Chapter Text
The immediate reaction is to duck down. Peter drags Ned down with him, forcing him to squish down behind the row of seats in front of them. It’s the only thing blocking them from the shooter.
Another couple of gunshots ring out. Mr Harrington cries out and a thump can be heard. Peter risks glancing around the side of the seat. Mr Harrington’s rolling on the floor clutching his leg with blood streaming through his fingers.
Oh, thinks Peter. He needs to do something. His teacher’s not going to be able to help. It’s all on Spider-Man to save the day.
But Spider-Man isn’t available right now. His suit is secured at the bottom of Peter’s bag, sitting above-head in the racks attached to the roof of the bus. There’s no way for Peter to get to it.
He could jump up, grab his bag and duck back down again, but the risks are too high; he’s more likely to hurt people than help them.
Two more masked cronies board the bus. One wears a Spider-Man mask - fittingly ironic, considering - and the other an Iron Man mask. It sends an involuntary shiver down Peter’s spine. Something about seeing his mentor’s face (hero or otherwise) on someone else scares him. There’s no real reason for it, but it sends all his senses haywire.
So, there are three of them.
Hijacker number one wears a Hulk mask. Maybe it’s to prove something; to say he’s the strongest, or maybe not. There might not be any meaning behind it and Peter could just be overthinking things, but he’d really like to listen to his gut, and that’s what his gut is telling him.
Hulk is big and strong, just like the real thing, but slightly less green. His muscles show through his thick black leather jacket, and it’s clear that the guy works out.
He’s the leader. That’s made clear from the second he steps on the bus. He’s in charge; he’s dominating. He might not be a good leader, though.
Hijacker number one has a Spider-Man mask covering his face. The white eyes are cut out to reveal soulless blue ones that survey the bus with a cruel sense of curiosity.
He’s athletic. Not in the same way as the first one, but in a neater, more organized way. He looks like he knows how to fight - not just how to throw a punch or crush someone in a bear-hug, but how to think amidst chaos. His eyes are cold and calculating.
To Peter, he seems… independent. Like he’d rather be on a solo mission, but can’t because of whatever reason. He stands out, in a way. Peter tries not to think about it, but the guy sets Peter’s senses off the most.
And then there’s hijacker number three: Iron Man. Iron Man’s mask has been taped to his face. He wears a hoodie and about a thousand layers to cover every bit of revealed skin. He wears fingered gloves and even his socks are thick and black.
Maybe he’s paranoid? There might be a way to exploit that, thinks Peter.
Iron Man isn’t very muscular, and Peter’s pretty sure all the bulk hanging off the guy is excess clothing rather than body mass. Iron Man doesn’t look like the type of person to be large in any way shape or form.
The three of them make an interesting team. Iron Man’s the runt of the litter; Spider-Man couldn’t care less; Hulk wants- no, needs to be in charge.
Peter takes a deep breath, and twists in place slightly. In his current position, his pocket - containing his phone - is sitting beneath him, stuck under his body weight. He shifts himself to reach his pocket, where he fishes around for his phone.
It’s an old, battered thing - something Mr Stark’s had a few too many things to say about - and is half way to heaven.
His lockscreen is a photo of him, Ned, MJ and May, his favorite people. Ned’s grinning from ear-to-ear, holding up a signed Star Wars poster from a convention they’d gone to earlier that day, much to MJ’s chagrin. MJ has a hesitant, barely-there smile, but it’s enough to make Peter think fondly of the photo. May’s smiling softly, looking into the camera with warm, kind eyes.
Peter’s behind the camera, telling them all to say ‘cheese’ with a dopey grin of his own.
Unlocking his phone, Peter scrambles to the contacts list. Who should he call? He has to think of someone - 911?
But- no. Mr Stark.
It isn’t really the best option. Mr Stark’s in Malibu, and he’d never make it in time. At maximum speed, he could be here in about thirty-three minutes, but there’s no saying how urgent he’ll read into the situation.
Still, it’s worth a try.
In the back of his mind, Peter thinks that he should probably be calling May, but, oh well. He’s going to make it home. There’s no reason to feel guilty about it. May will just have to wait until the situation’s calmed down - Mr Stark is able to do something in the now, rather than the after.
It still hurts Peter a little when he presses on the little phone icon right next to Mr Stark’s name. He pushes the thoughts away and presses the phone to his ear.
One ring, two… no one’s picking up. Maybe he’s busy? Shit, he’s probably in a meeting, or something. Peter should’ve gone for May after all.
On the fourth ring, someone clears their throat. Peter glances up.
Spider-Man’s standing over him, one hand outstretched.
Peter slowly lowers his phone, passing it to the hijacker, who inspects the caller ID.
“Ha!” he scoffs, leaning over to show the screen to the other two. “Look who Parker’s trying to call!”
“Still leading that lie, Penis?” sneers Hulk.
So they know his name. And the whole “Peter’s lying about his S.I internship” rumor. That means that they know of or about the school. Maybe they’re former students? No, the rumor wouldn’t’ve reached the older years yet.
All of Peter’s year is on this trip - yes, another field trip gone wrong, what a surprise. If they’re in his year, then they easily would’ve known about the trip, and where to intersect the bus. Does that mean the other buses are being hijacked too, or is it just them?
Peter’ll just have to find out, he supposes. There’s nothing left to do but wait and hope for a miracle.
He looks up mournfully at his backpack, still safe and sound on the over-head racks.
“Spider-Man,” calls Hulk, and both Peter and Spider-Man’s heads snap around in unison.
Behind him, Ned clutches Peter’s wrist.
“Peter,” he hisses, “What if they know?”
Peter silently shakes his head. They can’t talk about this here; it’s too risky. He hopes Ned gets the point, and tunes back into the hijackers’ conversation. He needs to get as much information on them as he can.
Okay. First thing’s first. Why them? Why this group, in particular? Unless they’ve hijacked every single bus coming out of Midtown high, which seems like a bit of a pain.
Peter looks around. Does anyone here have a big secret? Is anyone in trouble with anyone else? What’s the term the FBI use? Victimology?
Who’s the real victim here?
“You drive,” says Hulk, tossing a key-ring through the air to Spider-Man, who catches it flawlessly with a nod of agreement.
It could always be Flash - he’s a pretty nasty guy, and Peter’s not the only person he’s ever bullied, so there’s always a chance…
Probably not Ned. Ned’s harmless; he couldn’t hurt a fly, even if he was ordered to, held at gunpoint. Ned’s a total empath. But he is also a brave, slightly reckless genius. Maybe there’s something there that could be taken offense to.
MJ’s actually pretty average beneath her weird behaviour. She doesn’t aggravate anyone and keeps to herself. There’s no out-right reason for her to be a victim.
And Peter… well, if he does say so himself, Peter’s a darn good actor. He hasn’t slipped up - okay, maybe once or twice he has, but those were accidents - and so far the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing has been kept cleanly underwraps. No one knows. And that’s the only thing they could want to attack him for, as far as he’s aware.
“Stop thinking so much,” MJ whispers from the opposite row of seats across the aisle. “I’m scared they might hear your brain churning, or something dumb like that. Not that I’m scared, though.”
Peter sympathizes. It’s rare that MJ gets scared. In fact, Peter’s never heard or seen her like this before. She’s visibly shaking, one hand curled around Cindy’s wrist, who’s clutching onto MJ like a lifeline.
“Guys,” says Cindy, her voice small and frightened, “Are we going to die?”
“No,” Peter says instantly - and maybe a little too loudly.
Hulk, who’s been pacing up and down the aisle ever since Spider-Man reached the wheel, sends him a glare and kicks him square in the jaw. He yelps in pain and draws back instinctively, reaching for the bruise rapidly forming.
Any chatter, no matter how loud, ceases. Everyone knows the consequences now, and there’s no saying how far the hijackers are willing to go. The next person who steps out of line - anything could happen to them.
A soft, reassuring hand on Peter’s back asks if he’s okay, and he nods, gently enough that the action goes unnoticed by Hulk, who stares him down every time he passes by.
Up front, Spider-Man has taken over the driving position. The bus driver is long dead, having been thrown out of the bus, his body dumped unceremoniously in some random, quiet road.
Spider-Man’s a good driver. He’s patient, and he isn’t about to get them caught for speeding, or something stupid. He’s smart, precise, and organized.
Hulk patrols up and down the aisle, pausing every few minutes to check on Iron Man, who’s typing rapidly into a small, portable laptop, hunched over it protectively.
Iron Man is perched on the seats next to Mr Harrington, who’s still on the ground, stifling the occasional sob and cradling his leg. Peter isn’t too worried about Mr Harrington. He’s scared for the teacher, sure, but not outwardly panicked. Mr Harrington will survive his current injuries, and it’s up to him not to let himself get hurt further.
Iron Man’s typing pauses.
“The GPS,” he says quickly, “We haven’t disabled it.”
“So?” says Hulk. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, then. Still - smart enough to formulate this plan, unless it was one of those group projects.
“So, they can still track us.”
“Who’s they?” whispers Ned.
Peter shrugs. Probably the police. He didn’t even know school buses had GPS technology wired in.
“Shit,” says Hulk, “Where is it? What do we do?”
“It should be in the dashboard,” says Iron Man.
Hulk makes a mad dash for the front of the bus, ripping the hard plastic plating covering the dashboard away. Spider-Man grunts in protest, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. No one wants to anger Hulk further. His mask is strangely fitting.
“There’s just wires,” says Hulk, staring at the mess of wires revealed.
“Let me do it,” sighs Iron Man, slipping past Hulk. Hulk towers over him while he works, keeping a clear eye on the smaller boy.
“Is that it?” Hulk asks as Iron Man pulls out a small box from the dashboard.
“Yup, that’s it,” says Iron Man. “K- Spider-Man, do us a favor and open the doors?”
Spider-Man’s real name starts with a K. Peter mentally thanks Iron Man for the slip up and continues to listen in.
The bus doors open - they’re entering the motorway, so Iron Man better be quick if he doesn’t want to be noticed - and Iron Man sends the GPS catapulting into a passing bush, never to be seen again.
Or, well, it will be found. Eventually. It just depends on how long it takes for the police to get their butts on the case.
Peter checks his watch - they’ve been here, in the bus, hijacked, for nearly an hour. Mr Harrington’s been bleeding for an hour. Cindy’s been silently weeping for an hour. Flash has been clinging onto Jason for an hour.
It’s beginning to feel like no one’s coming.
No, no. He can’t think that - that’s just dangerous for himself. To give up now, would be to give up his life. He can’t do that. He has to stay strong, and figure out how to get to his spider-suit without causing trouble.
“I hope y’all are having fun,” taunts Hulk, “‘Cuz you’re gonna be here for a looong time.”
Peter really hopes that isn’t true.
To him, Hulk sounds almost sadistic. He’s definitely not the brains of the operation - no, that goes to Iron Man or Spider-Man, definitely - but it wouldn’t surprise Peter if he was the one whose idea it was.
There’s no saying how far Hulk is willing to go.
Next to Peter, Ned’s working himself up. He’s got his head in his hands, breathing heavily with rugged, loose breaths.
“Hey, Ned,” murmurs Peter, “Calm down,”
“Shut up!” snaps Hulk. “No one cares about Nerd Leeds,”
“I do,” says Peter. He knows he shouldn’t, he has to stand up for Ned somehow. “Ned’s a wonderful person.”
“Aw,” coos Hulk sarcastically. “Are you trying to protect your boy-friend?”
Peter grits his teeth together and forces himself not to rise to the bait. But it’s ever-so tempting. He just has to sit here and stay calm. That’s all he has to do.
“The police are coming for you,” he says firmly. “They’re going to get you.”
“Nah,” says Hulk. He’s carefree; not an inch of responsibility under his words. “Iron Man’s got that covered for us.”
Iron Man makes an absent noise, too focused on his laptop to care. Peter gets the strangest sense that maybe he and Hulk are related.
“Or do you think Mr Stark’s going to come and save the day?” asks Hulk, leaning down. “You’re a funny guy, Parker.”
Peter keeps his mouth shut.
This doesn’t appease Hulk, though, who huffs in frustration.
“You’ll see,” he says ominously; “You’ll all see,” and lashes out; Peter faintly feels something on the back of his head before his world sinks into darkness.