Warning for past mentions of sex ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peter made it back to the apartment in record time.

He came in through the window, suit still on, and slipped his mask off so he could gingerly peek out into the hallway. Empty. Blessedly empty. He yanked the mask back on and crawled into the hall via the wall. These next few seconds were precious, so he needed to be quick. He found the closest fire alarm and with a glance thrown over his shoulder, opened the plastic case. Sharp sounds; always unpleasant on the ears, especially if yours happened to be enhanced. He took a second to steel himself and then pulled the trigger inside. The shrill ringing that followed was like jagged spikes to his ear-drums, and he hated it as much as he thought he would, but he raced back to the apartment and was closing the door just as the rest of the occupants on the floor trickled out in confusion. He listened to their quiet murmuring, first confused, then worried, and finally alarm as they recognized the sound and bee-lined for the stairs.

Yeah, Peter felt bad for disturbing their day, but he made himself feel better by reminding himself that most of the tenants were out of the building at this time of day anyway, so most of them wouldn't even be here. One of the women down the hall watched the single dads' children for him and she wouldn't have any issues getting them downstairs. Besides, there was no fire, so none of them were in danger. The worst it would do was spook them a little.

He waited until the halls were empty again before making his next move.

The fire department would be on their way, so that was another thing he added to his growing list of ticking clocks. Deadlines - he was always terrible at keeping deadlines; they were his true arch-nemesis. But not today, because he was a man on a mission.

On the bright side, when confronted with a fire, most people weren't concerned with locking their doors on their way out, and more than half were still open so he didn't even need to break any locks. It was a small win, but he'd take every bit of victory that he could.

He started at the bottom of the hall and made his way up. There was nothing in the couple's apartment, no hint that they even knew him at all. Same went for the old man. There were a couple of pictures of Spider-Man and a few toys in the apartment housing the dad and his kids, but Peter chalked that up to children and not a perverted stalker. With as much painstaking care as he could spare in his haste, he went through each and every one of the rooms, and he was disappointed every time. There was nothing there. This plan was already a risky gamble, he couldn't afford for there to be anything.

Was I wrong? He thought frantically as he combed through the single dad's drawers. Did he just needlessly endanger MJ? Sent that crazy woman to MJ's home only for this entire thing to turn out a bust? What was the stalker going to think when she came back and heard about a 'false fire alarm?' She had to know he was behind it, because who else was there?

What was she going to do when she found out?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hissed.

There were only two rooms left. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she wasn't even in the building. Maybe she was in the opposite building, watching from one of their windows. Maybe she's been staking him out on rooftops. Hell, at this point, it was plausible that she stuck a tracker on his body and was following him that way.

The room belonging to a sister and her brother was empty too, which left the man at the end of the hall. Peter's dread dripped from him like sweat and his stomach dropped to the floor. If this didn't provide answers, then he was royally screwed. He'd have to get Aunt May out of the city as soon as possible, he didn't want her in the crossfire if things got worse. Besides, if the news dropped that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, he wanted Aunt May to be as far from the ensuing carnage as she could physically be. MJ, too. Oh, they were going to hate him so much for uprooting their lives.

Peter wrapped his hand around the last doorknob, heart beating so hard in his chest he could feel it punching his lungs, but was surprised to find this door locked. He tilted his head. Maybe the man was at work. There wasn't time to sneak out and come in through the window, so there was no avoiding this. Peter broke the lock with an easy jerk of his wrist and swung the door outward. Still resistance. Another lock? Looks like Peter and Wade weren't the only paranoid ones in the building.

Peter broke that one too. The apartment, in a word, was simple. There was nothing that stood out. The furniture was few and far between and most of the appliances didn't look used. But the room was well kept and cleaned, and despite the strange absence of life, there were pictures on the wall of the man with a young girl, and an older woman. Peter didn't dwell on those, he could feel the seconds falling down his skin like a cold sweat and got to work casing the place.

He searched the entry closet, the kitchen, the living room, the hallway bathroom, and like every other room, there was nothing. It was another ordinary apartment housing an ordinary person. Peter's nerves were fried and he ran a hand over his masked head with a frustrated noise. So this whole thing was a bust after all. He just pulled the biggest gambit he could've attempted, and he bet wrong. What was he supposed to do now? Go back to MJ's apartment and hope the woman was still there? Go back to his apartment and pretend it never happened? Play dumb and hope she didn't suspect he had anything to do with this?

No, she'd never believe that. Peter tugged on his mask, looking around desperately. This couldn't be all there was. There had to be something else here. Something to give him an advantage. This was his last option, he didn't have anything else.

The bedroom was empty. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular man and his regular socks. Peter snapped the drawer to the dresser shut and ran a hand down his face, cupping his jaw. There weren't even signs that there were two people living here. Aside from the pictures with the woman and the little girl, it was obvious this man lived alone. Hell, Peter didn't even see him often because he kept to himself. He was always polite on the few occasions that they ran into each other in the halls, but he never stayed long enough to chat and was out of his apartment most of the time. He had black hair and a beard, and went by he/him, so Peter was positive he wasn't a woman, and he never came home with anyone else as far as Peter knew.

But Peter was desperate now. He'd take anything, even a misplaced porn magazine, anything. He reached for the closet, stepping past the door to the bathroom, and stopped. There was a smell. Something sharp and acrid, but familiar. Chemicals. Peter swung the door open, flicking on the lights, and as the bulbs flashed to life his blood ran cold.

He supposed this was where he was supposed to jump and yell JACKPOT! and pump his fist in the air, but frankly, he was too busy being horrified to succumb to the urge.

Pictures. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them, everywhere. Plastered all over the walls, hanging from the shower, drying over the tub, in neat piles on the floor. The sink had a pan in its bowl and below it was bottles of chemicals he recognized for developing pictures. This was a dark room.

And worst of all, every picture was of him.

Pictures of him eating, walking, talking on the phone. Some of him at the Bugle while he was working, and many of them were opening the presents on his desk (documenting his reactions). There were some of him in his Spider-Man suit fighting muggers, talking to the police, and some cut straight from newspapers and magazines. There was a handful of MJ and Aunt May, some of them at their jobs, but mostly at their homes. There were even pictures of Wade in the mess, dating back before he went on his job. Pictures of them going out to dinner or watching movies, or on their way to Aunt May's. Peter was appalled to find one looking at him through the window. It was from a distance and the angle was askew, but he could see himself laid out on the bed, phone pressed to his ear with a hand down his pants - he remembered the day that was taken. A week after he left, Wade called Peter to tell him that he wasn't going to be able to receive calls or texts for a while. They'd talked for a bit and one thing led to another, and to put it bluntly, suddenly they were having phone sex. They thought why not? It was going to be a while before they saw each other again and Peter hadn't thought much of it - it wouldn't even be the first time they've done that. But he was mortified that someone had been watching and taking pictures of it. Peter snatched that one right off the wall and ripped it in half, then fourths, and then again until it was nothing but ineligible scraps of paper.

Nope, not happening. That was not a picture that needed to exist and he scoured the walls for any more promiscuous ones and he found only a few; one of him and Wade from a few months back, and he yanked it down where it got the same fate as the first. They really needed to start closing their curtains more.

But more importantly, he was right. She has been here. He didn't know how she snuck in or what she was doing with this man, but he wasn't about to wait and ask. He left the bathroom, his entire body buzzing. There was still the closet to check and he was tempted to bypass it. He already found what he needed. But the industry didn't pay for being sloppy, and he's learned the importance of checking the corners over the years.

And he was very glad that he did it this time. Inside was something that made the pictures look like a silly prank. Several monitors had been set up and each displayed little boxes with a camera view of his apartment. There were a lot more cameras in his house that he hadn't picked up one. But more pressingly, others were in Aunt May's house and...in MJ's apartment.

Oh fuck. The plushie hadn't been the only one in there.

His attention latched onto the video feed of MJ's apartment and he drank-in every pixel. It looked like MJ was already gone and the camera in her bedroom was still offline. Good, that meant he still had some time at least, but how much? Probably not a lot.

But that didn't matter because Peter wasn't running. He was going to wait for the woman here and finally nip this in the bud. He paused and looked back at the bathroom, tapping his finger on the desk.

He'd nip this in the bud after he got rid of all the incriminating evidence that he was Spider-Man. All the video feed and photos that linked him and the hero would have to be destroyed. It'd take more time to go through the video feed one-by-one and edit parts out, so all of it would go. He'd leave the ones with MJ, Aunt May, so that there was some evidence of what the woman was doing, but there was no saving his. But that would come later, right now he made his way back to the bathroom and began the work of tearing down pictures with fervish. He'd need to look for backups in the computer system too and look for hidden files, but at least he was finally getting somewhere.

Most of the incriminating photos were down when the door at his back creaked and Peter whirled around, immediately falling into a defensive crouch. Standing in the doorway was a man. He looked startled. His black hair and beard looked neatly kept, but his blue eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. Peter didn't give him the chance to scream, he shot a web, first to his mouth, then to the rest of his body, pinning him to the wall. The thud that followed made him wince, and Peter quickly peered around the room for any stragglers, but the man was alone. The woman wasn't here.

"Look, I don't know who you are," Peter growled, approaching the man, "Or who your friend is, but consider this little peeping tom party over. The police will be here any minute, and-" to Peter's surprise, the man let out a relieved sob and his head thunked back against the wall. He mumbled something into the webs, looking at Peter in such earnest that it made his stomach drop.

Cautiously, he shortened the distance between them, and with the little knife he promised Wade he'd keep in his boot, he slit the webs off his mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the man babbled, eyes wet, "Please, yes please. I'm - I'm so sorry, I didn't - thank you. I thought no one would come, I-"

Peter backed-up, squinting at him. Was this for real? The man was still babbling apologies and ''thank you's'' and Peter peered at him more critically, "What are you talking about?"

The man sucked in a breath and took a moment to try and compose himself. It didn't help much. "Okay, um, my - my name is George Thatcher, I - I work for a credit repair company. I - " he took another deep breath, "A couple months ago, a...a woman showed up in my apartment. She just broke in and forced me to let her stay here. Threatened me if I didn't keep quiet about it. She's - she's been developing those photos in the bathroom and watching you for a while. I don't know why, I swear. Not until I saw the pictures. I've wanted to say something to you for months, I promise."

"Why didn't you?"

He looked down, face tightening as if he were trying to swallow a golf ball, "I...I have a daughter. The wife and I split up and I don't get to see her very often, but I love my daughter, Spider-Man, sir. She threatened her, you see. Said she'd kidnap her and sell her to a human trafficking ring if I did anything. I'm...I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to my baby girl. I - I couldn't -" he tried to say, but his voice went strained and he looked close to tears now.

Peter glanced at the few pictures on the wall that were of this man and a young girl, some with the woman that he suspected to be the divorced-mother. They were mostly older pictures of the girl when she was maybe 5 years old, and the man's hair was fuller then, which made sense if he got divorced and didn't get to see his daughter as often. All in all, it didn't look like he was lying. There were tears in his eyes and he kept sucking in large breaths. Hell, he looked close to a panic attack, and Peter rushed forward, shushing him.

"Okay, okay, calm down," he said, cutting the webbing off, "Don't worry about your daughter, she'll be safe, I promise. Do you know when the woman who did this will be back?"

He shook his head rapidly.

"Okay, well, head downstairs. Call the police, tell them everything...except maybe the part about who I am."

"Of course, Spider-Man," he nodded vigorously, "Everything but that, I will," he started towards the door on shaky legs, but paused, "I - I feel bad for how long this went on. I...I don't want to see you hurt. You saved my life once, you know. Almost got flattened to a pancake if not for you," he paused, as if considering something, "There were extra files and hard drives in the dresser, on the bottom hidden inside a pair of jeans. You should probably destroy those too."

Peter nodded, already striding back to the bedroom, "I will. Thank you."

He found the dresser and went to the bottom drawer. Sure enough, rolled up in a pair of pants, was an unmarked manilla envelope filled to the brim with extra pictures and hard-drives. He heard the man come into the room, peering over his shoulder.

"Yeah, those are them. Are they all there?"

"I think so," Peter mumbled, thumbing through them.

"There might've been some more in the nightstand, let me just," he rounded the bed and rummaged through the nightstand. He resurfaced with another envelope in hand. "Yeah, here it is."

"Thanks," Peter said, taking it from him and opening the flap, "Did she hide anymore? Any other stashes or flash drives - OW-" Peter spider-sense hummed just as he felt the prick, and he whirled around, clutching the spot on his shoulder where he'd been stung. The man backed up, legs braced as if ready to bolt, with both hands up. One of them was holding a syringe, now half empty.

"What are you doing?" Peter demanded, backing into the dresser.

The man wasn't trembling anymore. In fact, he looked strangely calm. He smiled at Peter -a warm smile - and adjusted his grip on the syringe. "Sorry about this. I really didn't want to hurt you, but that was a clever little trick you pulled. With the camera, I mean, and getting everyone out of the building. Always so full of surprises." He sounded fond.

Peter didn't need to hear anything else, he lunged forward. The man tried to dodge but Peter was faster and shoved him into the wall. "Who are you?" He snarled in his face, "What do you guys want from me?"

The look in the mans' eyes was earnest and warm, and he smiled again, gently wrapping a hand around Peter's wrist where it had him pinned. He didn't try to pry Peter off, just held it, gently rubbing his thumb over the skin as if to soothe him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, "Trust me, that's the last thing I want. I just want you to be happy."

Peter looked him up and down, but whatever that drug was, it was affecting him now, making his head swim. Gritting his teeth, he tried to shake it off, push through it, but it clung to him tighter, squeezing his brain and making him light-headed. His grip loosened a fraction. "What -" he shook his head hard, "What did you inject in me?"

"Nothing fatal," the man said quickly, "Just a little something to help you sleep."

Peter pushed him back into the wall, but his grip was slipping and his whole body felt flushed and woosy. The man pushed him off and Peter stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet. He used the bed to support himself and tried to get back to his feet so he could kick this guy's ass, but it was a fast losing battle. He needed to get out of here.

He meant to jump for the door, but his legs were sluggish, and only managed a few shaky steps before he stumbled to his knees. A pair of gentle hands fell on his shoulders and rubbed the knots in his muscles before pushing the needle back into his skin, squeezing the last of the drug into his system. Peter jerked away, but it did little good. The world was spinning and he felt sick.

He crawled a few more feet before slumping, limbs going limp. The man rolled Peter onto his belly, putting him halfway under the bed. One of the pictures from the envelope had landed under the bed, and Peter stared at it. Him and Wade having dinner at Mike's faces flushed from laughter, and table stacked high with food. Peter's hand twitched and he latched onto the picture with two fingers.

Just then, the phone in his boot started buzzing, sending a tingle up Peter's leg. The man leaned down next to him and his fingers slipped inside the boot, pulling the phone out. He hummed.

"Oh, it's the boyfriend," he murmured, "Well, that won't do."

Wade, Peter's brain perked up. In a last-ditch effort to do something, he forced his arms to move, to do anything, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. It was all he could do but whisper Wade's name in the last wisps of his thoughts as unconsciousness crept up on him, turning the edges of his vision dark.

He was unconscious seconds later.

Well, that can't be good.