String Theory

Chapter 9

The words are harsh and clearly half panicked, and shame pricks at Harry's gut. He looks down for a moment. "Yes," he says softly. "I apologize."

Tony glances to Steve, who gives him a repentant smile and a nod of assurance. "Okay," Tony breathes. He deflates and takes a step back, letting his hands drop back to his sides. "Then let's get to work."

"Put it back," Ginger commands, and Eggsy fixes her with a devastated look.

"But—"

"No. I'm not buying you junk food."

Eggsy drags his feet on the way back to the shelf, shoving the bag of lime-flavored chips back into their place without gusto. Initially, he and Peter had been excited to go on the early morning trip to the grocery store — Bucky hadn't gotten a whole lot of good food. "All fruit," Ginger had scoffed. "Who eats only fruit?" But now, between Ginger, who's traditional, and Bucky, who isn't a fan of junk food, neither of them are getting anything they want. Overhead, a tinny jazz tune plays from the grocery store's speakers, interrupted by the occasional Orthus-sponsored commercial. It's fairly busy, all things considered; hurried mothers pushing their children around in carts, clerks restocking the shelves, the occasional grouchy stranger giving them a jaundice eye. The four of them move around as a unit; Bucky and Ginger bickering over which food is better, and Peter practically glued to Eggsy's side. When Ginger moves on, Eggsy shoves his hands in his pockets and grumbles, "Never get anything good anymore."

Ginger gives a soft, "hey," throwing Eggsy a warning glance. "We have to have real food if we're going to get any work done."

"Real food," Eggsy repeats. "Sounds like something a terrible cook would say."

Peter's zoned out, scanning the labels on the shelves. He gives a soft yawn of boredom while Ginger and Eggsy argue. He looks drained — hair disheveled, eyes swollen with exhaustion. Despite having gone to bed at a reasonable time, he slept fitfully. He chalked it up to leftover adrenaline from the terrifying drive home from the Mesonet, but really, it was more than that.

Much more than that.

His spider sense had been going off all night long — hair on end, thoughts racing in his mind, fear chewing at him from any angle. Neither of the boys had noticed that they were being followed, but Peter sensed something was off when they pulled into the compound. He said nothing, hoping it was just leftover adrenaline from the chase, but after three hours of trying to calm his heartrate, he decided that his anxiety must be spilling over into his spidey sense. The silver car and its driver made note of this, tucking it away for later, to use for their advantage.

There was nothing he could do to control the intrusive thoughts that sprang into his mind. Try as he might to keep his headspace clear, Peter would often have to do a doubletake at some of the horrible things he'd see. Bucky's face disfigured with rage, eyes cold and full of malice; blood dripping from Eggsy's idle fingers; a gaping bullet hole in the back of Ginger's cashmere sweater. When he blinks, Bucky's smiling, Eggsy's hand is dry, and Ginger is unharmed.

That's not even counting the dreams, which have gotten nothing but worse. It's always a different nightmare, but they end the same way: Thanos, towering over him, wielding a blood-soaked gauntlet. He invariably wakes up slicked with sweat and heaving for breath, patting his body over to ensure that he's still here, he's still solid. Even when he verifies that he's not turning to ash, his hands still tingle as if he is, and it takes a few minutes of Karen reassuring him in order to neutralize the inevitable panic attack.

With his enhanced healing, Peter's wounds have already started to scab over, and his bruises begun to fade. Even though it's been just a day since 018's attack, only a ghost of his black eye remains. The bandages Ginger gave him for his hands and neck were odd and somewhat conspicuous, so despite her scolding, Peter had decided to skip them this morning. He was acutely aware of the eyes on him because of this, particularly Eggsy's; the boy's gaze would falter on the gouges in Peter's skin, and his lips twitch downward with displeasure. Somehow, it makes Peter feel small, like a bug trapped under a glass cup.