyone other than who she is, if she wasn't a child, if peter didn't know she was scared, his next set of actions would be very different.
he watches eleven for a second — it's a moment that feels much longer than it is, one where he tries to decide if she's going to fling him against a wall again, or a tree, or — anything. he knows that if it comes to it, he could web her eyes and her hands, but he doesn't want it to come to that. ]
I'm real, and I'm not here to hurt you, and [ beat. ] I'm going to sit up, okay? Because literally eating dirt wasn't really — on the menu. [ he lifts one hand slowly, then the other, and then he shifts himself so that he's sitting cross-legged. it's not his first, preferred choice of sitting, but he's not sure she'd be particularly appreciative of anything that errs too spidery right now, and being cross-legged means he can't move as quickly. it makes him less of an immediate, overt threat. ] Peter asked me to come.
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And then it speaks.
That, of course, means very little. The Flayed speak. The Mind Flayer speaks with Billy's voice and a dozen others.
Eleven doesn't let this thing out of her sight for a second. She doesn't strike. She waits. Coiled and tense, power there for her to tap into if she feels she needs it.
Like a caged animal herded into a corner.
But it says Peter, and her eyes soften even as they narrow. She tries to keep her face hard, but the name brings immediate familiarity and softness to her.
Peter asked me to come. ]
Proof.
[ That is a demand, decidedly not a request. ]
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He told me about you. He said you're friends. He also said he told you about me, I— [ a pause. underneath the mask, peter's face scrunches a little, and his attention shifts away from eleven, just for a moment. ] I'm the friend he mentioned. The idiot?
[ there's another pause, one that's interrupted by the thought that it really, really cannot be healthy to talk about or think about yourself in the third person. to divide two aspects of your life and persona into two separate entities, and oh god. if he ever starts talking like wade, can someone please shoot him?
he needs so much therapy. ]
I don't really know what proof I can give you, Eleven. I know you're seeing and hearing things that aren't there. I know Peter is, I know I am. It's scary, I know, but I'm — [ he lifts the bottom of his mask up, so that his jaw through to the bottom of his nose are visible. ] just a guy under here, but wearing this makes me feel a little more brave, and I wanted to help Pete out. He just wanted to make sure you're okay.
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Peter could have told him that, or a few others here in Beacon - but all people she trusts to a degree.
Slowly, carefully, Eleven lowers her hands. The friend. Peter's friend. The idiot who blames himself for everything.
She remembers that.
And really, he must be friends with Peter. They both talk a lot.
Eleven's posture relaxed, suspicion turning to confusion as she moves closer, no longer with intent to harm. She doesn't even have intent to go for the mask. She just reaches for his arm, pinches - not his arm itself, just the fabric. Pulls on it a little.
Eleven snorts. ]
Costume. Trick or treat... but early?
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Yeah, no. I can see why you'd think that, but—. [ he stands up and gestures at the spider on the front of his chest. at least, he supposes, she hadn't gone yeuch and tried to squish him. the perils of an arachnid-themed costume, but at least he's doing better than ant-man. he's always kind of wondered how the wasp gets on — does she have to deal with people trying to swat her? questions to ask when he gets home.
they could start a support group. ] You know how you can do things with your mind? [ he half asks, tilting his head to one side, half-watching her. ] Spider-Man, but my friends call me Spidey. Or Webhead. Or— honestly, you can pretty much call me what you want, I'll probably answer, [ he admits, looking back up at the wall of the cabin, mentally weighing up his options.
(eh.)
he crawls about halfway up the wall, before turning round, resting so that his back's against the wall and he's facing forward. he looks back down at eleven. ] Peter said you like Wonder Woman, but between the two of us, I think I'm cooler.
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For now, though, Spider-Man has her attention.
At the comparison to wonder woman, though, Eleven shakes her head no decisively. ]
No. She has a... lasso.
[ Though she did look suitably impressed when he climbed the wall, so. Progress.
Also the best set up for him to show off a little more, if he feels so inclined. ]
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please? just for five minutes.)
he deflates a little, and places a hand on his hip. she won't really be able to tell, thanks to the mask and the darkness, but his eyebrows knit together in a frown, and the corners of his lips turn downwards, just slightly, just for a moment. ]
Yeah, okay, I'll give you that. [ 'but does she have webs?' is the unsaid question at the end of that, and peter thinks that he'd ordinarily take a moment to show that off, but given the unfortunate incident with the ferry and the dock, he's aware that he needs to be mindful of not wasting any web fluid, just in case. the lighthouse expedition may have been a couple of months ago, but it's always there, at the back of his thoughts. he's not naïve enough to think that just because they've had scavenger hunts, something like that won't happen again.
—especially with everything they're dealing with right now.
he sighs and walks back down the wall. ] She could probably kick my ass, but not all of us can be Amazonian goddesses. [ beat; sideways glance at eleven. ] Princesses? [ he was never clear on that, and it's been a long time since he's had time to sit down and brush up on his comic book lore. ] Anyway, before we assault my ego even more: you alright, kiddo? Peter was pretty worried.
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She also likes that you can see Diana's face, and that Diana is pretty and a girl.
Her criteria are perhaps a little more basic in judging how cool a superhero is.
Spider-Man can crawl on walls, which is... probably useful for reaching shelves and stuff. ]
I'm...
[ She hesitates, bites her lips. A shiver goes down her spine that has nothing to do with the chill in the air. She looks positively forlorn for a moment, arms wrapping around herself protectively, eyes flitting away from Spider-Man and into the distance.
Then she reaches out, curls her small hand into his as if it's the most normal thing to do, and pulls him to the balled up papers.
He is creepy and he scared her and he's not half as cool as Diana.
But he's Peter's friend.
This suspicious, broken little thing of a child that is wary of strangers places trust in Spider-Man based on Peter's word that he's a friend, and nothing more. ]
I'm trying to write... a letter. To Peter. To ap... [ She frowns, word skittering away momentarily. She knows this one, it just takes her a moment to drag it back. She's in Beacon. She's not at the lab. She has her words, all of them, and learns new ones every day. ]
To apologize.
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he's silent, then, for a moment; glances from the paper to eleven and back again. ]
Huh, [ he manages, at length. when she stumbles over the word 'apologise, he looks back to her, momentarily glad that his expression's masked by the mask, glad that she can't see the way that he searches her expression for a clue as to what she's thinking of, what's remembering, what she's seeing or hearing. ] Is there something you think you need to apologise for? Because trust me, I've know Pete for a long time, and you really only need to apologise to him if you, like, tell him you support the Yankees.
[ he squats down, next to eleven. the light of the lanterns illuminating his suit here and there — she can probably see where it's been patched up a couple of times, thread that doesn't quite match the colour of the suit, but technically still pretty good sewing. there's a pause, one where peter's attention is momentarily caught by something in the distance, a flash of green and purple, but norman's not here, can't be here—. (focus.) ] Is it because you got upset?
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[ Eleven drops to the ground again, rummaging through her pens - colourful, glittering gel pens that she got from Aziraphale to practise writing with. She looks up at Spider-Man, considers him for a moment, then pats the ground, telling him without words to sit with her.
Wonder Woman doesn't know many things because she's a princess from an island, so maybe Spider-Man needs to have some things explained, too. She can indulge him. ]
I got upset and didn't respond. So want to tell Peter... that I'm sorry. He's not like the bad men. I want to tell him. Just. In case.
[ Just in case she won't get the chance to. Like she didn't get a chance to say many things to Mike. ]
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You don't need to tell him. [ he answers, before adding: ] You can, if you want to, but something you should know about Peter is that — [ ugh, talking about himself in the third person is so weird. ] —he can get a bit carried away. Sometimes you just need to tell him to shut up. [ a breath of a pause. ] Because there are a couple of things that he's really into, and he doesn't always know when to stop.
But another thing, more important than that, is that you don't need to apologise for getting upset. We've all got things that even thinking about make us scared, or feel small, or like we can't breathe. Peter, me, even Wonder Woman. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don't, but that's not something you need to say sorry for.
[ he pauses for a second, and glances at eleven. beneath the mask, he pulls a slight face and: ] I know you haven't known Peter long, but you know he'd say the same thing, right?
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[ She looks up at him then, brows knitting together over thoughtful brown eyes. She just stares at him intently for a moment. Why, it's almost as if...
But no. That is something he'd have to worryabout with any other character.
Eleven only caught Mike in his lie because Mike, frankly, did a really bad job of lying and covering his tracks. Peter isn't doing that much better right now, but good enough for her. She just does not see reason to be suspicious of anything he says to her.
Incredibly easily manipulated? Check. ]
He would. You must be... very close.
[ Eleven smoothes out the piece of paper she was working on last. It reads 'Hello Peter. I'm sorry you're not a bad man.' Entirely possible she forgot a comma there. ]
I don't have to. I do what I want.
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he laughs. it's not a long laugh, nor is he laughing at her, really, just the force of her words. of course she does what she wants. he's not going to say that's always a good thing — he knows that, knows that impulses aren't always the best things to act on, that sometimes you really do have to listen to your head and not your heart, but he's not going to tell her that now. not yet. not after everything she's said and not-said, not given the conversation that had led to him being here, like this, in the first place.
he looks then towards the smoothed out paper, looks at the words she'd written. it feels a little invasive — she hadn't finished it, hadn't intended on giving it to him yet, and not for the first time, he feels bad for coming here, like this. he doesn't feel bad about coming to make sure she's okay, but the circumstances could definitely be better.
(his shoulder's going to be sore tomorrow.) ]
We've known each other for years, [ he answers, lips twisting a little. it's not untrue, not really, and there's been more times than he'd admit to that he's wondered what his life would be life if he hadn't been bitten by that spider, if he hadn't decided to make that tv appearance.
he wonders if he'd have been a better person, or worse? there's no way of going back and changing things, there's no point in holding on to what ifs, but that doesn't mean he doesn't sometimes think about it. ] Did he tell you he used to take photos for a newspaper? It was his first job out of high school, and I'm what helped him pay his rent for years. [ he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ] So if he ever tells you he's good at photography, just remember: the model helps.
[ he pauses, lifts a hand and waves it dismissively. ] Then I was his bodyguard for a bit. I don't recommend that as a gig. [ a beat, a glance at eleven, then: ] He's probably rubbed off more on me than I'd like to admit, and I've probably rubbed off on him more than either of us would like to admit. [ punctuated by a huff of breath that's more a laugh than it is anything else. god, there'd been that awkward incident with doc connor's piece of kit that had separated peter parker and spider-man — that had been an experience. ] So there are certain things I know how Pete would react. The guy's practically an open book — and besides, thirteen years is a long time, right?
—Hey, so what's your favourite thing about Wonder Woman?
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[ Eleven wrinkles her nose slightly. ]
You're old.
[ Probably like Hopper and Joyce. But that's okay, being old isn't bad. Parents are old, too.
The comment about the newspaper engages Eleven a little more again. ]
Newspaper. Like Nancy. And Joanathan. Nancy is a... a... Nancy writes the news. Jonathan takes photos. But not of... models.
[ For a moment her mind drifts. She remembers dressing up and posing for pictures at the mall with Max. Remembers giggling and having fun, and the photographer egging them on into fun poses and glittery, crazy clothes. Just like real models, he'd said. Eleven tries to picture the man-spider like that, and decides that she'd rather not know more about this.
Adults are weird. So are newspapers, apparently. ]
Wonder Woman... I like that she's very strong. No mask. [ Pointed look. ] Honest. Pretty.
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then she says that wonder woman's strong, and honest, and pretty, and he looks at her, humming thoughtfully. it's good that she has someone like wonder woman to — read about. he's read about the importance of diversity and representation, that it helps people to see people like them in the media they consume. it makes sense. honest, though—
oy. ]
Yeah, yeah, okay, I'll give you that one. [ he shifts his weight a little, and thinks of all the people that know his identity. it's — a lot. more than he'd have imagined at one point, featuring people he'd never have imagined telling, ever, like jonah. he thinks, as well, about the conversation he'd had with felicia, about the way she'd known something had been missing, even if she hadn't know what. he thinks, too, of daredevil — of knowing that he'd known, of knowing that he trusted daredevil implicitly, even if—
well, it was the same, wasn't it? what he'd done, what DD had done. ] It's complicated, y'know? If I went out and punched bad guys without the mask, I don't know, I think they'd probably be intimidated by how handsome I am. Tousled locks, enchanting eyes, jawline that's not quite defined enough to belong to a traditional superhero... [ beat. ] Are the bad guys intimidated by how pretty Wonder Woman is? [ he half asks, glancing at eleven. ] Wait, forget I asked that. [ beat; he holds a hand up, waves it at himself. ] Wait, take two. Let's backtrack, you know I'm a person under here, right? Not just half a face and a great voice. I always imagined it was calming, but it turns out the spider motif is was less kid-friendly than I've been telling myself for a decade.
[ avoiding the pointed honest remark? peter? never. does he even realise he's doing it? probably not. ] Someone tried to squish me once. [ wonder woman doesn't have to deal with that. ]
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A little bit.
She half suspects that half the things get lost no matter how hard she tries.
But she knows he's a person. She might not understand the costume, but she understands that, at least. ]
I'm not scared. But... it's a bit... creep? creepy. Black. It's very dark here.
[ She holds up two of her glittering pens, bright and colourful, and waves them a little for emphasis. ]
Better. You look a little bit... like a bad guy. Superheroes have... colour. And capes, sometimes. You look sneaky. Sneaky is maybe not good.
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this time, though— ] This wasn't my first choice. [ he admits. the actual truth of it isn't anything he wants to go into detail with eleven, so: ] I'm not doing a cape. Do I look like a hammer-wielding god to you? That's god with a little 'g', by the way. Besides, it's the superhero equivalent of a girl wearing hoops. I'd have to remember to take it off every time I came across a bad guy, and I don't party with enough friends to have anyone to hand it to.
[ but speaking of— peter eyes eleven for a second. as peter, he's not really sure how he'd bring the conversation up, how he'd hold it without fudging the truth and the explanations. as spider-man— ] Do you know anyone else like you, Eleven?
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[ Her gaze goes distant for a moment, mind skipping down memories she still feels conflicted about. The anger, the vengeance. It served her well for a moment or two, until it didn't.
It made her feel safe, for a moment or two. Until it didn't. ]
Kali. She's... Eight.
[ Eleven hasn't found any more. Hasn't... looked, not really. Still scarred by that encounter. She'd found a sister, and followed her on a dark path until she couldn't anymore.
More have to be out there. Eleven is smart enough to realize that there are at least 9 others besides Kali and herself. The thought is chilling and uncomfortable. She wonders if they're alright. She hopes they let go of vengeance and instead tried being people, too. ]
You don't... party with enough... friends?
[ Eleven looks at him, and oh there it is.
Sympathy. ]
Do you want... more friends?
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the avengers didn't need him, not permanently. they knew he'd help out when they did.
no is an odd answer. he has work acquaintances, he has people he'd call friends who are also superheroes and masked vigilantes. he thinks he and logan are friends, even if it's the loosest, vaguest definition of 'friends'; he thinks that he and daredevil are friends — sure, he'd called DD a trusted colleague in hong kong, but that had been a mess all around, and now he knows why he doesn't know who DD is beneath the mask anymore. being bothered by that would be hypocritical; all they'd done was reset the status quo.
he makes a noise, a soft hngh that's nevertheless loud enough for her to hear.
the answer isn't yes, and the issue with eleven is that she has a tendency to lean towards the literal. (understandably, but still.) "I work alone"? god, no, who does he think he is? hornhead? frank? he runs a hand down his face (mask) and looks back to the letters. if it was anyone else, he'd deflect and evade the question with a joke, but it'd go over eleven's head. ]
—This is a work thing. [ he says, waving a hand at the spider on his chest. ] Friends are for people without masks, right? Without secrets? [ yikes, that makes him sound pitiful. abort. ] —What I mean, if we're going to stick with the party metaphor, I don't get a whole lot of invites, but I don't really get FOMO. That's a fear of missing out, by the way. I get the important ones, like the wedding invites, and the quarter-yearly heeey, I haven't seen you in forever, we should catch up text messages. Don't worry, I've got friends. [ beat. ] There's a school, where I'm from. It's full of kids not exactly like you, but they can do things like you. It's a safe place for them.
[ he almost says 'I taught there for a little while', but given the lack of people here in beacon, it'd be kind of weird to admit to being a teacher as peter and as spidey. so— ] One of my friends works-slash-lives-slash-taught there, even if I'm still not sure who decided it was okay for him to go near children. He kinda smells.
[ thinking of logan as a teacher is still a trip. ]
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Then she just shrugs. ]
You go near children.
[ And with that line dropped, she searches the ground, until Eleven finds what she was looking for among the scaterred balled up sheets of paper. ]
I have... a mask, too.
[ As if to prove it, Eleven slides it over her face and gives him a look that's almost challenging. She can't match his barrage of words, because she's afraid she'd run out of words or else things to say, but... ]
Friends are for people without masks. But. If you have masks. You can be friends, too. There.
[ And then she pulls out her tablet machine. Peter has taught her how to use that very well. ]
I need your At. So I can invite you. Not to ice-cream. That's for Peter and me. I'll invite you for... other things. With masks.
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I — don't smell. [ indignantly, although — does he? does he? he washes the suit! he's learnt that it needs washing after, like, every wear otherwise it does smell and new york makes fun of him — not that it needs a reason to make fun of him. he pauses, and he looks away from eleven and back down at himself. man, this is worse than that time tony had said he leaves a residue on windows.
—as he's debating how desperately he needs to go home ("home") and wash the suit, she picks up her own mask, the one that had been dropped amongst the paper. there's a breath of a pause, and peter lifts his hand like he's about to interrupt or interject, but then she says she wants his network id and — uuuugh, he really didn't think this through, did he? the thought of how he'll figure that one out distracts him momentarily, and he almost doesn't catch her saying that ice cream's for her and peter. he catches the name though and looks up; his expression would be startled, if he wasn't wearing the mask, but he is, so instead he just murmurs a noise of acknowledgement that's somewhere between a huh and a hmm. ]
—I need your tablet. [ he holds his hand out expectantly. he'd wanted to, once upon a time, get a second tablet for use with spider-man — he'd had two phones in new york, although admittedly one was almost permanently without credit or data. it hadn't quite worked out that way, so he'd instead figured out a second inbox app, one that would lead to an account not immediately identifiable as peter parker.
unfortunately, he'd have to install it on other tablets for it to work. ]
no subject
Still....
Still.
This is Peter's friend, and he's creepy but okay enough.
So Eleven eyes him, measures him up as critically as a 14 year old can. She already tossed him into a wall once. If he messes with the tablet she can crush him again.
Like an itty, bitty spider.
Eleven hands over the tablet, and scoots closer to see what he's doing. ]
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but then captain stacy had been killed, and then gwen, and—.
he pulls his attention away from the sky and back to eleven. ] I don't have an "at". [ he tells her, taking the tablet carefully. after a moment, he clarifies: ] Not one like you do. [ he pauses, looking down at eleven. whenever he'd thought gwen had been about to figure out his identity, or that ridiculous time he'd been sick and had turned up to her house and proclaimed he was spider-man, he'd course-corrected afterwards, finding someone willing to dress up in the suit and appear at a specific time and place where he was as peter parker, or as spider-man he'd acted the very opposite to how anyone expected peter to act.
it worked, but he didn't enjoy it, and he hopes he won't have to do that with eleven.
he opens and closes a few different applications; he doesn't slow down, doesn't check to see if eleven's following because that isn't the priority. the priority is giving her a way to contact him. ] —This is how Peter gets in touch with me. I thought about having a special light, but those are kind of old-fashioned and light doesn't work too well here, so—.
[ wait. ]
—You thought of a name to go with the mask?
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[ Statement, not question. She understands what apps are in theory now, after some explanations. She still calls them by the name she thinks Riku taught her, though.
Eleven's mind isn't the sharpest, but... she gets things, too, sometimes, and isn't that slow on the uptake when something makes sense to her.
She doesn't think to question this, though.
At the mention of the mask, she touches her beak. ]
Name? My name is Eleven.
[ Duh. ]
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But we've established I'm not a man-spider, and that I'm definitely way more handsome than the mask implies. My name isn't Mister Man, Mister Spider or even Mister Spider-Man. That wasn't even my father, so—. [ he gestures at the beak. ] If you're telling me we can be buddies because you've got a mask and I've got a mask, I'm gonna have to lay out some ground rules.
[ he puts the tablet down for a moment and leans to one side, taking the time instead to scrutinise elven. ] I can't call you Eleven. That's not how this works. [ even if it ... is, sometimes, but that's beside the point. ] Fledgling? I hear Robin's taken.
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[ Her eyes above the mask are serious, brows drawn together. He knows that expression from her pouring over books and trying to figure out a word she doesn't know. This is Eleven listening and learning. ]
I can be... bird... girl? Spider-Man and... Bird-Girl? Spidey and... Birdy?
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his face scrunches up beneath the mask, a mix of thought and sheepishness, and he tilts his head to look up at the sky. ]
—Honestly, it's mostly the name thing. [ he admits, after a moment. ] And the mask thing. [ he pauses again and holds his hands up. ] The rules are kinda something you've got to figure out for yourself. What this [ he waves a hand at his face, ] means to me isn't what it'd mean to you. [ a breath. ] Hey, I guess that's a rule: stay true to yourself, right? Bird-Girl.
[ there's another pause, one where he opens his mouth to speak and seems to change his mind partway between thinking the words and the words coming out of his mouth. ] You wanna know what I'm afraid of? Besides Raid. [ she probably doesn't, peter concedes; still, he doesn't wait for an answer before continuing: ] Needles. [ beat. ] I don't know what you went through, [ a sharp glance at eleven ], and I don't want to know. It's not my place. But I've had some rough experiences with scientists as well. [ there had been a moment when he'd begun to speak where he thought he might have been able to say that he'd been cloned a couple of times; that people close to him had been cloned, but instead he shifts a little uncomfortably. ] So I get it, but the important thing is picking yourself up afterwards, and if you can't? Ask for help. Never be afraid to ask for help.
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The stiffness doesn't quite fade, even a moment after the words have stopped hanging heavy in the air. ]
We help each other...here. No one... can carry everything, alone.
[ Peter might recognize her tone. She parrots people and their life lessons to her. She's definitely parroted him like that, whether when repeating life lessons or words he's taught her. ]
But also. Become familiar... with pain. Become strong.
[ Eleven nods.
That is a lesson she's picked up too, said in the same tone of voice. Which means someone told her this - and she's taken it to heart. ]
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What? [ he doesn't think it's a conclusion she'd have come to by herself, so he's got to wonder where she's picked it up from someone else. peter's not sure that he disagrees with the intrinsic sentiment — acknowledging that something hurts and how it hurts is a step in picking yourself up, but familiarity implies frequency and— ]
Being familiar with pain doesn't make you strong. Knowing how to respond to it does. [ he thinks he's become better at that over the years, thinks that he's a little more qualified to comment. once upon a time, mentioning george washington bridge and gwen stacy in the same sentence was enough to give him pause; or the acme warehouse where ben's killer had been cornered and caught. it's not that he no longer feels the weight of those deaths and the guilt, but they don't define him in the same way they once had.
sure, he is who he is because of them; and he won't ever be who he was before he'd lost them, but that pain isn't his everything, not anymore. (he has so many other things to feel guilty over now. why pick just two!) it's practically a cliché at this point: hey, it's spider-man, quick, make fun of his guilt and self-blame problem, that'll stop him in his tracks. (does it come printed in the villain's 101? so you want to cause mayhem in new york, here are faces you need to watch out for — and their weaknesses! $9.99, non-refundable. what would old hornhead's be? "catholic. don't date him, you'll die"?) ]
If you let it consume you, that's when you have problems. I don't want to call it being weak, because it does hurt and not everyone's given the tools to know how to deal with their pain. Not everyone's given the opportunity to process it and heal and move on. [ a beat. ] What is weak is being given all of that and still choosing to let your pain define you. Strength is—
[ strength is aunt may, who'd lost ben and remained in their house for years, who'd carried on. who looked back on her time with her husband with fondness and love, not sorrow. it was mj, who'd held his secret for years without telling anyone; who'd carried her own pain and fears behind a mask without sharing them for so long; who'd chosen not to leave when a sad, angry boy yelled the most hurtful words he could think of at her. ]
—It's being better than your fears and the hurt. Acknowledging that it's a part of you and that's okay. To quote the early nineties: everybody hurts sometimes. You don't need to be familiar with pain in general, just yours. But that also doesn't mean you've got to think about it 24/7, because that's a slippery-slope into letting it be all of who you are.
[ a pause and he exhales; it manages to be a laugh, albeit short-lived and he waves a hand at his face. ] Ask me how I know.