CHAPTER FIVE
Phantom Pains

WARNING: This chapter contains child abuse. Please read with caution.

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BY THE TIME CECELIA ARRIVED at the dilapidated bridge that was her given location, the deal had already begun. This was obvious, given that the moment she skidded to a stop, clutching a stitch in her side, there was a blast of energy. It collided right into an old car, one that had evidently been dredged out of a junkyard, and caused it to explode in a haze of blue. The streetlight above it flickered out, and Jackson Brice—or, as he was here, the Shocker—let out a loud whoop.

There was a man beside him, but he wasn't Herman Schultz, who must have been in the van they'd brought along. This was the buyer, dark-skinned and bearded, wearing a simple T-shirt. He looked more like someone's uncle than a guy who wanted to purchase deadly weapons, but appearances could be deceiving. Cecelia was living proof of that.

"Oh, you're here." Brice lowered his weapon as Cecelia approached. "You weren't thinking of skipping out on this deal, huh?"

"No," Cecelia responded, doubled over and heaving for air. She actually had ended up taking an Uber over, but she'd had the driver park a block away, at a random house, so things wouldn't be suspicious. She'd ended up changing behind a tree and sprinting the rest of the way here. "I was coming."

"Who the hell is she?" The buyer asked, eyes darting to Brice and back to Cecelia. Under her mask—which was fitted over the lower half of her face, curving over her nose and stopping right below her eyes—she grimaced. "Why's she wearing all that? I hate to break it to you, but Halloween isn't for a few weeks."

"Just call me Phantom," Cecelia responded, folding her arms. "I'm here to make sure nothing goes wrong. Shocker, continue."

Brice blasted the car a second time, the kickback of which Cecelia swore she felt in her teeth. The buyer shrank back, shielding his face. Brice laughed again.

"Now, this is crafted from a reclaimed sub-Ultron arm straight from Sokovia," he explained, letting the prongs over the weapon's muzzle fold back in. He passed it over. "Here. You try."

The buyer took it with some apprehension. "Man, I wanted something low-key. Like, why are you trying to upsell me, man?"

"That's not all we have," Cecelia pointed out. She adjusted the hood over her face, casting a shadow over her eyes, and gestured to the trunk of the van. "We've got, like, fifty different options. Forty of which I played a part in creating. So I can answer any questions you have about them."

"Yeah, okay, okay, okay. We got what you need, all right?" Brice added. "We got tons of great stuff here. One sec."

He took the weapon back from the buyer and placed it into the van. As he rummaged through his contents, he gave their titles to the buyer. "Okay, we got, uh, black-hole grenades—"

"Ugh, those took months to build," Cecelia murmured. The buyer gave her a sideways glance.

"—Chitauri railguns..." Brice continued. Schultz finally exited the van and made his way to the group. When he saw Cecelia, he huffed.

"Bosses are gonna be pissed that you're late," he said.

"Better late than never," Cecelia said, lifting her chin. Which definitely wasn't true for either Uncle or Toomes, but whatever.

Schultz shrugged, then turned his attention to Brice. "You lettin' off shots in public, now? Hurry up." Then, to the buyer: "Look, times are changing. We're the only ones selling these high-tech weapons."

"Creating, manufacturing, packaging, selling," said Cecelia. It was surprisingly hot for an October night—no wonder the buyer was wearing nothing but a T-shirt—and underneath her costume (a silver-grey jumpsuit that fanned out into a hood), she was sweating.

Or maybe that was just from the run. Or maybe it was from the surreal fact that, just half an hour ago, she'd been at Liz's party, having fun and learning for the first time what being a normal teenager was like.

Or maybe it was just her anxiety. Who knew?

"Check this out," she continued. She held out both her wrists to the buyer, showcasing the small stunners strapped over her costume. They still weren't as small as the lasers she was working on, but they were fairly inconspicuous. And they were a 100% Phantom Design. "They're non-lethal, but the kickback is insane. You could launch someone across Central Park with these."

The buyer was looking even more hesitant. "I-I just need something to stick up somebody. I-I'm not trying to... shoot them back in time."

"...I got anti-grav climbers," Brice continued—he'd been rattling on his list the entire time they'd been talking. Cecelia expected the buyer to be averse to those, too, but he turned, suddenly interested.

"Yo, climbers?"

Just as he was nearing the back of the van, a yodelling song cut through the night, grabbing everyone's attention. Cecelia leaped back in surprise, her heart rate immediately increasing, and whirled around for the source of the sound. There was nothing around her but dark trees.

"Okay, what the hell is that?" Brice asked.

"Was that a ringtone?" added Cecelia.

Schultz pulled out a gun from his waistband and pointed it at the buyer. "Did you set us up?"

The buyer raised his hands in defense, backing up against the van's door. "Hey, hey, man."

A thud sounded behind them. When Cecelia turned, stunners at the ready, the sight before her almost made her keel over. For there was Spider-Man in the flesh, knees bent from the landing and hands already held out towards them

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.

Uncle had been right to be worried.

"Hey! Hey, come on. You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me," the vigilante babbled, standing up straight. There was something about his voice that rang familiar to Cecelia, but he was talking so quickly she couldn't make it out. She didn't let herself worry about that. Because here was Spider-Man, who'd somehow found the dealers of the bank robbers' weapons after one day.

He was either an investigating mastermind, or those explosions hadn't been as subtle as Brice hoped.

"All right." Schultz took the gun off the buyer and swivelled it towards Spider-Man. The safety clicked off, but before his finger could curl around the trigger, the vigilante flicked his wrist. A web shot out of a hidden dispenser there and locked onto the barrel of the gun, effectively rendering it useless. With another jerk of Spider-Man's arm, the weapon went flying out of Schultz's hand and into the woods.

The buyer turned and ran, and Schultz stumbled back. Spider-Man took this as an opportunity to lunge forward, shooting toward them like a red-and-blue bullet. He went for Brice first—probably because he'd been distracted—but he was no match for the Shocker. Brice whirled around, and, using the electric gauntlet fitted over his hand, blasted Spider-Man into the side of the bridge. Rocks fell after him, and Spider-Man lay on his stomach for a moment, groaning.

"You hold him off!" Brice instructed Cecelia. "We're getting the hell out of here."

"What?" Cecelia asked. "No way!"

"This is why you're here, girl," Schultz said. "You're already in your uncle's bad books for being late. If he finds out you were late and you didn't even try to take down Spider-Man, he's gonna kill you."

Hopefully, that was an exaggeration.

"Fine!" Cecelia cried. "But I'm putting the Uber charges to your account, Shocker!"

The two men climbed into the van and took off, tires squealing, just as Spider-Man raised his head. "What was that?" he muttered. Then he looked to Cecelia. "Oh, you're still here. Well, sorry, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a ride to catch!"

He thrust out his wrist to shoot out another web—probably to plaster to the flapping doors of the van—but before he could, Cecelia barrelled right into him. The two of them went head-over-heels in a mess of limbs, crashing to the ground. Cecelia levelled her stunners at him, eager for a chance to test their enhancements. Unfortunately, Spider-Man seemed to sense the action, for he rolled out of the way just as the first one hit. A steaming crater was left in the asphalt.

"Woah, you've got a wrist-shootie thing, too!" He quipped, leaping back to his feet. "If you weren't part of a totally illegal scheme, we could totally be buddies."

"Shut up," Cecelia hissed, aiming again. Spider-Man managed to dodge the stunner's blast for a second time, and the lenses over his eyes narrowed when he saw the van's retreat.

"Okay, so I really do have to go," he said. "Maybe we can talk later? You know, when you're behind bars, and I'm not?"

He leaped into the air, already aiming a punch. Cecelia didn't bother dodging, just engaged her powers and let it go right through her. Spider-Man stumbled when he hit the ground, suddenly at Cecelia's back, and whirled.

"Wait, how did you—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Cecelia asked. "You're giving me a headache."

"Aw, that's not very nice." This time, he went for the webs. Cecelia ducked under the blow, rolling onto the ground. "Hey, what's with the costume, anyway? Oh, my God, are you some kind of supervillain?"

"Are you some kind of super-pest?" Cecelia countered. "Sticking your nose where you don't—hey!"

This time, she hadn't been fast enough to either use her powers or dodge. A strand of webbing caught onto her hand and plastered it to the ground, effectively keeping her stuck. She tried it a few times normally, but whatever the hell this was, it was stickier than glue.

"I'll come back for you later!" Spider-Man called, then took a running start. "It should wear off in a few hours!"

Then he jumped, shooting out another strand. Even though the van was halfway down the street by now, some miracle made the web connect. But Spider-Man didn't seem to have thought out his plan all the way. The force of the van's movements pulled him off his feet, dragging him along after it. Cecelia only had time to watch him smash into a garbage can before she became intangible again, freeing herself from her prison with ease. She was on her feet in seconds, surging forward into the street.

Because it was impossible for any normal human to keep up with a moving vehicle, Cecelia engaged the rockets in her boots. With a fiery explosion, she was surging through the air, following both the van and Spider-Man. He was on his stomach, desperately trying to shoot another web at the still-open doors. Cecelia tried to blast him again, but he was moving so fast that it fell a few feet short. She swore.

"What the—" Spider-Man's lenses flared at the sight of her approaching. "How did you get out of that?"

"Maybe those things aren't as sticky as you think," Cecelia responded.

"I've tested them on myself! I know how sticky they are—aah!"

A blast from one of Brice's weapons knocked the door right off its hinges. It nearly crashed into Cecelia, who was still in the air, and bounced over Spider-Man's head. The vigilante went crashing into another garbage can and yelped as his ass skidded against the road.

"Ow, my butt!"

Brice fired a second blast. This one did knock into Spider-Man, but he managed to keep his hold on the van. Cecelia urged her boots to give one more spurt of energy, and surged forward, landing on the roof. She rolled, but in moments, was up again. The van threatened to buck her off, but she held fast.

All four of them hurdled over a speedbump. Cecelia was launched into the air, slamming back down on the roof so hard she managed to both dent the roof and get the wind knocked out of her. Brice, who was in the middle of powering up a shot, lost control, and the weapon went flying out.

Now, Schultz drove desperately, twisting the wheel this way and that in an attempt to shake their tail. But, although Spider-Man's movements were erratic—he was practically mowing down every object in his path—he managed to hold on.

...At least, until he slammed into a wall.

Cecelia thought it'd be the end of him, but he was annoyingly persistent. He stood up again and fired another web. It locked onto the one remaining door, but before he could pull himself after it, Cecelia activated her stunners. Two beams blasted into the door's hinges and sent it flying off.

"Hey!" Schultz yelled. "Stop wrecking my van!"

"Sorry!" Cecelia called back.

Without anything to grab onto, Spider-Man was left in the road. The van kept going, soon far out of his reach.

A sigh of relief escaped Cecelia's lips, and she closed her eyes, concentrating. Before long, she'd melted through the van's roof, landing with a thud in a pile of weapons. Pain flared up her back from where the barrel of a blaster had knocked into it, but other than that, she was fine.

She sat up, putting her hands on her knees. "There. He's gone. You happy?"

"No," Brice responded, undeterred by her impromptu arrival. "Schultz already called the bosses."

"What?" If things couldn't have gotten worse. "We totally had it handled!"

"No, we didn't! I bet my life that bug is gonna find his way back here! Phantom, I'm sorry, but you're not enough."

"That's not what my uncle said," Cecelia seethed. "That was the whole reason he wanted me here in the first place. That's the whole reason I had to miss—"

Schultz abruptly swivelled the wheel again, and Cecelia went crashing into the van's wall. "Ow!"

"You could've avoided that if you wanted to," he muttered. He pressed on the gas pedal, and the van went even faster than it had during the chase. Cecelia fumbled towards the van's backseat, moved a grenade off the chair, and strapped herself in. Even so, she was jolted this way and that. "Goddamn bosses are gonna be so pissed."

Cecelia shrank in her seat. With the adrenaline of the battle wearing off, she was becoming more and more aware of the shitstorm she'd gotten herself in. Suddenly, the thought of heading back to base—heading back to Uncle—seemed as appealing as a wisdom teeth removal. She'd broken so many of his rules tonight, and, to make matters worse, the deal hadn't even gone through. For all of their trouble, they hadn't made a cent.

Still, not going back at all was worse. She could ignore Uncle's texts and make her way back home, but that would mean she'd be in even more trouble the next time she saw Uncle face-to-face. Once, when she was younger, she'd tried this method—she'd skipped a whole week of missions because she'd been so nervous to return. But then she'd gotten home from school one day to find him in her living room, sitting on the couch with Mom and Dad and watching a football game. He'd given her a look that could strip the meat from children's bones and asked if he could talk to her in private.

Her side tingled again. Phantom aches.

BY THE TIME THE VAN arrived back at base, it was an asthmatic child, coughing and wheezing, moving at a snail's pace. Schultz's speeding had quickly driven out all of its juice, revealing the true extent of the damage that had been done. With both of its doors missing, dents on the roof, and chunks torn out from its side, it could hardly be called whole, but at least it was still working.

Sort of.

As Schultz pulled it to a stop, Brice jumped out of the back, triumphant. Cecelia unbuckled her seatbelt and slipped through the side—the only doors were in the front, and she really didn't feel like crawling over Schultz to get to them. She landed in a crouch on the ground, then straightened. Pulling down her hood and unbuckling the straps to her mask, Cecelia took in the sight in front of her. Toomes was there, and had shed off his Vulture gear—a winged suit that had taken months to develop—to reveal a black jacket and pants. Phineas Mason, otherwise known as the Tinkerer—he was the senior to Cecelia's junior—was sitting at his desk, mask on his forehead. And there, ducking under a bundle of cables...

Uncle.

Brice was whooping, but Cecelia went still. As he shed his beanie and exclaimed, "I mean, that was badass", Cecelia averted her eyes, as if the whole 'if you can't see them, they can't see you' mentality of children actually applied. Purposefully, she made herself intangible, as if that would let her fade into the shadows. It didn't—she looked just as solid as ever—but she could pretend.

Toomes stepped towards them, practically tearing out his hair (or... the little he had left of it). "How many times have I told you not to fire them out in the open?" he asked.

"Hey, you said move the merchandise," Brice defended.

"Under the radar. Under the radar! That's how we survive. If you bring Damage Control or the Avengers down here, we're through. You're up there wearing that goofy thing, lighting up cars, calling yourself 'the Shocker'. 'I'm the Shocker. I shock people.' What is this, pro wrestling?"

"Ah, whatever, old man. Come on." Brice shouldered past Toomes and made his way over to Mason's desk. Uncle—and Cecelia finally met his eyes here—was staring at all of them coolly, face unreadable. But given the way his gaze periodically flickered over to Cecelia, she could tell he was waiting until they were alone to really rip into her.

Toomes followed Brice, watching him shed his gear. "Look. Look. I know you don't give a crap about anything. But I do. Rich and I built this whole place because we got people we have to look after."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Brice muttered.

"Watch it," Uncle warned.

"You know what?" Toomes asked. "I can't afford your bullshit. Get out of here."

Brice's eyes widened. "What?"

"You're done. You're off the crew."

"Yeah, all right." Brice continued to clean up, a little too casual for the situation. "All right. Heh. Wonder if you can afford me out there, though, right? With everything I know."

Then he turned, beginning to make his way across the warehouse. Toomes whirled.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, I'm just saying... maybe your wife would like to know where you really get your money from. You too, Rich. You think your sister would be super proud?"

"Are you kidding me?" Uncle growled. "After everything we've done. You good-for-nothin' prick."

Toomes exchanged a glance with Uncle, then narrowed his eyes. "You know what?"

"What?" Brice asked.

"You're right." Toomes looked down at one of the in-process weapons on Mason's desk, then met the eyes of the Tinkerer himself. "That work?"

"I don't know," Mason replied.

"I can't afford that," Toomes finished. Then, before Cecelia even had time to process what he was about to do, Toomes picked up the weapon and shot Brice with a burst of blue light.

It hit him dead-on. Brice could barely gape before his entire body began to crumble, engulfing in ash. Bits of pieces of him flaked away, his body caving in. Not even five seconds later, all that was left of him was his Shocker Gauntlet.

For a moment, Cecelia could do nothing but stare at the body. Then she shrieked, leaping back. She didn't even realize she was still intangible before she crashed right into the van—only, instead of backing into it, she backed right through it. She came back out, solidified herself, and then gaped, chest heaving.

"Damn," Schultz breathed. Toomes turned to Mason.

"I thought this was the antigravity gun."

"What? No. That's that one." He gestured to said weapon. Cecelia retched, nearly vomiting up her earlier dinner of pizza and fruit punch.

Toomes dropped the still-smoking weapon back on Mason's desk and stepped forward. Unfazed by the pile of ashes that had previously been Jackson Brice, he reached down and picked up the gauntlet. Ash spilled from its nooks and crannies, sliding back to the floor. Toomes smacked it a few times to make sure all of it was gone.

It was surreal. This wasn't a pair of shoes you'd gotten sand in after a day at the beach; this was the remains of what had just been a person. And yet, no one but Cecelia seemed at all disturbed.

"Here." Toomes tossed the gauntlet to Schultz, who fumbled to catch it. "Now you're the Shocker. Go out there and find that weapon he lost."

"All right," Schultz responded, basking in his newfound power. Toomes made to walk past him, then stopped, as if he was noticing Cecelia for the first time. She tensed, but all he did was clap her on the shoulder.

"Next time, don't be late for our deals."

Finally, both he and Schultz exited, leaving Cecelia with Mason and Uncle. The former had popped his mask back on and bent over his work, ignoring the pile of ashes, while Uncle strode forward. A muscle was jumping in his jaw, and that, more than anything, revealed his true feelings. He'd played at being composed throughout the interaction, but he'd been waiting for a chance to reveal his true fury. As he got closer to Cecelia, she could practically feel the heat coming off of him. A drop of sweat ran down her forehead.

"Come with me, Cecelia," he said quietly. It was also the usage of her name that really showcased how ticked-off he was. When he was happy with her, he called her any one of his barrage of nicknames, though Little Tinkerer was his favourite. Mason liked it, too. "I'll drive you home."

"All right," Cecelia responded.

She cast one more glance at the pile of Brice's ashes before following her uncle. He had made a pit stop at his desk to clean up for the night. A platform with an empty stand stood beside him, waiting to be filled with a suit. This would never happen, though. Uncle had never been interested in actually going out on missions. He stayed inside, ensuring business was running smoothly and coordinating the deals. He was the one who got in touch with clients and arranged meeting spots. But according to him, the division of labour left both parties—him and Toomes—satisfied.

Uncle picked up a few things here and there, pulled on his coat, and latched onto Cecelia's arm. She bit her lip, trying not to let the tears fall. This meant nothing good. This wasn't Christine's touch—why had she ever panicked at it? This was unyielding, even for someone who could escape it if she really wanted. But the warning there was clear. Doing so would lead to even worse punishments.

He pulled her along to his car, then opened the passenger's door for her. Cecelia slid inside, doing up her seatbelt and trying not to tremble too much. She... maybe she deserved this. Whatever was coming... maybe it was for a greater purpose.

Uncle slid into the driver's seat, and the door slammed shut behind him with a thud of finality. He didn't take out his keys to start the car. Cecelia's breath hitched. Whatever was happening was going to happen now.

"Cecelia," Uncle said slowly. "Do you know how much I've done for you?"

"Yes," Cecelia responded. "I know. I know, Uncle. And I really appreciate it—"

"Do you? Because I don't really feel that appreciation when you're skipping out on important deals to go to some little party. I trusted you, Cecelia. I thought that you could do this one little thing for me without any trouble. But I can see now that I put too much faith in you."

Cecelia wanted to apologize—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please go easy on me—but instead, her head whipped up. Before she realized what she was doing, her anger spilled out of her, bursting out from her lips like a snake spitting venom. "It's not just one little thing, though, is it?"

Uncle's brows lifted incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"You've done so much for me, Uncle, but I've also done so much for you. That tech we got two days ago? Half of the spoils are because of me. The rockets in Mr. Toomes's suit? I helped design them! Again and again, I have helped you out, and you're gonna get pissed at me because I wanted one night to myself? Spider-Man wasn't even supposed to be there! I heard he was going to be at the party."

"I'm not liking this attitude, Cecelia."

"I don't care! I just—I wanted—"

"I don't give a damn about what you wanted! You're a part of this damn crew, and you need to grow up and start acting like one! Nothing is more important than this work! How many times have I tried to tell you that? It's what puts a roof over our heads and food on our plates. All because that damned Tony Stark decided to cast us all out into the gutter."

"Oh, get over it!"

That, of course, was the wrong thing to say. Cecelia didn't even know why she'd said it—it was obvious that what Tony Stark had inadvertently done to Uncle's salvage company was something he'd be seething about for years. But she'd been so angry that she hadn't thought about what she was saying.

She was rewarded for it by a swift smack to the face.

Cecelia shrank back, reeling at the force of the blow. She hadn't gone intangible. Of course, she hadn't. So, she'd experienced the hit in its entirety—the way her vision whited out for a moment, the crunch as her teeth inadvertently bit down on her tongue, the searing pain forming in her cheek. She was sure it was immediately turning red—perhaps even the handprint was visible.

"You piece of shit," Uncle seethed. "You don't get to talk to me like that, you damn mutant!"

Cecelia sat there. She didn't unbuckle her seatbelt. She didn't get out of the car. She didn't even bother activating her powers. She just sat there, rigid, and braced herself. Another blow was coming.

One would never be enough for Uncle.

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HAVEN: i know this ended up being a heavy chapter, so all i have to say here is that you are loved, you matter, and if you ever need anyone to talk to, my pms are always open. 

thank you for reading, i love you all <333