Not So Friendly Anymore

(I just wanted to give a special thanks to my first Patreon follower Bob. Thank you for the follow my friend.)

(Anyway have fun and thanks for reading.)

Parker Industries, Peter's Office

The door clicked open, and Maria Hill stepped inside, her usual air of authority filling the room. She moved with the precision of a soldier, her black boots tapping against the polished floor, her sharp gaze scanning the office before landing on Peter.

Peter, seated behind his desk with his feet propped up casually on the edge, didn't even glance at her. He was flipping through his tablet, exuding an air of disinterest.

"Maria Hill," Peter said finally, his voice dripping with mock politeness. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s queen of subtlety. To what do I owe this... disruption?"

Hill ignored the jab, her posture rigid. "Parker. We need to talk."

Peter raised an eyebrow, setting the tablet down. "Oh, we're starting with 'talk.' That's new for you people. Usually, it's threats first, demands second, and maybe, just maybe, a conversation after the dust settles." He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Guess you're off-script today. Good for you."

"I'm not here for games," Hill said curtly, stepping closer to the desk. "This is serious."

Peter's smirk widened as he gestured toward her. "Serious? Oh, of course. When isn't it serious with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Helicarriers dropping out of the sky, rogue agents running amok, or my personal favorite: losing track of classified tech to villains who make it trend on social media." He tapped his temple. "Real airtight ship you're running there, Hill."

Hill's lips thinned, but she held her ground. "This isn't about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s past mistakes—"

"Oh, mistakes," Peter interrupted, feigning surprise. "You mean the catastrophic disasters you barely contain before another one pops up? What is it this time? Another mole inside your ranks? Or did Fury 'die' again?"

"I said I'm not here to talk about the past," Hill snapped, her voice rising slightly.

Peter didn't back down. He stood, his movements fluid and deliberate as he walked around the desk toward her. "Of course not. The past is messy for you, isn't it? All those decisions, all those innocent lives you trampled over because it was 'for the greater good.'" He stopped a few feet away, his tone now razor-sharp. "Tell me, Hill, how does it feel knowing that every crisis your agency faces is your own damn fault?"

Hill's eyes narrowed, but a flicker of guilt crossed her face.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Peter continued, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. "I'm not wrong. How many times has S.H.I.E.L.D. created the very threats it needed to neutralize? Let me guess: you've got some rogue experiment, some off-the-books project that's gone haywire, and now you need me to fix it." He paused, his expression turning mocking. "Because God forbid S.H.I.E.L.D. actually handle its own messes."

"That's enough," Hill said through gritted teeth.

"Is it?" Peter countered, his voice rising. "Because I'm not done yet. You come into my office, my space, and act like you have any authority over me. Newsflash, Hill: you don't. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't own me, and it never will."

Hill opened her mouth to respond, but Peter cut her off again.

"And let's be real for a second: the only reason you're here is because you're desperate. S.H.I.E.L.D. is circling the drain, and you know it. You've burned every bridge, alienated every ally, and now, you're here. Crawling to the one person who doesn't need you." He leaned in closer, his voice cold. "How's that feel, Maria? Knowing you're out of options?"

Hill's composure finally cracked, her frustration boiling over. "Dammit, Parker, you think you're untouchable now? You think you can mock us, ignore the rest of the world, and hide behind your empire? You're still the same person underneath all of this!"

Peter tilted his head, his smirk turning icy. "Oh? And who's that?"

She met his gaze head-on, her voice sharp and unyielding. "Spider-Man."

The air seemed to shift instantly.

Before Hill could even process what she'd said, Peter's arm morphed into a sleek black tendril that lashed out with terrifying speed, wrapping around her waist and slamming her against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs as the tendril coiled tighter, holding her in place.

Peter's expression turned dark, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Say that again," he growled, his voice low and venomous.

Hill struggled against the unyielding appendage, but it didn't budge. Her heart pounded as she locked eyes with him, trying to mask her fear. "Spider—"

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "You don't get to say that name. The Spider-Man you're talking about is dead. You and everyone else killed him. Mocked him. Abandoned him. So don't stand there and act like you know me."

"I'm not here to threaten you," Hill managed, her voice trembling slightly.

Peter's grip tightened, the tendril pulsating with restrained fury. "Aren't you? Because it sure as hell sounds like blackmail to me. And trust me, Hill, you're not nearly as scary as you think you are."

"I'm not here to blackmail you," Hill said quickly, her voice steadier now. "I came because I have information. About your parents."

Peter's eyes flickered with something unreadable, though his grip didn't loosen. "What information?"

"It's not something I can share here," Hill said, her tone softer but resolute. "You need to come to the Helicarrier. I'll explain everything."

The tendril held her for another tense moment before retracting abruptly, leaving her slumped against the wall. Peter took a step back, his expression cold and unreadable.

"This better be worth my time," he said flatly, returning to his desk.

Hill straightened herself, adjusting her jacket as she regained her composure. "It is," she said firmly, her gaze lingering on him. "Trust me."

Peter chuckled dryly as he sat back down, his eyes never leaving hers. "Trust isn't exactly in my vocabulary these days, Hill. But fine. I'll play along, for now. Don't make me regret it."

Hill gave him a sharp nod before turning and walking out, her mind racing. As the door closed behind her, Peter leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he stared into the distance.

"Information about my parents," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let's see what game you're playing this time, Hill."

---

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Hallways

The hum of the helicarrier's engines reverberated faintly through the metallic walls as Maria Hill led Peter Parker, clad in his symbiote suit down one of the long, sterile hallways. The reflective sheen of the suit rippled slightly with each step, the white spider emblem on his chest stark against the darkness of his silhouette. The mask remained on, his lenses narrowed into a permanent, disinterested glare.

Maria kept stealing glances at him, her brow furrowing as she debated breaking the silence. Peter strode beside her with hands tucked behind his back, exuding an air of calculated detachment, his gaze fixated ahead as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"You could at least pretend you're taking this seriously," Maria muttered under her breath.

Peter tilted his head slightly, the faintest shrug in his shoulders. "I'm here, aren't I? You're lucky I didn't send a drone instead. Would've been twice as charming."

Hill pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly biting back a retort. "I'm trying to be civil here, Parker. The least you could do is—"

Peter cut her off, his tone laced with mockery. "Hill, I'm here because you dragged me here with promises of earth-shattering secrets about my dead parents. Not because I care about your organization's latest embarrassing crisis." He waved a hand lazily in the air. "And besides, I've seen this hallway, like, twenty times already. Couldn't S.H.I.E.L.D. afford a better interior designer? It's giving cheap dystopian villain lair."

Maria ignored the dig, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Why do I even bother?"

"Great question," Peter said flatly, before adding dryly, "Maybe you're hoping some of my wit will rub off on you. Spoiler alert: it won't."

Before Maria could retort, the pair rounded a corner and found Clint Barton, Hawkeye, leaning casually against the wall, twirling an arrow between his fingers like he was waiting for this moment. His smirk widened when he spotted Peter.

"Well, well, look who's slumming it on our turf."

Peter stopped mid-stride, turning his head just enough to see Clint Barton leaning casually against the wall, spinning an arrow between his fingers like he was auditioning for a circus act.

Hawkeye smirked. "Didn't think you'd show your face here, Parker. What happened? Your 'I'm so edgy' routine stop working in the city, so you decided to crawl back to Hill for table scraps?"

Peter turned fully, his mask's lenses narrowing like predator's eyes locking onto prey. "Barton." He said it like a doctor diagnosing a terminal condition. "Still the same insecure guy compensating with sticks and string, I see."

Clint pushed off the wall, his smirk faltering just a bit. "Careful there, Parker. I'm not in the mood for your—"

"Oh, you're never in the mood for my honesty, Clint. That's the problem." Peter stepped closer, posture relaxed but radiating danger. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? You're the guy on the team everyone barely remembers until the Christmas card goes out. 'Oh, look, it's Hawkeye. Cute. Still alive, I guess.'"

Clint's expression darkened. "You want to keep pushing me, Parker? See how far you get?"

Peter tilted his head, mock-curious. "Pushing you? Clint, I wouldn't bother. What are you gonna do, shoot me? Really? You think you'll have a chance to draw an arrow before I take those twitchy little arms of yours and rearrange them?"

Clint stiffened, jaw clenched.

Peter leaned in just a little closer, voice dripping venom. "Here's the truth, Barton. You're a joke. Always have been. You're the guy who got dumped, twice, and still managed to lose the breakup war. Bobbi? Oh, she told me everything when we were together, before the Superior incident, by the way. And Jessica? Spider-Woman? Same deal. Both of them. Same verdict."

Peter straightened, hands outstretched as though delivering a punchline. "Guess what they both said? 'You were better, Peter. So much better.' And you know what? I didn't even have to try."

Clint froze, his face a mix of anger and humiliation.

Peter turned on his heel, already walking past him with a casual shrug. "You're welcome for the honesty, Clint. Maybe you'll finally stop pretending you're in the big leagues." As he passed, his voice dropped into a mocking drawl. "Oh, and do me a favor, tell Bobbi and Jess I said hello. I'm sure they'll appreciate hearing from the guy they still think about."

Clint stood there, fists clenched, shoulders trembling in silent rage.

Maria glanced at him for a moment before shaking her head and hurrying after Peter, who walked down the corridor as if nothing had happened, hands behind his head.

"Well," Peter said cheerfully to Maria, "that was productive. He really should thank me for keeping him humble."

As Peter and Maria continued walking down the metallic corridors of the helicarrier, Peter's steps were casual, his hands lazily behind his head as if he owned the place. Maria, on the other hand, kept her gaze fixed forward, her silence loud and purposeful.

"Y'know, Hill," Peter broke the tension without missing a beat, his voice dripping with mockery, "I'm not gonna lie, this is shaping up to be one of my favorite days. I got to insult Barton and take a field trip to your overpriced floating disaster magnet. You really are spoiling me."

Maria didn't respond, her patience running thinner with every word he uttered.

"Nothing to say? That's rare for you," Peter continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Usually, S.H.I.E.L.D. can't stop lecturing me about 'responsibility' and 'protocol.' How's that working out for you, by the way? Still failing to stop alien invasions and mad scientists on a regular basis?"

Maria gritted her teeth but pushed forward, keying open the massive sliding doors to central command.

Peter strolled in behind her, only to pause just inside the threshold as his gaze settled on the figure standing front and center, barking orders at a team of agents like nothing had changed.

"...You've gotta be kidding me," Peter muttered, folding his arms and shaking his head.

Nick Fury turned at the sound of his voice, his expression the same old mix of stone-cold authority and dry irritation. The eyepatch was in place, the trench coat was dramatic as ever, and he stood there like he hadn't "died" half a dozen times already.

"Surprised, kid?" Fury asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Not even a little."

Fury's smirk faltered for half a second. "What, no shock? No questions about how I pulled this one off?"

Peter waved him off. "Please. Death stopped being impressive ages ago. Between you, Coulson, and literally half the people in this room, it's basically a revolving door. Hell, I've punched my ticket a couple of times. Welcome back, I guess."

Maria shot him an annoyed look. "Could you try taking this seriously for once?"

Peter ignored her, stepping fully into the room as his attention remained fixed on Fury. "So what's the deal this time, Fury? Did you fake it for dramatic effect? Needed a vacation? Got bored?"

Fury's smirk returned, sharper now. "Death's a joke to people like us, Parker. But I don't have time for punchlines. Sit down. We've got business."

Peter tilted his head, unimpressed. "Business, huh? Lemme guess, some shadowy government secret with a side of 'I know what's best for you, kid.' You're predictable if nothing else."

Fury didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he gestured toward the central table surrounded by glowing displays and flickering screens. "This isn't about me. It's about your parents."

Peter's smirk faltered, just slightly. The symbiote rippled across his shoulders, as if reacting to the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"What about them?" Peter's voice came out cold, measured, as he locked eyes with Fury.

Fury's expression was unreadable, his voice steady. "Sit down, Parker. You're going to want to hear this."

Peter stood there for a long beat, his gaze flicking between Fury and Maria. Finally, with a slight curl of his lip, he muttered, "This better be worth it."

He stepped forward, shoulders squared, already bracing for what he was about to hear.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of the illuminated screens surrounding them, casting sharp shadows across Peter's masked face. Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, pulling up files, data, and images as the screens flared to life. Black-and-white surveillance shots, classified mission briefings, and fragmented reports all crowded the displays, filling the room with the hum of information. Peter sat hunched back in his chair, one leg lazily crossed over the other, though his body language betrayed just how ready he was to leave.

Fury cleared his throat. "Richard and Mary Parker weren't just good at what they did, they were the best. Spies, infiltrators, assassins, saboteurs. You name it, they did it."

Peter glanced sideways at Maria Hill, whose expression remained carefully blank. "Yeah, yeah, I know this song and dance," Peter interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "My parents were superspies, they died in a plane crash, end of story. If that's all this is, congrats, ten out of ten for wasting my time."

He stood abruptly, the symbiote flickering across his shoulders like an irritated beast. "You dragged me all the way up here for something I already know? Real efficient work there, Director."

"Sit down, Parker," Fury said softly.

It wasn't the usual bark of command. There was no bite to the words, just a rare gentleness that made Peter pause mid-step. He narrowed his eyes, scanning Fury's expression for any hint of manipulation. Finding none, he slowly dropped back into the chair, but not without a sharp, "This better get interesting fast."

Fury's eye never left him as he keyed up more files. "You think you know what your parents did. But you don't know how good they were. You don't know how much they sacrificed."

The screens flickered again, displaying a rapid slideshow of grainy mission photos and intel. Fury began listing off operations, each name carrying weight and shadow.

"Operation Silver Viper, neutralized a Soviet mole embedded in the British Parliament. Operation Iron Shade, smuggling state secrets out of East Germany right under the Stasi's nose. Operation Serpent Dawn, assassinating a HYDRA warlord without ever stepping foot in his compound. And that's just scratching the surface."

Peter's brow furrowed slightly as Fury continued.

"They didn't just dabble in taking on HYDRA. They hunted it. Relentlessly. From Berlin to Cairo to Moscow, they cut through HYDRA's network like a scalpel, dismantling cells, intercepting plans, killing agents in the shadows. And they were damn good at it. The best."

Fury turned to face Peter fully now, his tone deadly serious. "So good, in fact, that they caught the attention of someone high up the chain."

Peter leaned forward slightly, the symbiote shifting across his chest as if it, too, sensed something coming. "Yeah? Who?"

Fury's eye narrowed. "Red Skull."

The name hit the room like a sledgehammer. Peter's back straightened, but his voice remained level, cold. "And?"

"And he didn't just see them as a threat, he saw them as a problem. Your parents' work was crippling HYDRA operations worldwide. They were two people, and they were making an entire empire bleed. Red Skull doesn't let problems like that live, Parker. He ordered their deaths himself."

The screens suddenly shifted, displaying an old, faded photograph of a wrecked plane, its shattered remains sprawled across a jungle.

"That crash wasn't an accident," Fury continued quietly. "It was sabotage. Red Skull's agents planted the bomb that took your parents' lives. A loose end tied up."

The silence was suffocating.

Peter sat frozen in place, his body utterly still. His breath came in heavy, labored gasps, each inhale shallow and erratic, as if his chest was struggling to keep up with the weight of his thoughts. His masked eyes stared at the screen, though they were unfocused, looking past it, into memories he didn't even have. The soft hum of the helicarrier's systems filled the void, stretching out the moment like a blade being drawn. Each second seemed to drag on longer than the last, suffocating him in the thick silence.

Finally, Peter's voice cut through the stillness, quiet but shaking with something dangerous.

"So," he began, his tone unnervingly calm, "you're telling me that when I was hanging around Stark, Rogers, and their boy band, when I helped them take down Red Skull... the man who murdered my parents was right there. Right in front of me."

Fury didn't speak immediately, as if giving Peter time to process.

"Yes," he finally said.

Peter's heart stuttered in his chest, and the world blurred around him. Fury's calm answer was the breaking point. Peter's rage was like a fire that had been smoldering, a fire that was now unstoppable. His vision began to sharpen into a single, clear point of focus, the man responsible for the death of his parents had been right in front of him, several times, mocking him with every breath he took.

His fists clenched so tightly that his fingers turned white, the strain making his knuckles crack. His teeth ground together, each movement laced with pure fury. His mind screamed for vengeance, for the truth that had been kept from him for so long. Before he could even process the onslaught of emotions flooding him, the symbiote responded with a mind of its own, violent, uncontrollable, like a beast breaking free of its cage. Tendrils lashed out from his back, whipping through the air with terrifying force. One of them shot across the room, slamming into Maria Hill and sending her crashing against the wall, her body crumpling to the floor, knocked unconscious. The force of the attack splintered the furniture, shattered the walls, and sent the room into a tremor. The air was thick with rage, the sound of Peter's voice a primal roar that echoed through the chaos, the symbiote's fury entwining with his own as everything around him shattered.

"NO!" Peter screamed. His eyes burned with fury as the symbiote latched onto him, pulling him into the dark, twisted space where all reason evaporated. The black tendrils exploded from his back, swinging violently and crashing into everything they touched. The walls cracked under the weight of his wrath, and Fury barely had time to step back as the room began to break apart.

Peter's breath came in shallow bursts, his chest heaving as his entire body was overwhelmed by an explosion of pure, unbridled rage. "You think I'm just supposed to sit here and take it? You think I'm supposed to listen to all this, Fury?" His voice was raw, filled with venom. "You knew. You knew, and YOU DIDN'T TELL ME."

The symbiote moved like liquid fury, tendrils snapping and crashing through the walls, tearing into everything around Peter as his anger exploded. His body trembled with pure rage as his thoughts fixated on Red Skull, the man who had orchestrated his parents' deaths, the man who had been so close to him for years, and Peter never even realized it. Every time they fought, every time he had stood alongside these so-called heroes, he had been inches from the one who had destroyed his family. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, he had been so blind, so naive. His anger boiled over, fueling every strike, every blast of destruction. How many times had he crossed paths with the man responsible for ripping his world apart, and he had no idea? The rage consumed him, a torrent of fury he couldn't control, and he didn't care to.

Fury moved quickly, trying to avoid the wreckage, but his eyes never left Peter. He knew better than to try to stop him, not right now, not with the symbiote taking control. Fury had seen Peter rage before, but this? This was different. The fury that radiated off Peter now was unstoppable, like a hurricane crashing through everything in its path.

The entire room was shaking now, the ceiling cracking as if it might fall down on them both. Peter's voice came out strangled, barely coherent as he raged. "HE MURDER THEM! HE TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME, AND I NEVER KNEW, I NEVER EVEN KNEW!"

Fury didn't try to calm him, not yet. Peter needed this, needed to unleash everything he had been holding back. The sheer force of Peter's wrath shook the entire helicarrier, the walls buckling as his power went unchecked.

Peter let out a roar of pure rage, the symbiote responding to his anger, extending further, twisting around his body as he flipped over the shattered remains of the room. Fury stood his ground, but inside, he was wondering how much longer this would last.

Peter's fury burned through him, the air crackling with the intensity of his rage. The symbiote responded in kind, lashing out in tendrils that shredded the walls and sent sparks flying. His body was a vessel of destruction, his every movement fueled by an unquenchable anger. Fury had kept him in the dark for so long, and now the truth, an unbearable, unthinkable truth, was crashing down around him.

Fury attempted to speak, to calm the storm that Peter had become, but his voice was drowned out by the madness roaring inside Peter's mind. Before he could even take a breath, Peter seized him, a jagged tendril shooting out and wrapping around Fury's throat, lifting him off the ground. Fury choked, his hand reaching up to claw at the tendril that was tightening around his neck, but Peter wasn't finished.

The symbiote's mouth formed around his face, a grotesque grin full of jagged teeth, and Peter screamed, the words ripping through him with an intensity that left him trembling with rage.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!"

Fury struggled to speak, but the words barely made it past his lips. He was trapped, suspended by Peter's anger, but it didn't stop him from trying to explain.

"I was trying to protect you, Peter," Fury managed to say, his voice strained.

"Protect me?" Peter hissed, his voice venomous with disbelief. "Protect me from what? From the truth? You never once cared to know me, Fury. You're a stranger! You kept me in the dark all these years!"

Peter's words stung, and Fury was silent for a moment before he reached into his coat and pulled out a file, its corners frayed and old. He handed it to Peter, and despite his rage, Peter snatched it with shaking hands, ripping it open, his breath ragged as he scanned the contents.

The first page was filled with information about his parents, agents, spies, just as Fury had told him. But Peter didn't need the details. He knew the story. He already knew they were spies. He already knew they died in a plane crash. He was about to toss the file aside when his eyes caught something. A photograph. A picture of his mother holding a small baby. A little girl.

Peter's breath stopped.

He stared at the picture, frozen, his eyes scanning the words beneath it, his body trembling. The name, the details, the information, everything shifted inside him as the truth came crashing down. Fury had told him about his parents, but this? This was something else.

Teresa Parker. Born to Richard and Mary Parker. Raised by S.H.I.E.L.D. after the deaths of her parents.

Peter's heart stopped. A sister. A sister he never knew about. Fury had known. And worse, Fury had kept this from him.

His hands shook as he turned the page, the truth hitting him like a physical blow. There, at the bottom, in bold letters:

Nick Fury, Grandfather. Peter and Teresa Parker's paternal grandfather.

The file dropped from Peter's hands, scattering across the floor, but he didn't hear it. All he could hear was the deafening rush of blood in his ears.

"You're my... my grandfather?" Peter's voice cracked. Fury stepped forward, trying to say something, but Peter didn't give him the chance.

"Why?" Peter hissed through clenched teeth, his anger bubbling over. "Why would you keep this from me? Why would you hide this from me?!"

Fury's voice softened, but it was tinged with regret. "I didn't want you to carry this weight. I didn't want to drag you into all of this. You were better off without knowing the truth."

Peter couldn't handle it. He couldn't stay in the room, couldn't breathe the same air as Fury. His mind was unraveling, and his heart couldn't take the betrayal. With a final scream of rage, he shot toward the window, his body propelled by the power of the symbiote. Without a second thought, he shattered the glass and leaped into the night, vanishing into the darkness below.

As he fell through the air, the weight of the revelations crushed down on him. His parents, the lies, the hidden truths about his sister, it was all too much. He needed time. Time to process what he had just learned. Time to try to understand the things that had been kept from him.

But right now, all Peter could do was run.

---

Symkarian Embassy

Peter lay in Silver Sable's arms, his body trembling uncontrollably, wracked with sobs that had no end. His face was buried in her chest, muffling the broken sounds that escaped him, but his shudders told the story of his grief. His hands clung desperately to her, fisting the fabric of her shirt so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, as though letting go would pull him back into the storm that raged in his mind.

Sable said nothing. She didn't need to. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him close, a steady anchor against the torrent of emotions tearing him apart. One of her hands moved slowly, rhythmically, through his hair, the other resting on his back as she held him against her, her touch deliberate and grounding.

The only sounds in the room were Peter's ragged, uneven breaths, broken sobs cutting through the stillness like glass shattering. His body shook violently with each breath, his grief so consuming that it seemed to physically tear through him, wringing him out until there was nothing left.

Sable remained steady, unwavering. Her chest rose and fell in a calm, measured rhythm, her presence quiet but constant, a safe harbor in the chaos. Her fingers continued to trace soothing lines through his hair, gentle but firm, as if her touch alone could hold him together while he broke apart.

Peter didn't try to speak. He couldn't. The words wouldn't come, only sobs, sharp and raw, pouring out of him as he clung to her. His shoulders heaved with the weight of it, every breath jagged and painful, as though his grief was something he could physically choke on.

Sable held him through it all. She didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't release him for even a moment. The tears soaking into her shirt didn't matter. The time passing didn't matter. All that mattered was Peter, broken and grieving in her arms, and her silent vow to be there for him, no matter how long it took.

His sobs eventually began to quiet, the sounds softening into hoarse, uneven breaths, though his body still trembled, the weight of everything still heavy on him. Sable's hand never stopped moving, fingers threading gently through his hair, her touch wordlessly saying everything he needed to hear.

'I'm here.'

'You're not alone.'

'You're safe.'

And Peter stayed there, clinging to her as though she was the only solid thing left in a world that had crumbled around him.

Thanks for reading everyone

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