CHAPTER FOUR
Nightmare Fuel

WARNING: This chapter contains child abuse as part of a dream. Please read with caution.

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THE PIECE OF TECH in front of her was far more difficult to untangle than usual, but Cecelia, ever persistent, managed it anyway. A rush of satisfaction surged her as it turned to putty in her hands, pliable, adaptable, completely and utterly versatile. If she was being honest, this was her favourite part of the process. Turning something that was previously so restricted into an item of limitless possibility.

As Cecelia worked, she hummed along to Back In Black, the song currently blaring out of F.R.I.D.A.Y's speakers. Mr. Stark liked to work with music at full volume, something that had proved to be an unpleasant surprise for Cecelia the first time she'd entered the lab. It had only been the joint pleas of her and Peter—who felt the effects of the loud music more acutely—that had convinced him to take it down a few notches.

Speaking of... "How's it going over there, Casper?"

Mr. Stark seemed to be taking a break from his own project, because he'd left his station and started ambling his way over to Cecelia's. She heard his footsteps, but she didn't look up—she was at a very finicky part of her work, and she was afraid that if she took her eyes off of it for a second, she'd slip.

"I'm getting there," she said, using a pair of comically small tweezers to connect two wires together. "I'll be done in half an hour, tops."

"Oof." Judging by his tone, Mr. Stark seemed to have gotten a glimpse at what she was currently working on. "Yeah, that doesn't look fun. See, this is why I get you youngins to do all the meticulous work for me. I am not interested in carpal tunnel."

Cecelia still didn't look up, fitting her new wire into its proper slot. "So you're giving the carpal tunnel to me?"

"Hey, you're a kid. You've got more time."

"Okay, old man."

"Hey." Mr. Stark's gloved hand came down on her shoulder. "Watch it, Olivier."

"Just speaking the truth."

His hand tightened. "You better finish that soon. We've got a time limit, you know."

"A time limit?" she asked. He'd never said anything about a time limit. "A time limit for what?"

"For the buyer." Mr. Stark's voice suddenly grew deeper. The hand on her shoulder tightened further, to the point of being painful. "Jesus Christ, Cecelia, don't tell me you forgot. The deal is in two days, and you've still got to double-check the anti-grav climbers. There's no time to be slacking off."

Cecelia winced. "Mr. Stark, you're hurting me."

"God, sometimes I wonder why I even bother." Mr. Stark's voice continued to change, warping into something more sinister. "You're more trouble than you're worth, Cecelia, do you know that? Only time you're ever useful is when you shut your mouth. But you never seem capable of doing that."

Cecelia's stomach plummeted to her toes. "What?"

"See, there you go again. For fuck's sake, how much clearer can I be?"

Cecelia swore she could feel her shoulder bones grinding against each other. But Mr. Stark didn't let go. Which made her realize, in an awful, sinking moment, that it wasn't Mr. Stark at all.

She finally glanced up. A pair of cold blue eyes stared back down at her.

And it was Richard, not Mr. Stark. Richard, who loomed over her like a giant, Richard, who was scowling down at her. Richard, who had to do nothing more than tighten his hand to snap all her shoulder bones at once.

No, no, no, no—

Cecelia tried to scramble backward, but was caught short. Richard jerked her back, fury flashing in his eyes. One hand seized the nape of her neck.

"Where do you think you're going?" he spat. "Your only place is with me. With me, Cecelia. Not anyone else. This, everything around you?" He gestured to the lab, which was changing, too. The white walls bled into black, the floor disappeared entirely, and the music squealed to a stop. "It's all a fantasy. A fantasy. Because you're mine, and you always will be."

"No," Cecelia choked. "No, no—"

"You know what happens when you try to leave," Richard said. He put his mouth to her ear. The heat of his breath sent a wave of nausea through her body. "You ruin everything. You killed Tony Stark. That was you. It was all your fault. Haven't you realized that, yet?"

"I know." Cecelia was sobbing now, her entire vision blurred with tears. "I know."

"So stop pretending to be a person." Richard jerked her head, holding it over the table. "You're never going to be one. We both know it. You're nothing but a filthy fucking mutant. And you bring death wherever you go."

"I know," Cecelia said again. She couldn't breathe. "I know!"

"I'm not sure you do," said Richard. "Which is why I need to teach you a lesson."

With that, he slammed her face into the table.

And Cecelia jerked awake.

She lay gasping for a moment, vision still blurred, unsure of where she was. Slowly, though, the outlines of her bedroom came into view. Her bookshelf. Her desk. The beanbag chair that Eva had begged for. The glow-in-the-dark stickers Peter had helped plaster to her ceiling.

The sound came back, too. Eva's occasional snores in the bed beside her. The constant trill of sirens from outside. The whir of her fan on full blast.

Cecelia put a hand to her mouth, suppressing a sob. Oh, Creator. Oh, Creator. It had just been a dream—except there was no just about it. It being a dream did not make it any less horrible. Or Richard's words any less true.

She stumbled out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and turned on the faucet. When the cold water gushed out, she took a handful and splashed it onto her sweaty, tear-stained face. She'd been crying in her sleep. It was fortunate that Eva was too deep of a sleeper to hear.

You're more trouble than you're worth.

Only time you're ever useful is when you shut your mouth.

Cecelia turned off the faucet and dabbed her face dry with a towel, still shaking. Another sob built up in her throat, and she had to take several deep breaths to prevent it from coming loose.

You're mine, and you always will be.

It was your fault.

Once she was done, she looked up, meeting her own eyes in the mirror. The girl who stared back was exhausted, sallow, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Mom and Dad had been worried that she wasn't eating enough. Maybe Cecelia hadn't. Even so, she hadn't expected it to show so prevalently.

You're nothing but a filthy fucking mutant.

You bring death wherever you go.

She wrapped her arms around her midsection, continuing her shuddering breaths. It seemed that what had happened at the fundraiser had really gotten to her. Because although Cecelia frequently had nightmares, they were usually predictable. Flaking away into dust on Titan. Watching the warehouse collapse around her. Feeling Richard's hands on her throat. Watching Mr. Stark die.

This, on the other hand... Cecelia hadn't been so shaken by a dream in a long time. It had just felt so real, down to the grease staining her clothes and the slightly sterile smell. Even her nose tingled slightly, as if it truly had been slammed down onto the desk.

There was no way she was going back to sleep after this. Cecelia exited the bathroom and checked the time. According to the glowing clock on her nightstand, it was 3:32 AM.

Well, at least she no longer had to get up at six for school.

She trudged to her desk and picked up her phone. She stared at her lock screen—now the stupid picture of her, Peter, and Mr. Stark recreating Alien—and contemplated calling someone. Christine would be sleeping, so she was out. Pepper was in Japan for a conference (which was why she'd been unable to attend the fundraiser last night), so she'd probably be awake—time zones, and all that—but Cecelia didn't want to bother her with something as trivial as a nightmare. And, while MJ and Ned were Cecelia's friends, she probably wasn't yet close enough to them to make such a late-night call.

This left Peter, who kept worse hours than Cecelia did. He was often up at the early hours of the morning perfecting his web-fluid for the thousandth time, pacing on the ceiling, or tinkering with Karen. There was a 99% chance that he'd pick up if Cecelia dialled his number.

But the thought of calling Peter was, for some reason, so unappealing that Cecelia actually physically shook her head. Which was stupid, because he probably wouldn't mind talking to her, especially after she'd run off. All she had to do was push a few buttons and his cheerful, if groggy, voice would be in her ear.

She put down her phone. No. No. What would she even say? Hey, Peter, just calling because I dreamed about Richard? Hey, Peter, do you blame me for killing Mr. Stark, because I sure as hell do? Hey, Peter, do you think I deserve to continue being Phantom?

No way.

Instead, she took out a piece of tech from the hidden compartment in her wall. She sat down at her desk and turned on the small mushroom lamp Alex had gotten for her birthday. If she was going to stay awake, she might as well be productive. And now that school was over, productive meant continuing her upgrades of her Phantom suit.

She was just about to put on her headphones and turn on Animal Crossing Music To Study/Chill/Sleep—a recent gem she'd found on YouTube—when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. This was so unexpected that Cecelia jumped. When she managed to settle back into her seat, she checked the screen. Was Peter calling her?

But no. It was an unknown number.

Nick Fury.

Cecelia scowled down at her phone. It was three-thirty in the morning. Didn't he have anything better to do? Was he seriously expecting her to answer?

Well, if he was, then he was an idiot. She silenced the buzzing with one finger. Mercifully, all went quiet. She rubbed a hand across her eyes.

Turning back to her project, she tried to ignore the bone-deep exhaustion that settled within her. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept at it until morning, she could get a good start on her wrist stunner modifications. She just had to push through.

With that in her mind, Cecelia began.

IN THE MORNING, Cecelia woke to multiple texts from Peter, which was unsurprising, and a few from Ned, which was. It wasn't that Cecelia didn't like Ned—quite the opposite, really; he'd been one of very few people to worm his way into her heart—it was just that he didn't text her often, especially outside of the group chat Peter had made for the three of them (Ned wanted to call it The Spidey-Squad, Cecelia argued that was leaving her out, and they eventually settled for the spider emoji, the ghost emoji, and the chair emoji). In fact, the last time he'd done so had been on her seventeenth birthday. So, obviously, the fact that he had done so now set off immediate alarm bells in Cecelia's head.

Alongside the text messages were two more missed calls from Nick Fury and one from Happy. Given that Cecelia had gotten around a total of four hours of sleep—it was ten-thirty AM now, and she'd finally drifted off again around a quarter past six—she didn't think she was the most qualified to deal with either of those yet. Besides, she needed to focus on Ned's texts, anyway.

But first...

PETER: Hey Cecelia, I'm really sorry about what happened last night. It was super messed up and I never would've brought you if I'd known the reporters were gonna be like that :(((

PETER: I really wish you hadn't run off so I could tell you this in person, but I get it. I was feeling like shit, too. I ended up talking to Ned on the phone for like an hour afterward.

PETER: I hope you had the chance to talk to someone, too.

PETER: Also, The Daily Bugle decided to publish some bs about last night. Just thought I should warn you about that :///

PETER: Let's meet up later, okay? You can come to my place and we can watch a movie. Your pick. I'll make popcorn and I can get May to pick up our fave strawberry lemonade :)))

PETER: Text me back soon, okay??

Cecelia stared at these messages until her vision swam. Shit. Peter... Peter was just so good. He always managed to be exactly what she needed while simultaneously making her insides knot themselves into bows. She didn't understand it. She didn't understand him. She didn't understand why he cared.

But he did. And, if she was being honest, a movie with him tonight was sounding pretty damn good.

Unfortunately, there was still the matter of Ned's texts. Because Peter hadn't said anything was wrong—except for whatever happened with The Daily Bugle, which Cecelia was totally going to check out when she was done here—Cecelia doubted that Ned's texts were earth-shattering. Even so, he'd messaged her for a reason.

NED: hey cecelia

NED: i know we don't text much but i thought there was something you should see

NED: https://thedailybugle.net/2024/superheroes/phantom-makes-reporter-cry/index/html.

NED: sorry :(((

NED: if you want i can hack into their website and take the article down

NED: you know i can

NED: and if i get arrested it'll be worth it

Oh, fuck.

So it was bad. Cecelia had expected that, but if Ned was offering to go to prison to save her, it might actually be worse than she'd thought. Perhaps that was a sign not to read it, after all, but curiosity and dread were going to eat her alive if she didn't at least read the first paragraph. So, summoning up all of her courage, Cecelia followed Ned's link.

*

THE DAILY BUGLE

PHANTOM MAKES REPORTER CRY DURING EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW!

Published 6:49 AM EDT, Thursday, June 27th, 2024

NEW YORK, NY (The Daily Bugle)—Last night, a fundraiser at F.E.A.S.T featuring Spider-Man and Phantom went awry when Phantom made a reporter cry for asking a simple question. As a part of the fundraiser, Phantom and Spider-Man agreed to answer questions from multiple news outlets such as The New York Tribune, The Queens Bulletin, and, of course, The Daily Bugle. However, in their very first interview, Phantom—whose gender is still unknown—seemed to have forgotten their manners.

Janice Peterson, 34, who identified herself as the reporter seen crying in this video (stream on thedailybugle.net), states that all she asked was whether or not Phantom and Spider-Man were a couple. Spider-Man was quick to deny this, but Phantom didn't seem to want to let things go so easily. They reportedly snapped, "Does anyone have a question that isn't stupid?" and ignored Peterson when she began to appear distraught.

This is yet another piece of rapidly mounting evidence that Phantom and Spider-Man, Queens' so-called "heroes", are actually disrespectful, boorish bullies who are doing nothing but make New York a worse place to live. If they really wanted to provide a public service to the public, they would take off their masks and become police officers, not run around in spandex and torment reporters just trying to do their jobs. Alas, until the government gets off its ass and instates an enhanced identification policy, we will continue to suffer through Spider-Man and Phantom's oppression.

*

Cecelia swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Honestly, she'd been expecting a lot more from the article, but she still hated to be under such public scrutiny. She'd known, obviously, that becoming Peter's official partner wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows—while New York primarily loved Spider-Man, there was still a surprisingly large number of people who completely hated his guts, and thus hated hers by association—but it was different when it was just about her. Phantom. The girl who was never supposed to be in the spotlight in the first place.

She wondered if Richard had managed to read it. If he was having a good laugh at Cecelia. See? This is why you can never be a hero. You really think you could do any good? No, you're always going to be hated. And you'll deserve it.

After the nightmare she'd had last night, this idea hurt more than usual.

There were several comments underneath the article, mostly from usernames that were some variation of Thedailybuglefan. Dailybuglefanatic420, for example, posted, How has no one realized Phantom is a villain yet? This simple comment had almost one-hundred likes. JJJfan180 said, Phantom is the WOKE MOB'S attempt at creating a superhero. He/she is always advocating for homeless transgender rights. Did Captain America do that? Did Thor? No, because they were REAL superheroes! Not a WOKE PHONY like Phantom!!

These were the types of comments one would expect from followers of The Daily Bugle, which almost rivalled Fox News when it came to stupidity levels. But when Cecelia exited the article and went on Twitter, she was dismayed to find that the Phantom slander had migrated over there, too. A trending topic in the United States (alongside The New Captain America and The Next Iron Man) was Phantom Made Her Cry.

"Are you kidding me?" Cecelia muttered, even as she started going through the tag. Did people really not have anything else to comment on?

The Tweets were worse than the comments on The Daily Bugle. Plenty of them called for Phantom to quit their vigilante work. More tagged the Department of Damage Control, pleading for Phantom's arrest. Before, Cecelia might have thought this was ridiculous—she hadn't actually done anything wrong, after all—but she'd heard enough horror stories about the DODC to know that they often didn't wait for an excuse to arrest Enhanced beings. Honestly, it was a miracle that they hadn't targeted her yet.

The only spots of sunlight in this tornado of a Twitter storm were the defensive replies from Alex, who'd always been a Spider-Man and Phantom super-fan. Have any of y'all ever considered that vigilantes aren't celebrities? he Tweeted. They don't have coaches on what to say to reporters. Phantom has never been to an interview before, and yet they're automatically expected to be perfect? Lol okay.

Cecelia was almost tempted to reveal her identity to her brother just so she could give him a hug for that.

She set down her phone and took in a deep breath through her nose. Obviously, this whole situation wasn't good. But she had to remind herself that no one could really come after her. Her identity still remained a well-guarded secret, and if even Ned had managed to keep it locked up for so long, she doubted there were going to be leaks anytime soon.

Still, this was a lot to process so soon after waking up, especially given the nightmare she'd had last night. She could still feel Mr. Stark's hand on her shoulder, tightening and tightening and tightening. She could still hear Richard's voice rasping in her ear, snarling vile words a part of her knew to be true. It was her fault Mr. Stark had died. It was her fault.

She buried her head in her hands, trying to suppress the tears that came to her eyes. Maybe the public was right to hate Phantom. She couldn't do anything right, could she?

An abrupt knock on her door startled her out of her self-pity. On the other side of the threshold, Alex called out, "Hey, Cee and Eva! Are you awake? I made pancakes, if y'all want any!"

Cecelia's gaze crossed the room and landed on her little sister. Eva was still asleep, and Alex's voice had done nothing to rouse her out of her slumber. Now that it was summer, she probably wouldn't get out of bed until noon, at the earliest.

Whatever. Cecelia climbed out of bed. She could use some pancakes. And possibly Mr. Stark's time machine, but she wasn't going to go that far.

At least she had therapy today. Creator. Dr. Patel was going to have a field day with all of this.

PETER PICKED UP THE remote and paused The Incredibles just as Dash began running across the water. He looked like he'd been enjoying the movie—even though he claimed to have seen it multiple times—so Cecelia blinked at the interruption.

It was seven PM, tomorrow was the Europe trip, and Cecelia had been at Peter's house for three hours. She'd gone over straight after therapy—in which she and Dr. Patel discussed the slander piece against her and Cecelia conveniently forgot to mention her nightmare—and had eaten dinner sandwiched between Peter and May. Both of them had been very apologetic about last night, but Cecelia had just waved them off. There was no way they could've known what would happen, so there was no point in asking for forgiveness.

(And didn't she deserve it all, anyway?)

After dinner, the two of them headed to the living room and Peter queued up The Incredibles, Cecelia's pick. Not because it was her favourite or anything—that spot would always and forever be taken up by Howl's Moving Castle—but because she thought it would be ironic. Peter had visibly brightened at the choice, though. Apparently, this was one of his favourite movies.

Cecelia shouldn't have been surprised by that.

True to his word, Peter had procured the strawberry lemonade, along with a bowl of heavily buttered popcorn that slicked their fingers like lab grease. Peter, whose enhanced metabolism had in no way been satisfied by the three servings of Thai food they'd eaten (May hadn't even bothered trying to cook tonight), ended up eating most of it. Cecelia didn't particularly care. Her stomach had been churning all day, anyway.

Now, Peter stood up. He was wearing a Baby Yoda sweatshirt ("It's Grogu, Cecelia. Not Baby Yoda!"), blue sweatpants, and socks with little planets on them. It was the kind of outfit one would typically find an eight-year-old in, but somehow, he pulled it off.

Cecelia brushed popcorn off her own sweatshirt (unlike Peter's, her own was just a plain blue). "What's up?" she asked. "You need a bathroom break?"

"No," Peter said. "I just... um..." He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tic that was difficult to differentiate from his spider-sense in action. "Can we talk?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay." Peter started forward, seemed to realize that he didn't have anywhere to go, and stopped, facing her. "I know you don't want to talk about last night, so I won't. I just want to say I'm sorry again. That's—that's all."

"Peter, you've apologized about fifteen times already, and it's not even your fault," Cecelia said. "You couldn't have known that the reporters would be asking stupid questions, or that The Daily Bugle would write an article about me. It's not your fault. And even though she invited me to the fundraiser, it's not May's, either. Please tell her not to bake me 'I'm Sorry' cookies. I really don't want to have to pretend to like them."

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

"Besides, it's not even that big of a deal."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that—"

"Peter."

"Right, right." Peter coughed into his elbow. "Um. So. Europe's tomorrow."

"Yeah," Cecelia said. It really had come fast.

"Are you—I was just wondering—are you gonna bring your suit?"

Cecelia furrowed her eyebrows. "Why would I bring my suit?"

"That's—that's actually what I was thinking. But May seems to think I should pack it just in case."

"Just in case? What does she expect to happen? Some asshole in Paris is going to swoop from the sky and call himself Le faucon?"

"Is that... is that 'the falcon' in French?"

"Yes. Halfway through saying it I realized there already is a Falcon. But he's Captain America now, isn't he? So I guess the position's open for any French freaks who wanna be a villain."

Peter laughed. "Okay. But, no. I don't think we're gonna have to, like, save the world in Europe, and May doesn't seem to think so, either. I think it's more about wanting to go on patrol. You know, saving the little guy in Paris instead of New York."

"Except if Spider-Man is seen in Paris at the same time Peter Parker is, there's a hundred-percent chance that our classmates will put the pieces together," Cecelia said. "Especially after Washington. You know, that was one benefit of being an undercover villain. Nobody knew who Phantom was back then."

Peter winced. "Please don't joke about that. You weren't ever a villain, CeCe."

Cecelia waved him off. "Dr. Patel says that humour is an important coping mechanism to getting over trauma."

He huffed. "Whatever. Anyway, you're right, though. Not about the villain thing. About my identity. Which is why I'm leaning more toward leaving my suit at home. I just wanted to talk to you about it first."

"Well, I'm not bringing my suit. I've already decided that. My identity's not as fragile as yours, but I can't risk anyone figuring out who I am. Besides," she shrugged, "wouldn't it be good to have a break from it for a while?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it would." Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I just want—well, I just want to have a normal trip. With my... friends." He rolled his eyes. "Ned wants us to be American bachelors. As if we're gonna meet some random girl in Europe and just—never mind."

Cecelia picked a piece of lint off her knee. "So he's totally given up on Christine, then?"

"Um..." Peter swallowed. "Kind of? I mean, as long as she doesn't know our identities, she'll stay under the impression that he ditched her at Homecoming to watch porn. That's not exactly something that you can just get over. Even if he has apologized, like, a hundred times."

"Try a thousand," Cecelia said. For almost three months after the Homecoming disaster, Ned had attempted to make it up to Christine. He'd bring her flowers, chocolate, and once, a LEGO replica of the solar system. Christine had turned him down every time, and, being her best friend, Cecelia had supported her in it all. Even so, she'd felt the slightest twinges of guilt for Ned. It was technically her fault that he couldn't tell Christine the truth about what he'd really been doing on Homecoming.

But Cecelia couldn't reveal her identity to anyone else. She couldn't risk it. Not when the very thought brought a haunting chorus to her mind: Mutant mutant mutant mutant fucking mutant.

She cleared her throat, banishing the choir. "Anyway, a normal trip sounds... pretty nice, I'm not going to lie. Especially in Europe. I've always wanted to go. The Indian invades back, you know?"

Peter stared. "I... don't know if I'm allowed to laugh at that."

"Why wouldn't you? It's funny."

Peter looked away, ploughing on: "Um. Anyway. Yeah. Normal trip. Normal teenage experience. That's all I want. So... I guess I won't bring the suit."

"Neither will I," Cecelia said. "Except... I am going to bring Howl."

"You're bringing your AI? Why?"

Cecelia shrugged. "He's good company."

"...Okay, then."

"Do you want to put the movie back on?" Cecelia pointed with her lips to the TV. "I like this part. It's like Dash is White Jesus Himself."

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, sure." Peter plopped down on the couch beside Cecelia again. He was on the cushion beside her, but sitting almost at the very edge. Cecelia was, too. If she scooted a little bit to the left... well, they'd be touching.

Not that Cecelia wanted that. Nope. No way.

Peter pressed play, and the movie resumed. As Cecelia watched, Peter at her side, she couldn't help but relax. Okay, so things were weird between them. She still didn't feel 100% right in his presence, especially with those weird thoughts constantly jumping into her mind. But Peter was familiar. He was Pre-Blip, not Post-Blip. He almost made her forget about Cora and older Jules and Mr. Stark.

Almost, but not quite.

Well, at least the Europe trip was tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, touring the continent would be just what she needed to take her mind off of everything. A purification of the negativity that had been brimming inside of her for months now.

Of course, given that both therapy and smudging hadn't helped, Cecelia doubted that this colonizer trip would do anything, either. But a girl could certainly dream.

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HAVEN:

cecelia making the "indians invade back" joke:

to cite my sources, that joke came from elatsoe by darcie little badger. i highly recommend it if you're looking for an urban fantasy ya book with ace/aro and native american (specifically apache) rep!!

back to the meat and potatoes of this chapter, though... yeah, trauma. don't we all just hate richard?? i literally wrote him and i want to smash his nose in with my bare hands. FUCK RICHARD!!

also, as you can see, i did want to do a little bit of exploring on the role social media would play in the marvel universe (and this will definitely be expanded upon during the second act!) one of my favourite parts about she-hulk was the acknowledgement that yes, of course there would be trolls that would go after women superheroes/enhanced individuals. you know, just because they exist. and because cecelia doesn't want people to know phantom's gender, there's definitely gonna be transphobia, too :/// i really wish this wasn't the case, but, you know. the internet is a cesspool.

thanks for reading <333