Chapter Text
Peter has seen many things in his life that made him squeal in pure nerdy delight, but a time machine is definitely at the top of his list.
He should really thank the scientists that created it to go back in time and meddle with it, he guesses. He makes sure to do so as he dodges their bullets and webs them on the floor, while the rest of the Avengers takes care of the better armed ones and their security robots.
Wade is with them today. Captain America accepted his help - after Peter insisted about it and Wade made his best puppy eyes - and he is doing a pretty good job at not putting bullets into the scientists’ heads or cutting off their limbs. That doesn’t mean he isn’t using his guns and katanas, but at least there isn’t much blood on the floor and Peter smiles proudly when he sees him stab a guy in the leg to stop him instead of knocking the knife into his skull.
His love and pride for Wade grow even stronger when Captain America berates Wolverine, fuming and growling with his claws dripping blood, instead of Wade.
“Logan! Stop being a beast and help us here!”
Peter jumps next to some boxes to avoid another stream of bullets, which abruptly stops when Wade shoots at the scientists aiming at him.
“Spidey! You okay?”
Peter shoots a web at the railing above their heads and, just before flying past him, presses a kiss on his masked cheek and whispers: “Thank you, honey.” He can see Wade’s grin even from a mile away.
He lands near the time machine and stops for a second to admire it; it looks like a portal of some sort, with wires and lights attached to it and connected to a machine in a dark corner with a huge screen and keyboard on it. He hopes Rogers will decide to keep it because damn, it’s a time machine! And they know for sure it works, that’s the main reason they are here! He is sure Bruce will want to give it a good look too.
He giggles happily, anticipating the moment they will start to study it, and steps forward, focusing on the complicated keys and buttons that his mind hurries to analyze. He gasps and jumps a little when the portal slowly turns on, probably activated by his presence, a white, dense light filling it, similar to fog.
“Wade! Guys! It works! It’s on!” he shouts, turning back to the team, who just stopped fighting; Wade, the Hulk and Iron Man are bringing the wounded and webbed scientists at the center of the room, Captain America, Thor and Wolverine are collecting and destroying all the weapons and looking around the place, a bad lit, decaying warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
“Spider-Man! Don’t touch anything yet!” Iron Man shouts back, with a hint of personal excitement; he sounds thrilled by the idea of putting his hands on a time machine as well, but he has to appear professional and strict in front of Rogers.
“Do you think we could go back in time and bring Bea Arthur here??” Wade asks, bouncing and clapping his hands. “Oooh, can you imagine? A living Bea Arthur, finally back to her beloved fans!”
“These guys wanted to bring back different kind of people, I am sure.” Rogers muses grimly while Wade continues listing all dead celebrities’ names.
“Hulk wants to meet Frank Sinatra…” Hulk agrees when Wade mentions him. Wade looks at Peter from the other side of the room, grins and starts singing ‘Moon River’, a hand on his heart, the other up high in the air.
“Stop serenating your boyfriend.” Wolverine growls while Peter giggles and blushes, Rogers taps his foot on the floor following the rhythm and the Hulk swings his head back and forth.
“We should start interrogating these people.” Logan continues, glaring at Wade who abandoned the scientists to slowly walk towards Peter. “And ask them… oh, for fuck’s sake, Wilson! Shut your mouth!”
“What?!” Wade barks, stopping in the middle of the room. “Don’t interrupt the moment, you rude hairy prick!” He begins to say some pretty crude stuff to the mutant, who replies without problems, and Peter sighs fondly, deciding to focus back on the time machine until they are done.
He gets closer to the portal, observing its reaction, the light, the sounds; his fingers itch, long for the keyboard and his eyes can’t wait to read all the info on the screen. Just when he is heading towards the console, there is a distinct, loud sound, the light gets brighter, blinding, and Peter has to stop to shield his face.
“H-Hey!” he hears Iron Man yell in the distance, then Wade: “Peter!”
He manages to look at the portal, only to have dread fill him to the bones; he is being sucked in and it doesn’t matter how much he sticks to the floor, how strong the webs he shoots at the opposite walls are. The portal is an unrelenting force and Peter stumbles, falls on the ground and feels his inside twist and turn, not because of fear - albeit he is feeling it and it’s enormous -, but because his same essence, his body and mind are being dematerialized to be carried into a different time.
“Wade!” he screams, nails scraping the ground. His leg…! His leg is already gone, lost into the white fog!
The others are coming and Wade is the first one running to him; Peter shoots a web at his feet and cries out: “Grab that! Don’t come near me, it will suck you in too!”
“For fuck’s sake, we have to destroy it!” the merc roars, but does as he’s told, pulling the web, gritting his teeth and flexing his muscles.
“No! He is already inside, he could lose some limbs!” Iron Man explains and not even the robotic voice caused by the suit can’t hide his panic.
“The Man of Spiders is being dragged farther!” Thor yells, going behind the billionaire to help him.
“Pull! Faster!” Wade shouts, his voice filled with horror and a fear bigger than Peter’s. “Pull!”
The others arrive to help him and for a moment it seems that their strength is enough, especially thanks to the Hulk; however Peter is way too in and the portal doesn’t let him go, slowly dragging him until his head is the only visible thing. It doesn’t hurt, but it isn’t pleasant either; his whole body is aching, his brain and cells screaming in confusion because they cannot understand what they have to do, where their place is at.
“Wade!” Peter cries out one last time, before his grip on the web becomes weaker and he is completely in.
The last thing he sees is Wade falling on his knees and extending a hand towards him.
- - -
Silence fills the room, interrupted only by the mercenary’s heavy panting and the scientists’ groans. Then a whisper: “Told ya we had to fix that shit, Jim.”
Wade’s head snaps towards the group of men tied at the center of the room; two scientists are still conscious and they gulp when he approaches them, his stance similar to a predator’s, his creepy mask sending bad, murderous vibes.
“What did you say?” he growls and one of the scientists gulps again.
Wade grabs him by the collar and shakes him, roaring in his face: “What the fuck did you say?! Is the machine broken?! What happened to Spidey?!”
“T-The machine works fine!” the scientist squeals, his eyes glued to the red and black mask, sweat running down his forehead. “I swear, the machine works! Its only fault is… is what you just saw. It’s dangerous to go near it when it’s activated.”
“Who did activate it?” Steve asks, glaring down at him, and the other scientist intervenes, his voice steadier than his colleague’s: “Spider-Man himself. The machine was already on when you arrived, it was in stand-by mode. By walking near it, Spider-Man activated it again, but got sucked in.” He raises his chin defiantly and Wade’s hand moves dangerously near a gun holster. “He should have been more careful.”
“Find him. Bring him back here.” the merc orders, his voice low, but the first scientist shakes his head: “That’s not possible. Not… not yet, at least.”
“You said it worked!” Wade wraps his fingers around his neck and the other man wheezes, clawing at his glove: “I-It does work! But after it has been used, it’s not possible to look immediately for the ‘intruder’ in the past! It will require some time and…”
“How much?” Wade’s voice doesn’t bode well for the two men, but the second one is reckless and prideful and coldly answers: “At least an entire day. Then the machine can be used to track down your friend and open a new portal to bring him back home.”
“The whole day?” the merc gasps and slowly rises, turning back to look at the now inactive, empty portal. Only the console seems to be still working: there are numbers and various loading bars on the screen, the buttons are flashing and tiny, acute noises fill the dark corner.
“I don’t doubt Spider-Man’s abilities.” Rogers begins to say and Wade’s heart almost skips a beat when he sees worry on his usually blank or confident face. “However… we must know where… when that thing brought him.”
“Jesus!” Wade whimpers, hands on his head. “It’s true! He could be in the future! Or… What if he is with dinosaurs and all that prehistoric shit?! We already went into the Savage Lands, but it’s not the same thing! What if he is in the Middle Age? French Revolution? Italy during the plague?” He makes a strangled sound, imagining his baby boy in the middle of a half-dead town or chased by angry peasants.
“Wilson that knows something about history… now this is more surprising than a time machine.” Wolverine jokes under his breath, before Wade points a gun at his head.
“Peter is in deep shit and all you care about is mocking me?” he roars. “Not cool, dude!”
“I know you are worried. I am too, I swear.” Logan sighs, pushing the gun away. “But there is nothing we can do until the portal works again. Stop panicking so much.”
“You can’t tell me not to panic, Logan! My boyfriend is…!”
“Guys! Guys, please calm down!” Iron Man yells, deciding to bring the attention back to the main, important topic before things get worse. He turns to the two scientists and folds his arms. “Where is exactly our friend now? Are the time and place random? Or did you program the machine before we arrived?”
“You better tell the truth or I am gonna put all my bullets into your fucking mouth.” Wade growls, leaning down to talk face to face with the first, quivering scientist. The man shakes his head frantically and answers, not daring to look at Wade and preferring to focus on Iron Man instead: “I can’t tell where Spider-Man is…”
Wade growls again.
“B-But what I do know is that he can be only in the past, in America, in a time range of 10-40 years.”
“So… he could be in the New York of one year ago or in the Alabama of 30 years ago?” Steve suggests and sighs when the scientist nods.
“Everything went better than expected.” Thor comments with a shrug and Wade glares at him.
“Don’t start spewing memes, Thunder-boy! The situation is serious! Peter is lost and alone, away from home, away from his time, away from… from me and…”
The merc swallows a hard lump in his throat and looks away, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving; the group falls silent for a while, then Iron Man puts a hand on his helmet and announces: “I am going to call S.H.I.E.L.D. to take care of these guys. Then we will spend the rest of the day here and wait for the machine to come back to life and tell us where and when Spidey is.”
“Spider-Man must be scared.” Hulk mumbles, glancing at the portal and at the screen still filled with bars, numbers and letters. “He didn’t exist so many years ago. Hulk would be scared to be in a place he is not supposed to be in.”
Another kind of silence, heavier and way more awkward than the one before, settles in the room, then Wade starts wailing, clutching his head: “Oh God almighty, what if he changes the future?? What if he changes the present and… and… and kills himself and stop existing or…”
“You are right! His presence could alter the reality!” Rogers exclaims then looks at Iron Man, waiting for his confirmation: “Is that right? That’s possible, isn’t it?”
“I… well, yes…” even if his face is hidden by the helmet, Stark appears to be very scared. “Yes, that’s definitely possible. And it’s a huge problem. A gigantic problem. Shit.”
“You! Green guy!” Wade shrieks, pointing at the Hulk, who blinks in surprise. “Stop being green and help us! Team up with Stark’s brain and fix this!”
“That’s racist.” the Hulk mutters, narrowing his eyes, and Wade snarls, raising his arms up in the air.
“Just… just turn human again! Maybe you can use that machine before the whole freaking day is over!”
“We should call the others.” Logan says, scowling at the group of unconscious scientists and the two that still are awake, despite their bleeding and wounds. “We need to take away these assholes and interrogate them.”
“We will also have to spend the day here, like Tony said.” Rogers adds, scratching his head and looking around. “We have to monitor the situation.”
“Not a problem for me. I won’t go home until Spidey is here again.” Wade says, walking over to some crates and sitting on one of them. His eyes move to the portal and he fidgets, his masked features showing worry and all the love he has for Peter.
“We will find him, son.” Rogers says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you.”
“What if something happens to him?” Wade murmurs, eyes still fixated on the machine. “What if… what if he is in danger and… and I am not there to help him…”
“He is a clever man. He won’t get into trouble.” Rogers reassures him and Wade finally turns his head to look up at him, an hopeful expression visible under his tight mask. The super soldier smiles. “And I am sure he is aware of the risks an outer presence can cause in a different time. He will stay hidden and wait for us.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt him! Knowing him, he already understood what happened, where he is and what he has to do to come back.” Wade chuckles, love clear in his voice. “I just… I just don’t like this. I want him to be safe and sound.”
“He will be. Do not fear, Wilson.” Starks promises again, squeezing his shoulder and leaving to discuss with Stark about what they should tell Fury and the other Avengers.
Wade’s eyes move back to the machine and he lets out a trembling sigh.
Half an hour later S.H.I.E.L.D. arrives. Rogers explains the situation to a fuming Fury, the scientists are taken away (not before Wade can glare and curse at them one last time) and food supplies and sleeping bags are left for the team, so that they can rest in the warehouse and keep an eye on the machine.
Stark shows the Hulk photos of puppies and Bruce Banner slowly regains his human form, wobbling slightly before taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. Wasp, who arrived with the rest of the team and Fury, offers him clean clothes and his pair of glasses, before heading to Rogers.
“I will take care of the Avengers Tower and protect the city while you are here.” she says with a bright smile, then she notices Wade, now sitting right in front of the portal, and her feature softens. “Poor dear. He didn’t take it well, did he?”
“It’s been a little shock, yeah.” Rogers sighs. He shakes her hand and offers her a tired smile. “Thank you, Janet. I will let you know if something changes.”
“No problem, Steve. Leave the city to us.” she looks back at Natasha, Jessica and Carol, who are respectively examining the surroundings, listening intently to Thor and talking with a still nervous Fury.
They soon go back to New York, leaving the men in the warehouse, wishing them good luck. After arranging the sleeping bags and taking out some food to eat later, Rogers and the others join Wade in front of the time machine. Bruce is the first to get to work, studying accurately the screen and messages on it.
Wade wakes up from his mild shock, his eyes lively, filled with fire and energy, and abandons the crate to move next to the scientist, who tenses up a bit, but lets him stay.
“So?? Can you do something?” the mercenary asks with panic and hope mixed together; Banner pushes the glasses on his nose and answers slowly: “The machine is loading. It consumed a lot of energy to bring Parker to the past, so it will take a while before it can be used again. Those scientists weren’t lying.”
“B-But…!” Wade looks at the machine, then at Banner, then at the machine again. “But you can make it load faster, right? We need to know where Peter is and how we can save him!”
“We also have to make sure time itself isn’t modified thanks to this little trip.” Stark grumbles and Banner, maybe annoyed by the heavy responsibility everyone is putting on him, glares at them both.
“I can’t make the machine load faster and I am sorry for that. However, I think I know what to do to avoid any consequence here in the present.” He sighs, glancing at the numbers he has scribbled down on a piece of paper. “I just need to study the machine and see if I can modify it a little. To do that, we need to wait.” He looks at Wade, his gaze telling him not to insist.
“Fine.” the merc snarls, walking away and sitting back on the crate, his eyes drilling a hole in the empty, lifeless portal. “The whole day, right?”
“Most likely.”
“Fucking great.” he mutters, rolling the mask up to his nose and passing a hand over his bare, scarred chin. “Fantastic.”
“It’s gonna be okay.” Stark says, his helmet up so that his face is visible. “Believe me, Wilson, we are going to save him.” He gestures at the food and adds, trying to lift his spirits: “Why don’t we eat something in the meantime? I asked Fury to bring good stuff.”
When Wade refuses to eat and keeps staring at the portal like it will turn on in a second, the team fully realizes how worried he is. They move some crates and boxes next to his and eat with him, keeping him company. At first the merc is surprised, even awkward, not knowing how to react or what to say; he doesn’t even joke or talk too much like he usually does, but in the end he begrudgingly accepts a sandwich and continues to look at the portal and the beeping machine Banner is keeping under control as well.
‘Peter…’ he thinks, swallowing a small, tasteless bite. ‘Please, baby boy, be careful. I will be there soon.’
- - -
The first thing Peter feels once he wakes up is a terrible, unpleasant coldness that seems to cover him fully. He stirs, groans and slowly opens his eyes.
White. White everywhere.
It takes a while for him to understand what the hell he is looking at, then it hits him: he is immersed in snow, pure, candid, freezing snow. He then remembers the warehouse, the time machine, the struggle against it and Wade’s shock at watching him disappear beyond the portal.
Peter sharply looks back at his legs; they are fine and apparently he still has all the rest of his body in good conditions. Nothing is missing, so he forces himself to stand up despite the cold and aching muscles.
“Well… at least I am sure I am not in the future.” he mumbles when he spots some old cars abandoned in the large, empty field he is in. He doesn’t know their models, but he can recognize an obsolete one when he sees it.
The buildings around him seems to be pretty old-fashioned too; they are falling apart, long forgotten, windows shattered and doors barred. He tries to understand where he could be by the style - Europe? Asia? America? -, but he’s unable to do so.
“I could be anywhere.” he sighs, scratching his head. The spandex doesn’t offer much protection against the cold and his nose is already running, his mouth is already chapped. He licks his lips and a deep, painful longing hits him, because they remind him of Wade’s.
“God, he must be so worried.” the young man murmurs and wonders if he should stay here, waiting for help, or look for it somewhere else. He doesn’t know how the time machine works, if Wade and the team are already preparing everything to succor him. They could appear here, in the same place he ended up being in, or maybe it’s not that easy… he doesn’t know.
After pondering for a long time, he decides to move. He can’t stay here, freezing to death; he should at least find somewhere warmer and safe. He is sure the time machine has some tracking device incorporated in it that will help Wade and the others find him; and even if it doesn’t, Banner will build it and locate him in the folds of time.
He sees a town in the distance, barely visible due to the snow, but it’s definitely there. Peter doesn’t know the year nor the place, but he can’t be much far from his time. Maybe twenty, twenty-five years from his present…?
“I need a newspaper.” the hero mutters, rubbing his arms as he walks fast towards the main road. He realizes how he is dressed and gulps, fearing eventual meetings with people. “Okay… think, Peter, think… if you are really twenty years back or so, then the Avengers already exist. People will think you are a new superhero or something like that.”
‘Or a pervert.’ a tiny voice in the back of his mind chimes in and Peter shivers, both from the cold and the shame.
“Oh, Wade, so this is how it feels like to have voices in your head!” he whimpers, speeding up.
He arrives at the outskirts of the town when the gray sky has turned almost dark; he is hungry, tired, terribly cold and can’t feel his feet anymore. So, when he sees a series of houses at the side of the road, his heart makes a jump. He supposes he can ask for some help and information, showing freely his face, since, if his calculation is right, he shouldn’t even be born in this time…
“W-Wait!” he gasps almost out loud. “It’s true, I am in the past! I… I could change the future!”
He knows too well about the consequences and risks of time travel, about time paradoxes and how even the littlest thing can influence the biggest. What if a single word, a single gesture, erase completely something - or someone - existing in his time? What if he changes history? He shouldn’t be there, after all, he is an intruder, a new piece for a puzzle that has been already completed.
Maybe the time machine can control and take care of this, he thinks, more hoping it than really knowing it. Maybe Banner and Stark will come up with something after saving him. He can’t stay in this cold any longer; he already slept in the snow and his body has been badly affected by it.
Still, he knows he must be careful; there is a barrel with wood and paper burning in it in the garden of the first house at his right. Instead of heading to the door and asking for help - help he may not even receive, if the people here don’t speak English -, he tip-toes towards the barrel, trying to avoid the small, dirty windows, and sighs in relief when his hands are hit by a regenerating warmth.
Peter cautiously looks around for any sign of life; the road is desert and there are no lights inside the house. He decides to stay and enjoy the warm barrel a little more; he has no idea of what he is going to do, but for now he needs to feel his fingers again and the warmth will help him come up with some ideas.
He manages to spend only a few minutes around the fire, though. He suddenly hears a shout - a manly, slurring, furious voice screams inside the house and for a frightening moment he thinks he has been seen.
But the voice isn’t talking to him, because it says: “Go back to your fucking room!”
A big noise is heard and another voice - way younger, scared and tiny - yelps; Peter stiffens, his eyes glued to a window of the house. He waits for more, but silence falls back in and the only noises in the garden now are the whistling wind and the crackling fire.
A child… that was definitely a child. And the noise before that yelp was unmistakable, a slap or a painful blow on the face.
This may not be his time, but Peter is still a hero and heroes help people, no matter what. It’s risky, it’s dangerous, he may get in huge trouble and cause a disaster, but if there is really an abused child in that house, he has to do something.
He forgets about the comfy fire and crouches, heading to the wall; the wood is rotting, it’s damp and soft, and there must be much humidity and mold in the rooms inside. He can stick to it with no problems, though, and does so, crawling to the first floor, more precisely towards a window where a small light, invisible from the garden, is coming from. That must be the child’s room.
He peeks inside, squinting in the darkness; a tiny lamp next to a bed offers the weak light he has seen, but it’s definitely not enough to lit the room in a decent way. There is a kid on the bed, just like he thought; long, blond, messy hair falls near his face. Peter can’t see him well, but by the way his shoulders are shaking and his chest is heaving, it’s clear the little one is crying.
Peter feels a burning rage directed at the man who dared to hit the boy; now that he can see him, he wonders what he should do. Knock on the glass, tell him he is a new hero and comfort him? What if this simple action changes something important in the future?
‘I am here now. Better help a poor child than do nothing. Hell, his life could even get better! Not all consequences are bad, after all!’
Peter clears his throat, but the kid is still sobbing, head bowed down, and the young man’s heart swells with sympathy and sadness.
‘If Wade was here…’ he thinks with a fond smile. ‘… he would punch that man until his teeth are all out and talk with the kid about Bea Arthur and food.’
He knocks on the window, gently, and the boy finally gasps and looks up. Peter sees his blue, bloodshot, puffy eyes lock with his and holds his breath. Those eyes…
The boy approaches the window, mouth hanging open, and slides the pan upwards, gawking at Peter.
“H-Hi!” the man whispers, waving an hand. The kid realizes what he is doing, how he is sticking to the wall without actually hanging onto something, and pales. Now that he is nearer, Peter can see his face better and sadness hits him again when he notices the bruise on a corner of his mouth.
“Who…” the boy babbles, then stops, clears his voice and tries again: “W-Who are you?”
Peter sighs with relief when he hears him speak English. The accent is familiar, but for now he doesn’t focus on that and hurries to answer: “I am a hero! I mean no harm, I swear! I am an Avenger.”
The boy narrows his eyes, confused and wary, and Peter hastily corrects himself: “W-Well, I am not officially part of the team yet, but I am training hard! Look.” he rummages into the tiny pocket in his pants he made with webs and takes out his Avenger, shiny-looking card. He is perfectly aware of its modern look and logo, but that’s what he needs to convince the boy.
“See? This is the special card they give to newbies.”
“I never saw this kind of logo before.” the kid mutters, still distrustful, but there is a hint of doubt on his round face. Yeah, his face… Peter can’t stop looking at it, it’s telling him something, but he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t want to freak the boy out, though, so he quickly averts his eyes from his bright, blue ones and says: “That’s because it’s the secret logo the Avengers use with people in training! We are the only ones who know and use this.”
The kid looks at him and now his features are filled with hope, surprise and awe. His lips curl into a toothy smile and he peeks outside, admiring Peter’s costume, the way he is sticking to the wall, his mask.
“Dude, you are a spider! You can crawl on the wall!”
“If I manage to enter the team, I am gonna call myself Spider-Man.” Peter grins, then he awkwardly asks, nodding at the room: “Listen, I had to do a mission for Captain America, but things didn’t go like we planned and now I am stuck here. Can… Can I enter for a second?”
‘God, I hope I didn’t sound too creepy.’
The kid seems a bit hesitant, but another look at Peter’s abilities and costume convinces him and he motions the hero to enter. Before Peter can put a feet inside, though, the child stops him with a hand and a huge scowl.
“Don’t try anything stupid or I am gonna smash your head with a chair. Got it?”
“Uh…” Peter blinks at him, taken aback by the aggressiveness in his face and voice, but guesses it’s completely justifiable.
“Don’t worry, I am really a superhero! I won’t do anything weird, I promise.”
The kid’s features immediately relax and his toothy smile comes back.
“Okay, then! Come on, hop in! Your butt must be more frozen than a popsicle.”
“Thank you!”
Peter swiftly jumps in, careful not to make too much noise, and smiles at the kid who is closing the window.
“So… you… you know Captain America?” the little one asks, his eyes shimmering with excitement and joy, and for a moment he looks so familiar Peter has to think twice about his question before his brain can respond.
“… Huh? Oh, yes, yes! He is a great man and always treats everyone nicely.”
“He is my hero!” the kid giggles, jumping up and down, and grabs Peter by the sleeve, bringing him to the bed. The wall behind the headboard is covered by posters of Rogers, attached with scotch-tape and pins. Peter smiles, thinking about his childhood and how he used to do the same.
“They are beautiful.” he says with sincerity and the child shows a cocky, smug smile, tiny hands on his hips.
“Of course they are! I am the best at collecting Captain America’s stuff! I am his biggest fan!”
The sense of familiarity is stronger, now, and Peter’s eyes move from the posters to the kid, who has opened a drawer in a battered, messy desk and is looking for something into it. His clothes looks clean, but cheap and way too light for this weather, and there are small holes here and there; his golden hair is long and it has obviously not been brushed in a long time. Apart from the one near his mouth, Peter sees other bruises, one on the neck, two partially hidden by a short sleeve and one on his wrist. He bites his lips, thinking with rage about the man that is most likely downstairs, doing who knows what.
The kid still hasn’t found what he needs, so Peter examines the room; it’s small and, as he suspected, there are stains of humidity on the ceiling; the bed has only one blanket, the wardrobe is missing a handle, cold drafts enter from the two windows and a slightly crooked bookshelf is filled with books, comics and some tiny action figures of Captain America and Bucky. There isn’t much else in the room; Peter vaguely sees the shape of a baseball bat, a guitar and a mirror in the other side of the room, then he looks back at the desk. There are drawings, papers and colored pencils scattered on it and an old, red backpack is resting on the chair. Some books are forgotten in a corner of the wooden, scratched surface, piled without order.
Peter’s attentive eyes find a newspaper popping out from under a box of crayons; he doesn’t want to scare the kid by going too near him, but he needs to know the date. He slowly leans in, squinting his eyes in the bad lit room, and has to stifle a gasp.
Apparently, he is in Canada, twenty-five years back in the past, just like he thought.
‘Canada…’
“Found it! Uh, fucking finally…” the kid grumbles, then turns to him, his smile almost blinding. Peter stares at him and the more he looks at him, the more the sensation of familiarity and a slight panic grow. The child is showing him a huge collage of Captain America’s photos, with a colored, childish text written next to each of them.
“I decided to make something original! It’s still not complete, but I made it aaaall by myself! There are some super rare photos here, dude!”
“That’s…” Peter breathes deeply before continuing, hoping the mask can hide how weak his smile is. “That’s very well done, kid.”
And the shy pride and happiness he sees on the child’s face - his eyes…! - are so familiar to him, so similar to ones he has already seen, Peter has to step back and sit somewhere. The only free space is the bed and he sits on the edge of it, distractingly noticing how weak the springs of the mattress are.
Then he sees something else; near the lamp, on the nightstand, there is a frame. Another photo, not of Captain America or another superhero, but the photo of a young woman, with blond, mid short hair and bright, blue eyes. She is smiling at the camera, a few flowers in her hands, her smile sweet and sad at the same time.
Peter has already seen a photo identical to that one; he has seen it only one time, but remembers every detail of it, and would recognize it anywhere.
The kid must have followed his gaze because he says, his voice low, sad, nostalgic: “That’s my mom.”
Peter has heard these words before too, pronounced in a similar tone, by someone who had the child’s same eyes, the same smile, the same giggle.
He slowly turns his head to look at the little one and asks, his voice a raspy whisper: “What’s your name, kid?”
The boy returns his stare and blushes, clutching at the collage still in his hands. Then he smiles sadly, as if his name doesn’t really matter, but happy to have been asked it, and answers:
“Wade. Wade Wilson.”