"The Wisdom to Know the Difference," Chapter 5/11
It's like the Energizer Bunny--it just keeps going. *g* "The Wisdom to Know the Difference," a Spider-Man/X-Men/Daredevil crossover novella, continued.
[ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Notes ]
Thanks very much to everyone who has read or given feedback so far!
"The Wisdom to Know the Difference"
Chapter 5: Splinter
Peter's alarm went off at eight-fifteen. Half-asleep, he pulled the clock over with a jet of webbing, turned it off, and cuddled it next to his cheek like a hard, round teddy bear before he remembered that something was wrong. For a split second, as he was clawing his way from unconscious to groggy, he thought it was because he'd forgotten to do the reading for his nine o'clock anatomy & physiology class, and he hadn't finished his calculus homework.
Then he remembered why he'd blown off his homework and sat bolt upright with a gasp. Right. Hank! And as if that sudden adrenaline rush weren't enough, the phone rang. Which wouldn't have been bad, had Peter not put it right beside his pillow before going to bed, just in case.
One good thing about living alone, Peter guessed, was that there was nobody around to see you peel yourself off the ceiling when you literally did jump a foot. Or six.
He dropped back onto the bed and grabbed the phone mid-jangle. "Hello?"
"Hi, Peter? It's Jean Grey. And oh, you're in college. This is early. Did I wake you?"
"No, no, I'm up," Peter said, scrubbing a hand through his hair in an unsuccessful effort to clear his head. His heart was still racing. "What's going on? Is Hank okay?"
"It's nothing like that. He's fine," Jean said reassuringly.
Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Clutched the receiver a little tighter. "Oh, good."
"I just wanted to catch you and let you know," Jean said. "He's awake, and he's…okay. Very much okay."
Peter sort of wondered what she meant by that, if he'd imagined the tiny hesitation in her voice, but he was too relieved to really think about it. "Can I see him?"
"I don't see why not. Maybe he'll--" Jean cut herself off. "I don't see why not," she repeated.
"Awesome. I'll leave in a few." Even if that meant skipping his classes again, who cared? Seeing Hank was way more important, and it wasn't like he was prepared, anyway.
"See you later, then," Jean said.
"See you." Peter smiled. "And thanks, Jean."
---
Unlike yesterday, when every mile had seemed to take a year, the drive to Salem Center went by in a blur today. He didn't even speed. (In fact, Peter had long suspected that he was physically incapable of speeding. Like, his head would explode if he tried. Thank you, Aunt May.) Even going the speed limit, though, he was flying.
The floaty feeling didn’t stop when he parked in front of Xavier's, either. His feet might not have touched the ground on the way inside. He said a quick 'hi' to Jean, who was coming down the hall with a cup of coffee, but as he got in the elevator to go downstairs, he realized he had no idea what she'd said back. She might have laughed at him, but that was okay. He was being stupid, and he knew it.
He felt stupid, and not because he was ditching class. Stupid with relief. The weight in his chest yesterday had started to lift last night, talking with Daredevil, and now, knowing that his best friend really, truly was very much okay… It felt good.
Started feeling a little less good as he walked down the hall, and Peter knew why. It was that hospital feeling. The one you got when you were visiting somebody, and you were a little bit scared without having a reason to be. Fear of the unknown, he guessed. Or maybe of your own mortality, but that was way too deep for Stupid Peter to think about right now.
Scared, stupid, or whatever, he was there. He knocked on the infirmary door before opening it a little. "Hey, Hank?" he said quietly, through the crack. "You up?"
"Peter?" His voice was deeper than it used to be, and a little rougher, but clearer than yesterday, too. "Come in, come in," Hank added. Unnecessarily, since Peter was already poking his head inside.
Peter grinned, partly because it was just plain good to see Hank, but also out of a renewed sense of relief. Sure, Hank was still really big, and really blue, and really furry, but at least he looked the same as he had yesterday. Better, even, now that the IV tubes had been removed. He walked over to the bed. Thought about taking Hank's hand but didn't, and instead shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "So. Hi."
"Good morning. Did you spend the night?"
Peter shook his head. "You think it would've taken me this long to come see you if I had?"
Hank opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it again. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Peter," he said formally. "Had you not been present yesterday, I--"
"Hank. You don't owe me anything," Peter interrupted, a little bit stung. "I'm just glad you're okay!" Then he paused and really looked at Hank, without trying to make it seem like he was staring, since he still wasn't sure how Hank felt about that. "You are okay, right?"
If Hank noticed Peter's scrutiny--and maybe he didn't, since he wasn't wearing his glasses--he didn't say anything. Just spread his hands in a shrug. "I am, indeed, okay," he replied. "Fortunate, too, I might add. I always have been fond of blue."
It took Peter a second before he was able to return Hank's smile. "It--it looks really good," he offered lamely. "The, uh, shade. I like blue, too."
Hank nodded, seeming pleased. "Before you came, I was entertaining thoughts of relocating to a more comfortable environment. Would you care to join me?"
"Won't Jean mind?"
Hank gave him a pained look. "There are prepackaged pastries in my office, Peter, and soda. As well, I might add, as a place for you to sit."
And it was only down the hall, and Hank did seem to be feeling okay. Surely Jean wouldn't get too mad about her patient leaving. "Sounds great."
"Very good." Hank, who had been propped up on pillows, sat the rest of the way up slowly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. The shreds of his khakis were gone, Peter noticed, replaced by a big black pair of pajama bottoms. Other than those, he wasn't wearing anything.
Hank stood up and stretched gingerly, as if he was afraid it would hurt, or it did hurt. Probably the latter, Peter realized when Hank grimaced.
He frowned. "You sure you feel up to this?"
"I feel--" Hank cut himself off and shrugged instead. "I feel fine, thank you." Peter was pretty sure he was lying, but figured he better not press. Instead, he just followed Hank down the hall.
Peter spotted the tiny mini-fridge in Hank's office right away. "Soda's in the fridge?"
"Indeed. Help yourself."
"I'll grab yours, too." Peter surveyed the selection. "I'm guessing you want a Dew? Or is it too early?"
Over by the desk, Hank chuckled. "It's never too early--or too late--for Mountain Dew. Honestly, Peter."
Peter snagged one for Hank and a Dr. Pepper for himself before going to flop on the ugly but strangely comfortable orangey-brown sofa. He watched Hank for a minute before he realized that he was taking so long getting the Twinkies out of his desk because he was having trouble opening the desk drawer. His desk was an old, scratched wooden one, with those little carved round knobs on the drawers, and it looked like Hank's paws just didn’t want to grasp them.
Peter stared down at his lap, mad at himself for being too embarrassed to offer to help. "Hey," he said, just for something to say, "you've got a bunch of movies here, right?"
"Our combined collection is quite extensive. Why?" Hank asked. He pushed the drawer closed and turned to Peter, box of Twinkies in hand.
Peter shrugged. "I was thinking, maybe we could watch some? If you want. It'd be fun. Bad 80's high school movies, or stupid comedies, or even Star Wars again, if you feel like it."
"Ooh, how would you feel about a BBC marathon?" Hank asked. "I have hours of videotapes. A beautifully extensive collection. All Creatures Great and Small, Ab Fab, Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister…"
Peter tried to hide his wince. And then he saw the way Hank's eyes were twinkling, and how he was obviously trying not to laugh, and shook his head. Couldn't suppress a grin, though. It was so good to see Hank being so, well, normal. Taking all this in stride so well. "That was mean. I almost said yes!"
Hank snorted and headed for the couch. "Really, now. Do you not have classes today, though?" he asked as he sat. "I would hate to think--"
He broke off abruptly as an ominous, splintery crack sounded beneath them. A split second later, too fast for Peter even to register that the crack had been a warning, the short wooden legs that held Hank's side of the couch up off the floor just…gave out. The couch thudded down a few inches on that side, jarring them both and sloshing Peter's soda onto his hand.
For a moment, they both just sat there. Peter stared straight ahead with absolutely no idea what on earth he should say or do. Laugh it off? Blame the couch? Scoot a little ways away from Hank, since the lopsidedness had them pretty cozy? Set his soda down and wipe his hand on his jeans?
That last one sounded pretty good, actually, and gave him an opportunity to make it so he wasn't quite so pressed up against Hank. He leaned over and set his can on the floor. It was only when he straightened back up that he saw Hank had moved, too. Had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. And--was he laughing?
Then Peter heard his wet-sounding sniffle and felt as if the floor had just dropped out from under them, too. Without even thinking about it, he slid right back over and gingerly put his arm around Hank's shoulders.
Hank's back heaved. "Fuck," he said into his palms, and Peter wasn't sure which shocked him more--hearing that word from Hank, or hearing him sound so completely broken. Weird how just that one word could break Peter, too.
"Hey," he said quietly, his own voice cracking a little. "Hey, it's going to be okay. And it's okay if you're not okay, right now, really. And--"
"--the sofa," Hank gasped. "I cannot--" he broke off and just sobbed. Big, gulping, ragged gasps that shook the couch so much that Peter was worried the legs on his side might collapse, too. Peter held him tightly, not holding any of his strength back, and stroked the fur on Hank's far shoulder sort of randomly. Peter's own mouth was working, and when he blinked, a couple of hot tears fell down onto his cheeks. He lifted his left shoulder, the one not by Hank, and turned his head to wipe his cheek on his sleeve.
"Hank, I'm so sorry," Peter whispered after awhile, when Hank's sobs had tapered off to just plain old breathless crying. "I really--" he swallowed. "I mean, if you want to talk…"
Hank's whole body shuddered as he inhaled. He sniffled and let his hands fall away from his face, but didn't shrug Peter's arm off.
"When I awoke yesterday morning," Hank said dully, very soft, "I was a man. Neither a particularly handsome one, nor of average size, but indisputably a man, nonetheless. I could purchase clothing in any men's department. I could enter a room without inciting alarm. I had fingers that could fasten a button and write a letter and dial a telephone."
Hank sighed, still staring at the floor. "I was accustomed to my height, and my weight, and I knew my own strength. I knew these things instinctively, knew my mutated body intimately, because I was fortunate--or unfortunate--enough to have been born as I was. My form never seemed a curse to me. Unlike so many of the students here, unlike you, I never knew what it was to wake up one morning and find my body a stranger. Conversely, I never knew what it was to be entirely normal. And do you know, Peter, I always considered that a rather fair trade."
Peter wished--desperately wished--there was some kind of magical glue you could drink that would stick the pieces of your heart back together. Right now, he would swear on a Bible that he could feel the shards poking in his chest.
"I--" he swallowed and shook his head. Reached up with his free hand to wipe his face again. "I guess it'll take some getting used to," he said, feeling like a real loser.
It was the lamest thing he could have possibly said, but--good guy that Hank was--he nodded anyway. "Indeed," he said quietly. "And I assure you, I was striving for normalcy. The couch's sudden demise, however, was…unexpected."
Peter leaned over, so that his cheek rested on Hank's shoulder, and squeezed him tighter for a second. Sort of a hug. "I don't think there's anything wrong with freaking out," he said. "I would. I did."
Hank turned his head slightly and looked down. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Did you? I thought you said--how did you put it?--you went from 'super nerd' to 'buff and studly' overnight."
Peter shrugged and clasped his hands in his lap. "I did. It was awesome, at first. I went to bed Screech and woke up A.C. Slater, you know?"
That surprised a chuckle out of Hank. "I'm sorry to say that I do take your meaning."
"But after Uncle Ben died, it really hit me. The shine was off the nickel, I guess, and I started seeing how huge it was. And…yeah. Then I freaked out."
"The apple."
"What?"
"The expression is, 'the shine was off the apple.' Or 'the bloom was off the rose,'" Hank explained. "I simply thought you might like to know."
Peter felt himself start to smile, and he shook his head. "I don't think you need to freak out too much," he said. "You really are still you."
Hank heaved a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Then one of his hands came up to cup the back of Peter's head, sort of petting his hair, which was funny if you thought about it.
Peter didn't. Just closed his eyes and leaned into Hank's touch and felt...okay. Not 'very much' okay, and not floating. Just fragile, tentative, for-right-now okay. And that felt surprisingly good.
---
They ended up watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie on the infirmary's portable TV and VCR, then getting most of the way through Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze a little later before Hank fell asleep. He woke up after a few minutes and politely-but-firmly suggested that Peter should go back to school and catch his afternoon classes if possible, or at least do some homework or reading before going out tonight. Peter hated to admit it, but Hank was right.
More importantly, though, he could tell Hank still wasn't at 100% and wanted some time alone. A lot of time alone, Peter guessed when Hank didn't offer to walk him out. He wondered just how long it would be before he was ready to go upstairs again, even though he thought it was sort of silly (understandable, but unnecessary) for Hank to hole up like this. Surely nobody here would look twice at him, right?
When the elevator doors opened and Peter found himself facing an expectant-looking group of kids, though, he blinked. Were they all waiting for a glimpse of Hank? He frowned as he stepped out, and thought about saying something, but then stopped short when a blonde girl in front sort of hopped with excitement. "It's him, you guys!" she hissed.
Instant silence. Six pairs of very wide eyes fixed on Peter. He tried to force a smile through the 'what the hell?' expression he felt going across his face. "Uh. Hi?"
The blonde girl stepped forward, bushy, squirrel-like tail bouncing a little behind her. Peter's jaw dropped. "Whoa! Mallory?"
She smiled shyly. "Hi, Peter."
Peter could only grin back. The last time he'd seen her, Mallory Garrett had been sleeping on a bed in the infirmary in hedgehog form. He'd heard from Hank awhile ago that she was doing a lot better now at controlling her transformations, but he'd had no idea she was this much better. "Hey," he said warmly. "You look great!"
Mallory blushed to the roots of her hair and caught her bottom lip with one fang. Before Peter could say anything else, though, a younger, gawky-looking blond boy pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted up at Peter.
"So, is it true?" he asked.
"Yeah," added a chunky kid, "are you really him?"
"Umm," Peter said as a feeling of unease washed over him, "really who?"
The blond boy rolled his eyes. "Spider-Man, of course! Are you?"
Oh, God. This wasn't happening. Peter could only stare at them, feeling like every muscle in his body had just locked up. He fought the urge to look down and check to see if he was naked. He had to be naked, right? Sort of hoped he was, since that'd mean this probably was just a nightmare.
He looked down.
Crap. Pants. And not crap in his pants, which would have made the nightmare thing a little more likely. Just…pants. Crap.
He looked back up at the six very earnest, very innocent, very hopeful faces looking back at him and told himself to chill. It didn't matter how it had gotten out and honestly, it was pretty dumb of him to have thought it wouldn't. Xavier's was like family; everyone knew everything about everyone. Even the kids did.
And these were just kids. The oldest one, a boy with blue eyes who was clearly trying to look like he didn't really care how Peter answered, couldn't have been more than fifteen or so. Even he was younger than Peter had been.
After a second, Peter nodded. Six mouths fell open, and he felt a smile spreading across his face. Somehow, this didn't feel scary at all. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, at your service."
The chubby boy's face lit up like he'd just met Santa Claus. "Whoa," he breathed. "Awesome."
Suddenly, six kids were like a mob.
"Do you have your costume with you?"
"Do something!"
"Are you a mutant, too?"
"How old are you?"
"Have you met Batman?"
"Batman's not real, dummy."
"Is so!"
"Have you ever fought Magneto?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
The oldest boy hung back until Peter had answered the younger kids' questions as best he could and was heading out the front door.
"Hey, you're Peter, right?" the boy said, catching up with him outside.
"Yeah."
"I'm Bobby," the boy said, and stuck out his hand.
Peter smiled and shook it. "Nice to meet you."
"You too." Bobby looked down, then back up. "Um. I was wondering. Do you like basketball?"
"You mean playing? Or watching it on TV? 'Cause I'm not a huge sports fan or anything."
"Playing."
Peter nodded. "Sure, sometimes."
Now Bobby was getting that Santa Claus look. "Cool. If you want to, you know, play with us sometime…"
He looked so hopeful and was so obviously trying to play it cool that Peter had to fight a smile. "That sounds great," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Definitely."
Bobby grinned. "I've got to tell Pete and Johnny! They're not going to believe this." He started to jog off, then turned and waved. "Thanks, Spider-Man! Bye!"
Peter waited until he was in Hank's car to start laughing.
[Chapter 6 is here.]
Disclaimer/Note: Hank's "I was a man..." speech in this chapter was very much inspired by similar lines spoken by Joss Whedon's Hank in Astonishing X-Men #3.
[ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Notes ]
Thanks very much to everyone who has read or given feedback so far!
"The Wisdom to Know the Difference"
Chapter 5: Splinter
Peter's alarm went off at eight-fifteen. Half-asleep, he pulled the clock over with a jet of webbing, turned it off, and cuddled it next to his cheek like a hard, round teddy bear before he remembered that something was wrong. For a split second, as he was clawing his way from unconscious to groggy, he thought it was because he'd forgotten to do the reading for his nine o'clock anatomy & physiology class, and he hadn't finished his calculus homework.
Then he remembered why he'd blown off his homework and sat bolt upright with a gasp. Right. Hank! And as if that sudden adrenaline rush weren't enough, the phone rang. Which wouldn't have been bad, had Peter not put it right beside his pillow before going to bed, just in case.
One good thing about living alone, Peter guessed, was that there was nobody around to see you peel yourself off the ceiling when you literally did jump a foot. Or six.
He dropped back onto the bed and grabbed the phone mid-jangle. "Hello?"
"Hi, Peter? It's Jean Grey. And oh, you're in college. This is early. Did I wake you?"
"No, no, I'm up," Peter said, scrubbing a hand through his hair in an unsuccessful effort to clear his head. His heart was still racing. "What's going on? Is Hank okay?"
"It's nothing like that. He's fine," Jean said reassuringly.
Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Clutched the receiver a little tighter. "Oh, good."
"I just wanted to catch you and let you know," Jean said. "He's awake, and he's…okay. Very much okay."
Peter sort of wondered what she meant by that, if he'd imagined the tiny hesitation in her voice, but he was too relieved to really think about it. "Can I see him?"
"I don't see why not. Maybe he'll--" Jean cut herself off. "I don't see why not," she repeated.
"Awesome. I'll leave in a few." Even if that meant skipping his classes again, who cared? Seeing Hank was way more important, and it wasn't like he was prepared, anyway.
"See you later, then," Jean said.
"See you." Peter smiled. "And thanks, Jean."
---
Unlike yesterday, when every mile had seemed to take a year, the drive to Salem Center went by in a blur today. He didn't even speed. (In fact, Peter had long suspected that he was physically incapable of speeding. Like, his head would explode if he tried. Thank you, Aunt May.) Even going the speed limit, though, he was flying.
The floaty feeling didn’t stop when he parked in front of Xavier's, either. His feet might not have touched the ground on the way inside. He said a quick 'hi' to Jean, who was coming down the hall with a cup of coffee, but as he got in the elevator to go downstairs, he realized he had no idea what she'd said back. She might have laughed at him, but that was okay. He was being stupid, and he knew it.
He felt stupid, and not because he was ditching class. Stupid with relief. The weight in his chest yesterday had started to lift last night, talking with Daredevil, and now, knowing that his best friend really, truly was very much okay… It felt good.
Started feeling a little less good as he walked down the hall, and Peter knew why. It was that hospital feeling. The one you got when you were visiting somebody, and you were a little bit scared without having a reason to be. Fear of the unknown, he guessed. Or maybe of your own mortality, but that was way too deep for Stupid Peter to think about right now.
Scared, stupid, or whatever, he was there. He knocked on the infirmary door before opening it a little. "Hey, Hank?" he said quietly, through the crack. "You up?"
"Peter?" His voice was deeper than it used to be, and a little rougher, but clearer than yesterday, too. "Come in, come in," Hank added. Unnecessarily, since Peter was already poking his head inside.
Peter grinned, partly because it was just plain good to see Hank, but also out of a renewed sense of relief. Sure, Hank was still really big, and really blue, and really furry, but at least he looked the same as he had yesterday. Better, even, now that the IV tubes had been removed. He walked over to the bed. Thought about taking Hank's hand but didn't, and instead shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "So. Hi."
"Good morning. Did you spend the night?"
Peter shook his head. "You think it would've taken me this long to come see you if I had?"
Hank opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it again. "I owe you a debt of gratitude, Peter," he said formally. "Had you not been present yesterday, I--"
"Hank. You don't owe me anything," Peter interrupted, a little bit stung. "I'm just glad you're okay!" Then he paused and really looked at Hank, without trying to make it seem like he was staring, since he still wasn't sure how Hank felt about that. "You are okay, right?"
If Hank noticed Peter's scrutiny--and maybe he didn't, since he wasn't wearing his glasses--he didn't say anything. Just spread his hands in a shrug. "I am, indeed, okay," he replied. "Fortunate, too, I might add. I always have been fond of blue."
It took Peter a second before he was able to return Hank's smile. "It--it looks really good," he offered lamely. "The, uh, shade. I like blue, too."
Hank nodded, seeming pleased. "Before you came, I was entertaining thoughts of relocating to a more comfortable environment. Would you care to join me?"
"Won't Jean mind?"
Hank gave him a pained look. "There are prepackaged pastries in my office, Peter, and soda. As well, I might add, as a place for you to sit."
And it was only down the hall, and Hank did seem to be feeling okay. Surely Jean wouldn't get too mad about her patient leaving. "Sounds great."
"Very good." Hank, who had been propped up on pillows, sat the rest of the way up slowly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. The shreds of his khakis were gone, Peter noticed, replaced by a big black pair of pajama bottoms. Other than those, he wasn't wearing anything.
Hank stood up and stretched gingerly, as if he was afraid it would hurt, or it did hurt. Probably the latter, Peter realized when Hank grimaced.
He frowned. "You sure you feel up to this?"
"I feel--" Hank cut himself off and shrugged instead. "I feel fine, thank you." Peter was pretty sure he was lying, but figured he better not press. Instead, he just followed Hank down the hall.
Peter spotted the tiny mini-fridge in Hank's office right away. "Soda's in the fridge?"
"Indeed. Help yourself."
"I'll grab yours, too." Peter surveyed the selection. "I'm guessing you want a Dew? Or is it too early?"
Over by the desk, Hank chuckled. "It's never too early--or too late--for Mountain Dew. Honestly, Peter."
Peter snagged one for Hank and a Dr. Pepper for himself before going to flop on the ugly but strangely comfortable orangey-brown sofa. He watched Hank for a minute before he realized that he was taking so long getting the Twinkies out of his desk because he was having trouble opening the desk drawer. His desk was an old, scratched wooden one, with those little carved round knobs on the drawers, and it looked like Hank's paws just didn’t want to grasp them.
Peter stared down at his lap, mad at himself for being too embarrassed to offer to help. "Hey," he said, just for something to say, "you've got a bunch of movies here, right?"
"Our combined collection is quite extensive. Why?" Hank asked. He pushed the drawer closed and turned to Peter, box of Twinkies in hand.
Peter shrugged. "I was thinking, maybe we could watch some? If you want. It'd be fun. Bad 80's high school movies, or stupid comedies, or even Star Wars again, if you feel like it."
"Ooh, how would you feel about a BBC marathon?" Hank asked. "I have hours of videotapes. A beautifully extensive collection. All Creatures Great and Small, Ab Fab, Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister…"
Peter tried to hide his wince. And then he saw the way Hank's eyes were twinkling, and how he was obviously trying not to laugh, and shook his head. Couldn't suppress a grin, though. It was so good to see Hank being so, well, normal. Taking all this in stride so well. "That was mean. I almost said yes!"
Hank snorted and headed for the couch. "Really, now. Do you not have classes today, though?" he asked as he sat. "I would hate to think--"
He broke off abruptly as an ominous, splintery crack sounded beneath them. A split second later, too fast for Peter even to register that the crack had been a warning, the short wooden legs that held Hank's side of the couch up off the floor just…gave out. The couch thudded down a few inches on that side, jarring them both and sloshing Peter's soda onto his hand.
For a moment, they both just sat there. Peter stared straight ahead with absolutely no idea what on earth he should say or do. Laugh it off? Blame the couch? Scoot a little ways away from Hank, since the lopsidedness had them pretty cozy? Set his soda down and wipe his hand on his jeans?
That last one sounded pretty good, actually, and gave him an opportunity to make it so he wasn't quite so pressed up against Hank. He leaned over and set his can on the floor. It was only when he straightened back up that he saw Hank had moved, too. Had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. And--was he laughing?
Then Peter heard his wet-sounding sniffle and felt as if the floor had just dropped out from under them, too. Without even thinking about it, he slid right back over and gingerly put his arm around Hank's shoulders.
Hank's back heaved. "Fuck," he said into his palms, and Peter wasn't sure which shocked him more--hearing that word from Hank, or hearing him sound so completely broken. Weird how just that one word could break Peter, too.
"Hey," he said quietly, his own voice cracking a little. "Hey, it's going to be okay. And it's okay if you're not okay, right now, really. And--"
"--the sofa," Hank gasped. "I cannot--" he broke off and just sobbed. Big, gulping, ragged gasps that shook the couch so much that Peter was worried the legs on his side might collapse, too. Peter held him tightly, not holding any of his strength back, and stroked the fur on Hank's far shoulder sort of randomly. Peter's own mouth was working, and when he blinked, a couple of hot tears fell down onto his cheeks. He lifted his left shoulder, the one not by Hank, and turned his head to wipe his cheek on his sleeve.
"Hank, I'm so sorry," Peter whispered after awhile, when Hank's sobs had tapered off to just plain old breathless crying. "I really--" he swallowed. "I mean, if you want to talk…"
Hank's whole body shuddered as he inhaled. He sniffled and let his hands fall away from his face, but didn't shrug Peter's arm off.
"When I awoke yesterday morning," Hank said dully, very soft, "I was a man. Neither a particularly handsome one, nor of average size, but indisputably a man, nonetheless. I could purchase clothing in any men's department. I could enter a room without inciting alarm. I had fingers that could fasten a button and write a letter and dial a telephone."
Hank sighed, still staring at the floor. "I was accustomed to my height, and my weight, and I knew my own strength. I knew these things instinctively, knew my mutated body intimately, because I was fortunate--or unfortunate--enough to have been born as I was. My form never seemed a curse to me. Unlike so many of the students here, unlike you, I never knew what it was to wake up one morning and find my body a stranger. Conversely, I never knew what it was to be entirely normal. And do you know, Peter, I always considered that a rather fair trade."
Peter wished--desperately wished--there was some kind of magical glue you could drink that would stick the pieces of your heart back together. Right now, he would swear on a Bible that he could feel the shards poking in his chest.
"I--" he swallowed and shook his head. Reached up with his free hand to wipe his face again. "I guess it'll take some getting used to," he said, feeling like a real loser.
It was the lamest thing he could have possibly said, but--good guy that Hank was--he nodded anyway. "Indeed," he said quietly. "And I assure you, I was striving for normalcy. The couch's sudden demise, however, was…unexpected."
Peter leaned over, so that his cheek rested on Hank's shoulder, and squeezed him tighter for a second. Sort of a hug. "I don't think there's anything wrong with freaking out," he said. "I would. I did."
Hank turned his head slightly and looked down. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Did you? I thought you said--how did you put it?--you went from 'super nerd' to 'buff and studly' overnight."
Peter shrugged and clasped his hands in his lap. "I did. It was awesome, at first. I went to bed Screech and woke up A.C. Slater, you know?"
That surprised a chuckle out of Hank. "I'm sorry to say that I do take your meaning."
"But after Uncle Ben died, it really hit me. The shine was off the nickel, I guess, and I started seeing how huge it was. And…yeah. Then I freaked out."
"The apple."
"What?"
"The expression is, 'the shine was off the apple.' Or 'the bloom was off the rose,'" Hank explained. "I simply thought you might like to know."
Peter felt himself start to smile, and he shook his head. "I don't think you need to freak out too much," he said. "You really are still you."
Hank heaved a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Then one of his hands came up to cup the back of Peter's head, sort of petting his hair, which was funny if you thought about it.
Peter didn't. Just closed his eyes and leaned into Hank's touch and felt...okay. Not 'very much' okay, and not floating. Just fragile, tentative, for-right-now okay. And that felt surprisingly good.
---
They ended up watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie on the infirmary's portable TV and VCR, then getting most of the way through Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze a little later before Hank fell asleep. He woke up after a few minutes and politely-but-firmly suggested that Peter should go back to school and catch his afternoon classes if possible, or at least do some homework or reading before going out tonight. Peter hated to admit it, but Hank was right.
More importantly, though, he could tell Hank still wasn't at 100% and wanted some time alone. A lot of time alone, Peter guessed when Hank didn't offer to walk him out. He wondered just how long it would be before he was ready to go upstairs again, even though he thought it was sort of silly (understandable, but unnecessary) for Hank to hole up like this. Surely nobody here would look twice at him, right?
When the elevator doors opened and Peter found himself facing an expectant-looking group of kids, though, he blinked. Were they all waiting for a glimpse of Hank? He frowned as he stepped out, and thought about saying something, but then stopped short when a blonde girl in front sort of hopped with excitement. "It's him, you guys!" she hissed.
Instant silence. Six pairs of very wide eyes fixed on Peter. He tried to force a smile through the 'what the hell?' expression he felt going across his face. "Uh. Hi?"
The blonde girl stepped forward, bushy, squirrel-like tail bouncing a little behind her. Peter's jaw dropped. "Whoa! Mallory?"
She smiled shyly. "Hi, Peter."
Peter could only grin back. The last time he'd seen her, Mallory Garrett had been sleeping on a bed in the infirmary in hedgehog form. He'd heard from Hank awhile ago that she was doing a lot better now at controlling her transformations, but he'd had no idea she was this much better. "Hey," he said warmly. "You look great!"
Mallory blushed to the roots of her hair and caught her bottom lip with one fang. Before Peter could say anything else, though, a younger, gawky-looking blond boy pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted up at Peter.
"So, is it true?" he asked.
"Yeah," added a chunky kid, "are you really him?"
"Umm," Peter said as a feeling of unease washed over him, "really who?"
The blond boy rolled his eyes. "Spider-Man, of course! Are you?"
Oh, God. This wasn't happening. Peter could only stare at them, feeling like every muscle in his body had just locked up. He fought the urge to look down and check to see if he was naked. He had to be naked, right? Sort of hoped he was, since that'd mean this probably was just a nightmare.
He looked down.
Crap. Pants. And not crap in his pants, which would have made the nightmare thing a little more likely. Just…pants. Crap.
He looked back up at the six very earnest, very innocent, very hopeful faces looking back at him and told himself to chill. It didn't matter how it had gotten out and honestly, it was pretty dumb of him to have thought it wouldn't. Xavier's was like family; everyone knew everything about everyone. Even the kids did.
And these were just kids. The oldest one, a boy with blue eyes who was clearly trying to look like he didn't really care how Peter answered, couldn't have been more than fifteen or so. Even he was younger than Peter had been.
After a second, Peter nodded. Six mouths fell open, and he felt a smile spreading across his face. Somehow, this didn't feel scary at all. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, at your service."
The chubby boy's face lit up like he'd just met Santa Claus. "Whoa," he breathed. "Awesome."
Suddenly, six kids were like a mob.
"Do you have your costume with you?"
"Do something!"
"Are you a mutant, too?"
"How old are you?"
"Have you met Batman?"
"Batman's not real, dummy."
"Is so!"
"Have you ever fought Magneto?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
The oldest boy hung back until Peter had answered the younger kids' questions as best he could and was heading out the front door.
"Hey, you're Peter, right?" the boy said, catching up with him outside.
"Yeah."
"I'm Bobby," the boy said, and stuck out his hand.
Peter smiled and shook it. "Nice to meet you."
"You too." Bobby looked down, then back up. "Um. I was wondering. Do you like basketball?"
"You mean playing? Or watching it on TV? 'Cause I'm not a huge sports fan or anything."
"Playing."
Peter nodded. "Sure, sometimes."
Now Bobby was getting that Santa Claus look. "Cool. If you want to, you know, play with us sometime…"
He looked so hopeful and was so obviously trying to play it cool that Peter had to fight a smile. "That sounds great," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Definitely."
Bobby grinned. "I've got to tell Pete and Johnny! They're not going to believe this." He started to jog off, then turned and waved. "Thanks, Spider-Man! Bye!"
Peter waited until he was in Hank's car to start laughing.
[Chapter 6 is here.]
Disclaimer/Note: Hank's "I was a man..." speech in this chapter was very much inspired by similar lines spoken by Joss Whedon's Hank in Astonishing X-Men #3.