Chapter 26: Flowers in the snow

WARNING: Poison, Gothamites being completely unhinged as usual.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Twin lines of smoke curled up in the air, vanishing into thin clouds before they could hit the ancient wood ceiling of the pizzeria's dining room. Peter stared up at them uncomfortably, feeling the tension around him grow every second that went by without any of them talking.

They had been welcomed in by a less than satisfied Marco who, instead of handing them their gear and the pizza planned for deliveries, had told them to sit down with him. He had been staring at them ever since, dragging on his cigarette with the same poise as Jason, who had apparently decided to mimic him. Both of the older men's faces were hard to read but to a meta like him, it was easy to feel and smell the dark cloud of emotions surrounding them.

Their boss was the one who eventually cut through the silence, his voice colder than it had ever been before.

"I believe we may have to set some ground rules, boys."

Jason frowned, fingers tightening around his smoke and mouth quirking down. "Don't call me boy, old man," he spat, eyes burning with anger. He had never seemed comfortable with authority, he was a rebel at heart, or so Peter thought.

Marco's eyes tightened. Abruptly, his hand turned into a fist, crushing the cigarette he held. He dropped it into his improvised ashtray, an empty beer bottle, and lit a new one. Despite the tension radiating from him, there was no anger in his scent. Frustration mostly, and a strong touch of annoyance were the only things he could smell.

"Remind me again who put a roof over your head, boy." His gaze was not quite a glare, however it felt just as uncomfortable as one.

Peter shifted in his seat, not used to his boss talking to him in such a tone. This reminded him of high school, which he thought he had left behind months ago. A life time ago, truly, in those circumstances.

He wasn't the one being reprimanded but still, it made him uneasy. He had never been one to provoke people as readily as Jason, at least not while he was outside of his suit. He lowered his head slightly, fidgeting more and more as his discomfort grew.

"Here are the rules we will go by." Marco took another drag, exhaled it slowly, yet more smoke to join the twin trails. "They are the same I give every brat who works for me, and you will follow them."

The man was slouching in his chair but the intensity in his eyes was enough to make Peter feel as if he were towering over them. Jason seemed perfectly unthreatened, leaning back and taking his time with his own smoke. The furious rage in his eyes had quieted somewhat and he now seemed more irritated than truly upset.

"You have three shots at this. Missing work is one strike, so is going against our business." A pause, he tapped his stick on the ashtray, watching in silence as cinder fell down at the bottom. "Yesterday counts as one strike for the both of you. You have two more shots before I fire you."

Despite himself, Peter felt the urge to protest. They had missed work, that was true, but they had also saved countless lives while doing so. He opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, when his eyes crossed the steady gaze of his boss. He did not look like someone ready to change his mind. If anything, he appeared so calm this was likely something he had said several times before.

What could he do? Marco was indeed the reason why they had access to affordable rooms in a somewhat safe apartment building. He did not have any form of government ID in this world, any bank account or savings big enough to allow him to find another roof easily. Of course, he could stick with Jason but neither the container nor the garage were big enough for two people. He doubted the older boy wanted to hang out with him to the point of having them share a single room space for anything longer than a night.

As if reading his thoughts, Marco raised an eyebrow in challenge, asking in the same even tone as before:

"Do you understand my conditions?" He tapped his cigarette again, more ashes falling down, grey flakes joining the small mound forming at the bottom of the bottle.

Jason's glare intensified but, to Peter's surprise, he nodded silently. Not wanting to be the odd one out, the younger of the three hurriedly acquiesced. Their boss smiled without any emotion in his eyes, speaking again:

"Of course, any injury or illness is a valid reason to miss work. I will not be kicking you to the street because you have the flu or broke your leg." The remains of his cigarette dropped into the bottle as he swiped a new one out. "You being responsible for yourself is the only thing that matters here. If you choose to miss work, I have no reason to keep you on."

"You don't need to go in details about it," Jason gritted his teeth, also finished with his smoke and now crossing his arms. "We got it the first time, grandpa."

"Good. Then you can get to work."

Before they could stand up however, Marco tapped the table with his hand, just hard enough to make them jump. He pointed at the two of them, face devoid of any feeling.

"You are not going together. I don't know why, but you two have a bad influence on each other when it comes to work." His finger turned towards Jason. "You can handle yourself, I can tell that. You'll just have to be careful." He looked at Peter soon after, the muscles around his eyes softening ever so slightly. "Don't fuck up again, kid. I don't want to have to fire you."

Soon after, they ended up standing together in front of the restaurant, a pizza bag and a GPS each. The dark sky remained clear of any clouds but the cold was keeping most of the previous days' snow intact, mounds of white frost stretching down the street and up the roofs as if that very day had not been sunny from morning to evening. Wind was picking up, blowing around them in lazy gusts, gathering strength with each blow.

Jason rubbed the back of his head, looking down at Peter with an odd look on his face. Apprehension? Worry? Whatever it was, he wasn't acting much like himself as he hesitated to speak then managed to mutter:

"Let's not start tonight." A shift of his legs, some fidgeting. "I want to be able to contact you if we-… and your suit isn't ready." He cleared his throat, showing his hands deep in his pockets.

"Are you worried about me?" The New Yorker narrowed his eyes, surprised that his older friend would feel that way towards him. Gothamites had never struck him as overly emotional and seeing him uncomfortable was, if not a first, highly unusual. "You know what I am."

Jason shook his head, looking less than enthused by Peter's attempt at comforting him.

"Kid, jumping into fights with the idea that you'll be fine because of what you are will get you killed in this city. I'm not joking." He was quite obviously very serious, shoulders tensing up and brows furrowed. "Don't go in without a way to contact me. Having someone at your back is-"

He paused for a second, took a deep breath.

"Having someone at your back is safer. Don't rush in and get killed."

There was an odd weight behind his words and, suddenly, Peter realized that he might be talking from experience. Perhaps his former partner had died that way, perhaps this was even why he had decided to end his run as a villain. There was no remorse or sadness in his scent however. The only thing he could smell was a dull anger, hiding a tiny amount of pain behind it.

"I- I won't." He choked out, distracted by the emotions he could feel coming off his friend. "I wasn't planning on it, I want the suit to be done before- you know…"

Jason nodded, seeming a bit relieved to hear him agree. "Good, good." His frown turned into a smirk. "Now don't be too slow delivering, I don't want to have to wait for you with Mr Sunshine back there as my only company."

"The day you can beat me in a race, you get to call me slow," Peter shot back, also grinning widely. "'Til then I won't accept it."

"I know a guy who could beat you in a race while he has a broken leg, brat. Don't they have speedsters in New York anyway?"

They split off soon after that, heading in opposite directions to start on their respective delivery routes. He could hear his friend's bike speeding away as he started his climb towards the rooftops. Snow crunched under his feet and ice threatened to send him slide off the edge of the building he hoisted himself up on, yet he went on. It was easy work for someone like him, he only missed his webs. Swinging was always more fun than plain old running.

He did not fear falling, his balance was as perfect as it could ever be: he had enough control over his body to keep perfectly still while doing a handstand over a frozen lake, which MJ and him had tried before. It had been a fun evening, one of the best dates they ever went on together.

He missed her a lot, even now that he had a new friend to spend time with. Not a day went by without him thinking of what she was doing, of the way she felt about his disappearance and of what had happened after he was banished from their world. Would he feel bad if she found someone new? Maybe. It had only been a few weeks… He still felt like he loved her, despite knowing he would likely never see her again.

His upper body stayed perfectly straight as he jumped over a large alley, landing in a soft crouch to avoid jostling the food warming up his back. That was one thing keeping him from freezing at least. He did not look forward to patrolling in his new suit, with the weather being this dreadful.

His first delivery that evening was to a couple of civilians living in the southern part of the Bowery. Neither of them appeared overly surprised to see him knock at their door. The word that Marco's was back in business had spread far and fast. They tipped him generously, sending him back to his route with a few well wishes.

To them, his choice of occupation must seem ridiculously risky. Unlike most of the criminals he encountered, none of the regular Gotham citizens knew about his meta abilities. He was just a stupid kid in their eyes, one who would likely not survive for more than a few nights outside.

The next two addresses revealed similar patrons, each staring at him with pity in their eyes as he headed back out. The tension was ramping up, it seemed like everyone was expecting the city to blow up at any moment. Perhaps it would happen but he hoped to have a few more days of respite before the rogues struck again. Another encounter with the bats did not seem like a very attractive possibility at that time.

The first gang he delivered to greeted him with cheers and clapping, several of the men congratulating him for his win at the Pits. "Two of them!" The oldest of the group repeated over and over again. "Two victories, Pizza Guy!"

He smiled awkwardly, feeling his cheeks burn as the terrible truth settled in his mind. By now, everyone who had even a passing knowledge of the Gotham underworld knew the Marco's delivery boy was a metahuman. Worse than that, they knew he took part in some very illegal, very violent underground fighting rink. No wonder the bats thought he was up to no goods if they had managed to catch wind of the rumors about him.

"Glad to see you're back up, heard Orca took a bite outta ya." Another man laughed, twirling a loaded pistol in his hand. He wore a plastic flower on his lapel, it smelled strongly of chemicals.

They cheered again as he left, handing him a wad of bills as a tip, way more than a hundred he estimated. He tried not to look overly disturbed as he walked away. It took everything in his power not to dash off as soon as possible. They knew his face, they knew his occupation.

At least, they didn't know his name but, unfortunately, it didn't mean much to him. Just the idea that he could be recognized as a meta was enough to significantly unsettle him. He had expected something similar after his first fight in the Pits but it had happened so much faster than what he had imagined. His first fight had only taken place four days earlier, how fast did information spread in this city exactly?

Then, Marco's was already the talk of North Gotham, which likely hadn't helped matters. He sighed, jumping up to a nearby roof, landing smoothly as usual and checking his gear to make sure everything was still in place. This universe was absolutely terrible for his nerves, he felt constantly on edge when he was out at night, especially now that Jason was gone and he had no way of contacting him.

His GPS had him deliver to yet two more civilian families hidden out in a small building of East End. Both of them smelled of weapons and extreme stress. He hoped the little amount of comfort the food would bring them was enough to make them sleep a bit easier that night.

He could not wait until his suit was done to be able to go out unrecognized. Then, he would be able to help them. It was just his luck to have become an easily identifiable figure in the criminal world, his identity would have to be protected even more tightly than in his previous life.

Not that his original universe had been a total win when it came to keeping Spider-Man and Peter Parker as two separate people. In the end, it had caught up to him. Now, he simply had to make sure it did not happen again.

The most unusual of his deliveries turned out to be the last one, as was often the case.

Instead of bringing him to a dark alleyway hosting a gaggle of thugs to cheer him on again, or to a run down civilian building, it led him deep into North Gotham. He ran past gutted storefronts, crouched away from blaring police lights and sneaked past groups of criminal lookouts for several dozen minutes until he finally made it to his destination. A familiar, empty and destroyed Irish pub stood there, bringing back memories he would rather have kept buried.

As he stood in front of it, he almost felt like turning back and running to Marco's, pretending he had finished his round and hoping nothing bad would happen.

Unfortunately, despite the tips he had gotten that night and the money his boss would pay him, he was running low on funds. He knew who would be waiting for him in the cold, silent pub but there was nothing he could do about it other than face the consequences of his decisions.

His throat tightened as he stepped past the ruined threshold, feet leaving marks in the powdered snow and frost covering the wooden ground. It was not anxiety that caused his breath to quicken but something in the air, sticky and thick. He had been right, she was waiting for him in there. He could smell her now, an odd mix of a beautiful floral scent and the stench of acidic poison mixing together.

He felt like holding his breath but knew that, by now, it was too late. Still, the itching on the back of his neck pushed him to follow his instincts, locking down on his breathing.

"Ivy," he greeted, finding Spider-Man's personality to be easier to put on than Peter Parker's. "Long time no see." Air escaped his throat and more came in, even as he tried to stop it from entering his lungs. His throat felt sticky, pain slowly creeping through his body.

She raised an elegant eyebrow from her seat, up several feet above the ground, nestled in a tangle of vines as thick as his body. Her dress was slightly different than the last one he remembered, blue frost flowers cascading down the sides of her waist and arms. From where he was, he could see them shifting, possessed by a life of their own.

"You have grown bolder since the last time we met." Her voice sounded light and low, almost a whisper, yet he heard her clearly. She caressed a large vine of bursting red blooms and thick bark, her eyes fixed on him, dark and cold. "I believe you have earned yourself a punishment."

He barely had time to wonder what she was talking about before it hit him. And, once it did, it took all he had not to collapse to the ground in pure agony.

Something in his throat shifted, moving against the inside of his body, thrashing and clawing at his neck. He gagged, fingers flying to his mouth as spit then blood bubbled out of it. His insides melted and burned, spreading down from his airways. He could feel his veins bulging, bursting…

The pollen forced its way into his nostrils, rushing down into his bloodstream. He wanted to gasp but his mouth would not move when he told it to. Instead, he bent down, spitting crimson fluids and green drool on the wooden floor. Smoke curled up as the poison in him hit the ground, burning away at what was left of the pub's flooring.

I am going to die.

The thought was oddly clear, the only thing he could focus on as the world blurred around him. He could not move anymore, his muscles spasming and contracting so violently he almost crashed to the ground.

Desperately, he tried to regain control over his limbs. He couldn't die there, not like this, not now. He was so close to figuring it out, he had even made a friend.

No, no, no.

Not like this.

Not now.

A finger brushed his cheek, his mind too slow to register Ivy as she moved towards him. He wanted to back away but his body was shaking too violently for him to do anything but fall to his knees. He heaved, trying to breathe but finding only blood and pollen to fill his lungs. Was this the end?

"Interesting…" He heard, sound fracturing and disappearing in a rush of buzzing mist. "A human, even meta, having such an extreme reaction."

A hand grabbed his chin, squeezing tightly enough to make him bite down on his already bleeding tongue. He was forced to look up, straight into the green eyes of the villain he had tied his fate to. What a poor decision that had been, and there he was, paying the price.

"It appear this toxin may be lethal to you, child," Ivy mused, her face nothing more than colors blurring together. Her voice was not any better, distorted and almost impossible to understand. "Let me attempt…"

The burning receded slightly as another itching wave of pollen forcefully entered his nose. He tried to free himself for the woman's grasp, blood dripping from his chin and staining the collar of his new coat. He gasped despite himself, causing yet more plant matter to push its way inside of him. He gagged, clawed at his chest.

"Not an insect, then." She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at him. "Still, I believe this helped somewhat."

As she spoke, the world became clearer around him, confirming her words. Even better, he was starting to feel his legs and arms again. If he really tried, he could tear his hands away from his chest, where they were still clutched. He tried to breathe in, was welcomed by another barrage of sticky air and itching matter.

Some of his strength returned, he stumbled away from Ivy and out of her grasp. Shakily, he wiped some of the drool and blood away from his mouth, grimacing when he saw how damaged his clothes were. He would have to work hard to clean that one up.

"Yes…" The villainess told him, sitting back down on her living seat of vines and flowers. "Not an insect… A little arachnid." The corner of her lips quirked up in something that might have been a smile. "Your kind and my children have always gotten along well, little spider."

More pollen rushed into his nose and, as it spread down his throat and into his lungs, he could feel his healing taking over. Surprisingly, it was significantly faster than it usually would be, which could only mean…

"You poison me," he rasped, "then you heal me?" It hurt to speak yet the pain was nothing compared to the burning he had experienced only a few seconds earlier. He wavered on his feet, pushing himself to stand straight. He could still feel the poison working through his skin, fighting whatever she had done to cure him, trying to tear him apart from the inside.

Ivy waved a hand to the side, causing a flower covered vine to brush against his back, pushing him towards her. He resisted, now feeling well enough to launch into a fight with her if it was needed. He did not think he would win, not without something to protect his nose and ears from intrusion, but he would do his best.

Spider-man would not die here.

"A misunderstanding," she replied eventually, "I was under the impression your mutations were simple enhancements." Her smile appeared extremely out of place considering what had just transpired, yet she went on in a calm voice, as composed as ever: "This experiment of mine aims to cause pain in humans. You, however, are an arachnid."

Peter flinched, realizing that, somehow, she had figured out the source of his abilities. Just like Orca, he was not fully human but instead a hybrid, with a range of abilities going past those of a regular enhancement type mutant. Still, he did not move toward her, keeping his body relaxed and ready to leap into action.

What would she do with that information? She did say his kind got along well with her "children" but, if she was talking about plants, he knew full well a few of them fed on insects and spiders. Instead of reassuring him, her love of vegetation was making him even more wary.

"Why did you even-" He shook his head, trying to find the right words to spare himself another ten minutes of choking on his own blood. "What did you feel made me deserve this?" He left out that he had decided to attack her immediately if she was to do it again. He would not rely on the mercy of a villain next time.

Ivy's smile disappeared abruptly and her throne of vines shivered, brushed by an invisible breeze. The pressure against his back grew, beckoning him forward, towards her and the cocoon of greenery she had crafted around herself.

Was she to turn it against him, it would likely turn into a coffin, his coffin.

"You hid the full extent of your abilities to me." The woman eventually said, voice chiller than the wind blowing in the dark streets. "Delaying your next fight by letting me believe you needed rest." She shook her head slowly, eyes still fixed on his, unblinking. "This is unacceptable."

The vine behind Peter's back reached into his pizza bag, dragging out the very last box he had stored in there. It threw it at one of the wood walls, leaving an oily stain as its contents splattered on the ground.

"Repulsive." Ivy sighed. "A pity we must meet in those circumstances, I despise this type of… food."

The way she said the words made him think she did not believe the pizza was even edible, which of course made him want to protest. Marco made all of them from scratch, it wasn't like they were some generic fast food item!

He kept his mouth shut, crossing his arms instead and sending her a defiant look. She shook her head again, apparently amused at his reaction.

"Your punishment was sufficient, little spider. Now, we must get on to our deal." Her hair shifted as leaves slithered against her head and neck, her children hugging their mother in the only way they could. "I have taken the liberty of scheduling your next two fights. Considering your range of abilities, I moved you up to the Gamma division."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, realized there was nothing he could say that would change her mind, and closed it again. Information gathering was useful but with Jason on his side, he did not need to go through such lengths anymore. He did, however, need a large amount of money to finish up the rest of his equipment.

More than that, if he got enough, he could potentially start building himself a new identity and get out of this cycle of fighting and illegal activities before it was too late to do so. He remembered his landlady promising him information if he were to gather enough funds, but his friend could also likely help on that front.

Fake papers and a falsified background required a lot of cash but if this was what needed to start anew in this world, he would have to go through with it.

"I assume you will be ready by tomorrow evening," Ivy went on. "We will meet at our usual location, once you are done with your… job." Her eyes tightened in disgust once more.

It was hard not to call her out but the blood on his chin was still fresh. It reminded him to keep quiet, at least until he had some form of filter between his lungs and her poisonous pollen. He would have to include that in his first suit, it was quite obviously a priority in Gotham city.

As he thought, Ivy stood from her throne of vines and walked towards him, brushing his shoulder with one of her perfectly manicured fingers. "Be ready, little spider," she whispered in his ear, bending down slightly. "Those opponents will be stronger than what you have faced before."

He bit back a retort about having in fact faced something much worse in the past. It was unlikely she would recognize the names of the villains he had subdued, which made it easy to keep quiet for once.

He watched as she left, her gait so smooth she seemed to be gliding instead of simply walking. She was beautiful, yet their age difference and her homicidal tendencies destroyed any admiration he might have felt for her appearance.

Beauty was not the most important thing to a man or woman, he had learned that lesson while he was still in high school. He wondered how many people forgot it entirely when put in front of Ivy. She surely had a way to twist anyone around her finger, thugs and civilians alike. He still remembered their first meeting, and the way her toxins had affected his perception of her. Very dangerous indeed.

He kept silent until he was sure she was gone, past the snow covered street and far from the run down pub. She had been so casual throughout the entire encounter that he almost felt like he had imagined himself being poisoned. The blood on his coat, however, proved otherwise.

He sighed, scrubbing his face with his cleanest hand, grimacing when it came back stained crimson. Jason would definitely not be pleased about that one. He had just been telling him to be careful after all.

How many more times would he have to fight? He had promised to cut it out as soon as he could, yet there he was, getting dragged into two more battles. Not only that but he had apparently graduated to a higher division. This was getting out of control faster than he had expected.

Peter coughed, a few remaining blood droplets splashing onto the back of his hand. He shook his head, conflicted. He had to tell her those two fights would be his last, and he had to do it sooner rather than later.

"Tomorrow." He promised himself. "I'll do it tomorrow."

He hoped she would accept it. If not, then he simply had to be on high alert and be ready to bolt before her toxins reached him. At least, until he finished his suit.

Still, the last thing he needed right now was yet another enemy.

Pity his luck was so terrible.

Notes:

There was originally a fight scene in this chapter but I deleted it lol … I need to stop listening to metal when writing this, it makes me want to put action scenes everywhere.

Aaaaah I was tidying up my story plan for this and realized we might be close (by like 5 chapters) to the climax of the first major arc. Considering the word count I think I might just end it there and put the second arc in a sequel :P