Ben Reilly (teamclone) wrote in the100, @ 2016-01-25 01:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, ben reilly / spider-man (94), peter parker / spider-man (616) |
WHO: Pete and Re-Pete are in a boat Peter Parker and 'Ben Reilly'
WHAT: Ben wakes up in a strange place and runs into Peter who just hurts his head
WHEN: Monday 'morning' (forward dated obviously)
WHERE: Casa de Parker-Reilly-Angel before heading in the hallways to the mess hall
WARNINGS: don't think so?
STATUS: complete
His eyes snapped open as he gasped for breath, the burning in his throat and lungs jolting him… awake? Was this awake? It wasn’t the dreams, but it wasn’t… wasn’t… He ground the heel of his hand against his temple. No… no… that didn’t make sense… Detangling himself from the blankets and kicking them away, he sat up and pulled his knees close in a wary crouch on the…. bed? Yes, bed, but not his bed. Not that he could tell anyone what his bed looked like, that detail kept skittering at the edges of his mind, but even so, he was certain this wasn’t his bed. Or room.
He had no clue where he was. Which was really fitting in well with the rest of his head right now. Everything felt jumbled. Muted. Like someone shook his head like a snowglobe and the flurry of whatever they used for the snow hadn’t settled. So question marks were just popping up everywhere. The only thing his mind could settle on was that getting out was a good idea. Find someplace open. Someplace he could run and navigate and hide if need be. Not… trapped in this unknown place…
Sliding off the bed, he turned in a tight quick circle, taking in the room. Partial wall, door, things, things, more things he didn’t recognize, and… He jerked to a stop at the two silver objects on the nightstand. Those he recognized. He scooped the webshooters up quick, easily slipping them on as he continued his assessment of the room. They didn’t fit quite right and something was wrong with the triggers, but he’d fix that once he was somewhere he knew he was safe. Alright, so, only one door. Snatching up a long sleeve shirt, he pulled it on. Here went nothing.
He slowly opened the door, poking his head through first before pushing the door all the way open. Behind door number one was… another room. Still not familiar. Nothing ringing any bells. Just sofas and a table and three doors this time. He turned a circle again, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Still trapped in who knew where, but at least this time he had more options. But which one to go for? Might as well just make his way around. Left or right… left or right…
Right. Quietly padding over to the door, he gave it the same treatment. Slowly open. Poke head in....
… then freeze mid-motion, eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest as he stared at the man occupying the room. Ok… door number two, not as great as door number one…
Morning was a rough time of day, even for the self-professed morning types. Peter could wake up and find that bounce to his step before hitting breakfast, but there was always a bleary-eyed step that came before. The body needed those few minutes to realize it needed to get going before it went. And in those few minutes, so had Peter fumbled his toothbrush into one hand, squinting against the light in the bathroom and trying to snap the rest of his brain out of dreamland.
And that had been going as most mornings did, save for the door slowly opening and the two eyes peering in. They weren’t MJ’s, which meant Ben probably needed to jump in quick. Hey, bro code was alive and well. Peter turned, waving the toothbrush in one hand as he started, “Go ‘head, I’ll --”
Peter squinted. Then he squinted harder. The face was a familiar one, of course, but it hadn’t been seen around these parts for a good decade. In response to the deer-in-the-headlights look that Peter was receiving, he let his jaw go slack.
His eyebrows shot up first, the other man’s appearance when he got a better look at him startling him. Then they furrowed. His face was familiar, but… wrong? Not quite right to whatever memory it was trying to tug at. Something was there though and it made his skin itch and crawl. Something eerie and stomach twisting.
Or maybe that was just his brain yelling at him to stop gawking and run for it while the guy was still caught by surprise.
“Sorry, wrong room,” he croaked out, the words spilling out before he even realized he was saying anything. Darting his head back, he tugged the door closed. He started to turn away, to try and decide which door to go to, but… the guy might follow him… Everything was instinct. Step back. Arm out. Middle and ring finger to the palm. Double tap and… Nothing. He pushed up his sleeve, scowling down at the tech as he slid it around his wrist and tried again. Fingers to palm. Double tap. Still nothing. “C’monc’monc’mon…” he muttered as he backed up, weighing when he should give up on what must be clogged webshooters and just bolt for it.
Except there were still two doors to choose from… He tried his other webshooter, looking back over his shoulder. Which one… which one… door three or door four…
“Wait…!” The call was a little late, admittedly, but it was early and the world had presented a substantial kick between the eyes. So he staggered a little. Peter felt he wasn’t invincible to the occasional surprise, and that was perfectly understandable. In fact, it took even another second to drop the toothbrush in the sink, start towards the door, spin around to grab a quick mouthful of water to rinse out -- yech, toothpaste -- and then start back towards the door.
Luckily, the frantic teenager didn’t seem to have much of a plan given that he was fumbling with Ben’s webshooters.
...Ben.
“Ben?” Peter asked, his feet having planted him halfway between the bathroom and the younger man.
Shoot, so much for that plan. Still backpedalling, the teen gave up on fidgeting with the webshooters. Door three or door four. Door three or door four. One hand pushed down his sleeve, the other balling into a fist and punching down in aggravation.
Thoop.
Thoop? That didn’t sound right… He looked down just in time to jump aside, his path hopping up onto the sofa in order to avoid the pellet that sprawled out in webbing goop as soon as it hit the floor. Ok… maybe not as familiar a thing as he thought… Staring at the white glob mess, his breathing turned ragged as his head spun. Door three or door four… One defense gone. Maybe if he could figure out how to use the webshooters, but mid-escape, it was too iffy to count on.
Plus there was another person. The older man was calling for a Ben. One against one, he could handle, but two… he could probably still handle. Something deep down told him he’d faced worse odds, but with his head so jumbled, keeping the odds lower was better. Door three or door four… Especially when that name felt like a knife to the gut. There was warmth attached to it. The good dreams. Happy. Home. Belonging. But right alongside was also guilt and sadness. Having to fight. Protect.
Door three or door four…
Tearing his eyes away from the web gunk, he risked a glance at the other man. Then he bolted for the door on the opposite side of the room from the bathroom.
There definitely was a level of comedy here, but Peter was still mentally trying to get a handle on the situation. His mind had been jolted to alertness, but that didn’t mean much for knowing what was actually going on right now. It was (once again) flying by the seat of his pants and hoping for the best. And with the teenager about to spring for the open tunnels and halls of Mount Weather, there was only one thing to do…
“Hey!” One bound was enough to clear most of the room -- including the puddle of webbing that was going to be such a pain to get up later -- and that placed Peter close enough to lunge forward and snag one flailing arm. “Hey,” Peter started again, “I’m not going to hurt you. Just calm down. There’s nowhere to go, okay? There’s nowhere out there you need to be going…”
The name ‘Ben’ almost formed on Peter’s lips again, but he stopped himself. Whatever had happened, something was telling him that he wasn’t going to be convincing this kid that his name was Ben. And that meant there was only one gamble to make: “Okay, Peter?”
The jerk back was automatic and instinctual, trying to free his arm from the other man’s grasp. The teen used the momentum of the turn to face the older man to throw his weight into the pull, but the other man’s grip was solid. Strong. Stronger than he’d think looking at the guy. He kept twisting and tugging though, nowhere to go just sounding more like this place was a trap or a prison or something that needed to be gotten out of.
But then…
He froze, his eyes going wide again. Peter… Yes. Peter. Peter… something… something with a p that had good alliteration and flow to it… His heart was still hammering, but his arm relaxed. His head bobbed in a very slow nod, followed by a few more firmer nods. “Yeah… okay…” he breathed out, even if he still wasn’t sure about the ‘nowhere to go’ part. Or the ‘not hurting’ thing. But this guy seemed to know him. At least his name. Then there was that familiarity…
His brow furrowed again, his eyes narrowing as he studied the other man’s face. Trying to latch onto… something. Even if it made his stomach uneasy. Or maybe he was just hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He pressed his lips together, thinking over his words and how much he could actually trust this guy. “Whaddaya mean ‘nowhere to go’? What is this? Some kinda jail?”
Even if Ben wasn’t getting anywhere with pulling, that didn’t mean Peter didn’t get tugged slightly off his spot by the sheer persistence. He wasn’t trying to spook the teen by outright manhandling him, but having a spider with brain fog running around wasn’t going to work out well for anyone. How to tell Ben that, though?
At least the struggling stopped, and after a small hesitation, Peter let go. Please don’t let him bolt again. Please.
“I dunno what sorta jails you’re thinking, but this pure luxury in comparison,” Peter carefully replied, sweeping an arm out to show off the worn furniture. “You’re just a little dizzy -- that’s all. If you start running around out there, you’re gonna get lost. These tunnels’ll turn you in circles, trust me.”
The teen eyed the older man warily, his arm staying outstretched a moment, in case the guy changed his mind about the hold, before he slowly wrapped his previously captured arm around his chest. His other hand rubbed over his sleeve as he risked a glance back towards the door. The temptation was still there. Bolt. Get out. But this guy seemed to know where they were… Somewhere with tunnels…
That resonated in his mind. Sneaking. Fighting. Ugh, and always the smell. His nose wrinkled up as his eyes drifted up to the ceiling. If they were talking tunnels, how far under were they? “There are rich guy prisons…” he mumbled, which really was the worst comeback ever. Even if it was true, the idea that he’d somehow get tossed in a rich guy prison was laughable. Or that any captor would just leave the webshooters out like that. Right? Or maybe they just didn’t know what they were...
He took a step back, just one, enough to get some breathing room, not the start of an escape. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand against his temple. “Can’t get lost when you’ve already got a nice house there.”
Watching Ben try to patch together words with surroundings, Peter could only loom on the spot where he’d let Ben’s arm go. He remembered that age too well. If anyone thought nearly-30 Peter Parker was twitchy, they hadn’t ever met teenage Peter Parker for comparison. He’d mellowed. It was just about the same as loosening the tension on an over-taut string. Still strained. Still liable to burst free if you poked it the wrong way.
“Either way, you don’t wanna end up wandering down by the warehouses when you’re hungry. I dunno about you, but wandering on an empty stomach usually just makes me make worse decisions,” Peter carried on, sure that maintaining even a shallow conversation would buy more time to let Ben’s nerves settle. He raised a hand next, turning his palm up and curling in his middle and pointer fingers. It was practically a universal signal in their world. “It’s the wrist, by the way. They fire when you flex the wrist.”
The mention of the possibility of food twisted his stomach. Yeah, still no clue when the last time he ate was. He worried his lip for just a second before raising his eyebrows and offering a hopeful grin. “So, the nearest coffee shop would be where? Other than if you hit the warehouses you've gone too far?” Ok, yes, food was an added bonus, but directions to food could also give him directions to out. Two birds, one stone.
Especially since that advice was a bit too helpful and too personal. His mind was still too jumbled to stop the knee jerk curiosity taking hold and drawing his eyes down to his wrist before his brain could jump in with the big flashing warning sign that this guy shouldn't know that. Right? Covering up his misstep with a blank, innocent stare, he gave the other man the same sort of nod you give the guy on the corner telling you the world is going to end. “Uh huh. Oooooookay. Sure thing.” He raised his hand, mimicking the gesture. “And rock on to you too.”
There we go. Crisis averted. Except he forgot what the other man had said about the wrist movement in his efforts to play it cool. His hand bobbed forward to emphasize the rock on and then back.
Thwip.
His whole body tensed. Ah. Ok. Wrist flexes. Right. That’s what he meant. Good to know… Trying his best to ignore the webline from his hand to the ceiling, he swung his hand down behind his back as he cleared his throat. “So, uh, that coffee shop?”
Peter eyed the strand where it was affixed to the ceiling. He then lowered his gaze to Ben, one eye squinted at the continued attempt to duck and weave. Poor kid didn’t realize his tricks didn’t work on the guy who invented him. But that didn’t mean he’d let him sizzle in the spotlight.
“Hey, don’t sweat it. That happens to everyone at your age,” Peter remarked, making a swift smile of that last word. “And there’s no coffee shop ‘cause Broadway this sure isn’t. You can get something that tries its best to be coffee in the mess hall, if you time it right. I can’t make any promises, but lemme walk you there.”
A nod towards the door as Peter stepped around Ben signalled for the teen to follow. Peter even make a quick and painless exit himself first, then waited. C’mon, Ben, just trust me a little…
An eyeroll met the commentary, but the older man actually dropped the whole web faux pas, so best to just let it slide. Why look a gift excuse in the mouth? Not that his comments made this situation any better. Tunnels. Mess hall. No coffee shops. Not being Broadway was one thing, but that didn’t mean you could have some place better than a mess hall to get coffee.
And here was his chance. Open door. The older man leading. He could circle back. Try door three or explore the bathroom. See if there was another way out. Place to hide. Or… he took a few cautious steps, enough so he could poke his head out into the.... hallway. Ok. Door four led to hallway. Good to know too. Another chance and option. Hallway went two ways. One way to follow the guy. The other way… He could outrun him. He was younger. He was pretty sure he was faster. He could run…
...and end up where? The more he thought about it, the more he accepted that he was hungry. Really, really hungry. And maybe he could find a good way out or what exactly this place was while also filling his belly. Puffing out a breath, he straightened as he exited the room and fell in at the older man’s side. “So is there a spiel too? Pointing out all the great sights? Where all the famous stuff happened and the stars live?”
That reluctance was so easy to spot for Peter. He knew Ben had those muscles coiled to run if he saw the chance, which came with a small regret for not doubling back to grab his own webshooters. Then again, with everything buried in snow and with so many Avengers around, there wasn’t much of a chance that he would get far, even if he did wriggle past Peter’s own grip. Ease up, Parker. Nothing terrible was going to happen.
But this was ridiculous. In the immediate moment, keeping Ben close occupied Peter’s thoughts to the point that with this short breather, he found a new frayed string of logic to tug at. Why was Ben so young? There was that whole memory-upgrade thing, but that never swung backwards, did it? Or maybe it could, and this was a first…
“You want a spiel? That’s Captain America’s room. Iron Man is further down the hall. And if you look to your right, you’ll see a granite formation indigenous to this area --” Peter stopped, giving Ben a quick check of a glance. “I don’t look familiar at all to you, huh?”
His eyes went wide with the name drops. It had to be a joke, right? The Avengers couldn’t be there. Even if it was just two of the roster. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel more nervous or less. Cap and Iron Man being here couldn’t mean anything good, right? Or maybe this was some sort of test… Except…
He looked down at his hands. He wouldn’t be here like this if it was that sort of situation… right? That… that had different clothes… that had to be somewhere. If his webshooters were right there, where was the rest? His brow furrowed, he turned in a circle, not missing a step as he took in the hallway. He took a few more steps before his eyes focused on the other man. Yeah, there was that stomach squirm that had nothing to do with hunger or food. Especially when the guy was just bluntly bringing up the matter. The guy who knew him… and how the webshooters worked…
Turning away, he dug the heel of his hand against his temple. “Yes… but no… I don’t know… it… it’s there… but…” He shook his head. “What are Cap and Iron Man doing here?”
So close, and yet… Peter gave a short sigh, though he pressed on. No need to let on that this was getting increasingly more worrying with the ticking seconds. Starting from scratch with Ben wasn’t on the list of things he wanted to accomplish in life. At least, not starting back from square one.
“Same as you and me. This place pulls people from all over. Yeah, I know that sounds wild, but I’m not lying to you.” He banked a corner, turning left. There was a glance down the hall, and then a relieved look upon realizing no one else was occupying it. One thing at a time, here. Take it slow. “I’m sure you’d know if you were in danger, right?” Peter’s brows lifted this time. He wasn’t trying to dig at Ben’s not-so-secret secrets, but more just remind the teenager that his senses wouldn’t fail him.
“So, Hulk? Wasp? Ant Man?” the teen asked curiously as he kept pace. The selection wasn’t really all over, but his mind was stuck on the whole Avengers angle. And it was… disconcerting. How was it pulling them from all over? Where was this place even? Was it actual physical pulling or… A quick glance over before he pushed up his sleeve and pinched his arm. Ok, not much a test, but ouch, ok, not just in his head. Out of his head. Whatever it’d be if this was just a dream or mental or something. Still disconcerting though. Especially with…
His eyes narrowed as he studied the man again. Instinct said to dodge the vague, yet pointed question. Brush it off. Evade. But this was the second time. Third if you counted the webbing non-issue. He could just let it slide again, or… He glanced around the empty hallway. Quickening his pace to get in front of the man, he turned and walked backwards a few steps before putting his hand on the other man’s chest to make him stop. “Ok, you know my name. That or you’re really good at guessing. What else do you know?”
“Were all here, but they went back home,” Peter answered, feeling at least a little less guilty for not knowing how to navigate this because it wasn’t a lie. “Same with Thor, before you ask. I know, I know. Avengers! The big league! That’s just pretty much a normal day around here, though. You’ll…” He didn’t want to say remember. After a thought, Peter finished, with possibly some uncertainty creeping into his voice, “You’ll get used to it.”
There was a prod against his chest, though, and that snapped Peter straight out of a meandering thought. He jerked to a halt, eyes falling down to look at the hand that was demanding he stop. It took two seconds to backtrack and actually realize that Ben was asking him something. How much did he know? ‘Everything’ felt as if it could backfire. If some guy had come up to him at that age and started rattling off a laundry list of facts about Peter Parker, it would have gone south in a hurry.
“...well, uh.” Peter looked at the younger man’s face. It was like looking back in time almost ten years. There was a small prayer that maybe Ben would realize that his perspective was like looking ahead in time ten years. “I’m pretty good at multiplication and I know the periodic table by heart?”
“That’s not…” the teen started before closing his eyes and puffing out a long breath. The side-step answer grated his nerves, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the redirect or because it was just so… familiar… too familiar… like…
Taking a step back, he scrubbed his hands over his face before sliding them up to tangle in his hair. His eyes opened, but didn’t fully focus on anything in particular. “I’m having another mental breakdown, aren’t I? That’s what this is. Too much stress and…” His fingers splayed wide, even as his hands stayed on top his head, and he puffed out another breath. A memory flitted through, just long enough to latch on to the major beats of it. “Or maybe like…” He pressed his lips tight around the rest of it. Nope, not something to say aloud, even with eerily familiar and knowledgeable guy. Especially not with him. Especially when the more he thought about it, the less likely that memory loss angle seemed. When that’d happened with Doc Ock, he couldn’t remember anything… It wasn’t this… haze… Plus he’d been in costume then. Again. Why would they take away the costume and not the webshooters?
Shaking his head, one hand fell to his side as the other cradled his head. “I know you, but… I… everything is so…” He threw his hands up in aggravation.
“No, no --” Peter shook his head, waving his hands in protest. “I promise, this isn’t a mental breakdown. Is it freaky? Yeah, sure it is. But you’re not losing it.” His expression softened. It was hard to not feel bad for the kid, and it wasn’t just because Peter felt responsible for all the confusion so far. Floundering for any safe port in a storm when you didn’t know where you were or who you were with or why you were even washed out this far from home -- all told, Ben was handling it fairly well.
Although…
It sounded like something had clicked. Peter brightened up. “You do know me. Just follow that thought, okay? Maybe it’ll come back to you.”
“I feel like I’m losing it,” he wooshed out as he looked up at the ceiling. He gestured around as if that proved his point. “Taken to tunnel-land with no coffee shops and tons of Avengers that’s sounding more and more like it’s not in… in….” He frowned, his hand waving in circles as he tried to find the name. City. City. Big city. Lots of tall buildings. High with the wind rushing past… “... apples?” He made a face and shook his head. “Broadway,” he finally settled on before sweeping a hand towards the older man. “With a guy who…”
His throat closed up as his brain skittered away from the end of that sentence. There were flashes. Mirrors. Curved glass. Blurry images of the familiar figure with a man in glasses. But they didn’t match up right to this man in the hallway. He was… older… “Yes… No… I… I don’t know… who… who looks like…” His eyes went distant as his brow furrowed. Older… something… standing in warm-good-home… the old woman… family… so proud. All of them. Look just like him…
He shook his head slowly, his voice lowering to a faint murmur as he stepped back to lean against a wall. “... like… like… Dad?”
That wasn’t what Peter had been counting on. There was a lingering hope that somehow Ben could pull up more recent memories and prove that they were still hiding in that head of his. This, though…
This made Peter’s stomach drop. And he looked every bit like someone had snatched the air right out of his lungs. “I…”
There was thinking on his feet, and then there was a sinking feeling that the best option would probably be to let the lie live for a bit. What was the alternative? ‘No, we’re actually the same person, but you haven’t figured that out yet.’ He couldn’t do that to Ben. The kid would bolt and never turn back.
“Mess hall, huh? You have to be hungry by now,” Peter attempted, fighting to regain some of his conversational step.
Side step. Not a yes… but not a no either… His eyes refocused, coming to rest on the older man. Intense, wary, and trying very hard not to be hopeful. The details were still hazy (everything was still hazy), but it’d been awhile. That much he felt in his gut. Years. Enough that the memories were naturally hazy, not… whatever had scrambled up the rest of his brain. And more the kind of memories from being shown pictures and videos…
But the older man wasn’t confirming. Or denying. If it had been years, then… then avoiding made sense, right? Everything here was still so new and he didn’t even know how he had gotten here, other than the whole calming attempt at how everyone just got pulled here. He wasn’t even sure which was the better answer. A yes, ok, there was baggage he knew would need to be unpacked once he could find it, but a no… His stomach squirmed at the possible answers to who the man was. None of them were as comforting as the word that came from his mouth and all hinted at something more sinister going on around here. Maybe bolting was the better idea....
His stomach rumbled.
Or maybe not… He nodded slowly, lips pulling up in a crooked grin. “Gee, how could you tell?” he quipped before nodding again, more firmly. “Yeah, mess hall. Can’t remember last time I ate, so show me what not-a-coffee-shop has to offer."