Black Mirror

Author's Note

I'm gonna be honest. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here.

I normally write Harry Potter. Not Marvel. Certainly not Spider-Man and Deadpool. Though I do love Deadpool. However, I really wanted to write something for these two characters because we don't get to see many stories with the two of them in it. Actual stories that build upon themselves, with a plot and conflicts and lots of drama. I have found a few, though none of them are finished. I wanted my own twist to the fandom. Maybe one of these days there will be more SpiderPool fanfics floating around, but, until then, we'll go with my own idea.

Story Idea

Peter Parker, mutated by a radioactive spider, has his already chaotic world turned upside down. Having heightened senses and considerable strength, the teenager isn't sure what to do with his newfound powers. When his uncle is murdered in his and his aunt's home, he's resolved to stop bad people from hurting innocents. He's not expecting to try and help someone and crashland into a Mask, let alone one who starts stalking him afterward. Trying to keep his identity a secret, and horrified by the Mask's constant sexual harassment, Peter realizes he's in over his head. But what can he do when his personal stalker just won't take no for an answer?

AN Continued

The idea was swimming around in my head, so damn funny to me. An underage age Peter being chased around by a flirtatious, highly inappropriate Deadpool who doesn't realize the "Superhero" he's hitting on is actually a kid. I crack up every time I think about it. Deadpool, being Deadpool, will screw anything as long as its fun and it can be screwed. The man has no qualms when it comes to sex. He's a bit psychotic and unstable, and he's known to obsess over things that catch his interest.

There's also the conflicts between their morals: Peter refusing to kill and not being okay with others who kill against Deadpool and his love of bloodshed and mayhem. The two will clash over their morals, in general. Not to mention the sexual harassment. They both have their own issues, and I think it'll be fun to see them grow and learn and balance off one another.

As far as character's go, Peter's a genius. I'm not a wise person, myself. I don't know shit about chemistry or anything like that, but Peter Parker is a smart person. I wanted to write a smart Peter, but do it in a way that doesn't make me sound stupid. Which meant I needed to find a way where he can something like chemistry, and what he's doing below, make sense. The way his intelligence works in this story (and how his powers work, once he gets them) are different. His interests are different, his personality. I'm molding him into my own Spider-Man because he's a fifteen-year-old boy who happens to be very fucking intelligent and really, really smart people tend to have issues.

So don't hate on me for how I'm writing Peter in this. He's my Peter, in Black Mirror.

On another note, Deadpool's not gonna show up for a while. The first few chapters are a way to introduce Peter, his family, his friends, and his adjustments to getting bitten and mutated by a radioactive spider (that's the next chapter, FYI). I'm not entirely sure how to write Deadpool, and I'm so nervous about it. Kind of afraid, actually, because Deadpool is unpredictable and dangerous and dark and murderous and random. Not sure how I'm going to approach him, just yet, though I already have his and Spidey's meeting in my head. I just gotta work up to it. Until then, we have the first chapter in what I hope is a story some of you will enjoy.

So, without further ado, on with the story!

Chapter One

Peter Parker wasn't what one would consider an average fifteen-year-old boy, though he often liked to think he was. He was smart, but not in a way that most geniuses tended to be. He was smart, the world around him coming together easily in his mind's eye. Machines, especially. It wasn't about numbers or formulas or equations – those things, they were useless. It was patterns and connections, a need to be.

It was something he enjoyed, a passion he's had since he was a kid. Even now, as he sat on the floor in his basement (which was multi-roomed and all his), machine parts spread around him, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, hunks of metal and wire and copper on every surface, the teenager worked with a single-minded attention as he pieced together whatever creation was begging to be made.

He let it direct him, the machine knowing which parts it needed and where to put them. Peter could see where they went, could see the lines connecting one gear to another, one shaft into a network of turning wires and pieces of oddly-shaped metal disks. He barely noticed when the steps to the basement creaked, only heard the appreciating hum before an older man sat beside him.

"What's this?"

"An autoanima," Peter shifted the creature in his hands, watching as the slender neck moved fluidly and the single wing opened without issue. He checked the legs, his gaze narrowing on the talon-less feet. He needed to finish those. "It's a bird. A starling, to be precise. Small enough to not draw the cops attention."

Uncle Ben hummed under his breath, handing him the other wing before he even looked up to find it. The small teenager blinked, then smiled, and took the appendage. As he started piecing it together, locking the gears into place and making sure they're well-oiled, Uncle Ben watched with rapt fascination. Peter was used to such looks from the man, and Aunt May, too, when she wandered into the basement.

"Why autoanima instead of autoaves?"

"It is an autoaves, Uncle Ben," Peter checked the wings, lifting the small machine bird up to make sure everything was well proportioned. Then he ran his thumb over the head, the black, pearl-like eyes and onyx beak beautiful. He twisted, finding the talons for its feet, as he said, "It's also an autoanima. It's an animal and it's a bird. Two classifications. Like actual birds, it has four values in its chest."

"What are the values for?"

Peter glanced over at his uncle, blinking owlishly as his bangs hung in his eyes. He pushed his glasses up as he answered, "It's the power center. It has a system regulation. They're connected. The topmost value connects to the head, processing its visual and audial processes. The side values control the wings and balance. The bottom value houses its landing, does checks and sends feedback to my computer."

As he sat there, something small and many-legged crawled up his bared knee. He looked down to see a machinal spider resting there, legs twitching and wavering like a real spider's limbs would. He set his hand down, watching, enraptured, as it moved onto his fingers. Uncle Ben offered a fond smile, rising from his seat on the ground as he said, "Aunt May wanted me to tell you it's almost time for school. I'll drive."

Peter glanced up. "But I just finished the starling."

He watched as Uncle Ben scooped up the bird and weaved his wave through the mess to the computer system resting against the wall. Peter followed, plopping down in his seat and powering up the tower and set in the last few commands on the starling's chip. Once it was done, he withdrew it and carefully pulled the chip from its casing and slipped the thin, tiny disk into the back of the bird's head.

He waited with bated breath as it laid, motionless, on the desk. He leaned in, gaze moving from its finished talons to its legs, moving over the body and its tail and the hard, metal planes of its back, when he saw the wings flex. Then they started flapping, frantically, as the bird tried to right itself and let out a soft, whirring sound of distress.

Peter reached out as the spider crawled up his hand, tucking his hands under the wings and getting the flying creature upright. The autoaves shook itself off, shaking its head, and then it hopped across the table. Peter, grinning, leaned back in his seat as he said, "Can you fly?"

The bird turned its neck and directed its steely, soulless gaze on him. Then it launched into the air.

Peter flew up the stairs, the starling flying over his shoulder through the open door and out into the hallway. It circled as it waited for him, Uncle Ben on his heels, and Peter was more than eager to make his way into the kitchen where Aunt May was setting breakfast on the table. When the bird swooped down and landed on the table centerpiece, a copper tree with many loops and turns, she shrieked.

It whirred back at her, settling its wings against its sides. Aunt May exhaled, hand on her chest as she turned to face him and his uncle, her eyes narrowing. "What have I said about making things that scare me, Peter Benjamin Parker?"

"It's not an actual bird, Auntie," Peter plopped down in his seat, reaching over and letting the spider crawl onto one of the lower branches. His aunt shuddered at seeing it, making a face as he said, "They're machines. They don't eat our food. They don't make messes. Nothing to be frightened of."

"Don't be a spoilsport, May," Uncle Ben said with a loving smile, his own hand reaching up to ran an appreciative finger over the top of the autoaves's head. The older man turned to Peter, and the teenager, fork shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, didn't bother slowing down as the man asked, "What else have you been working on. You don't often work on the animals, much. Not enough supplies."

Swallowing his mouthful, Peter buttered his toast as he said, "Right now I'm focusing on microbots."

He had a few in his pocket, small little machines no bigger than his pinkie. Not much material was needed to make them, and programming them was easy. He just needed to get the neurocranial transmitter he was working on working, one that wouldn't have to set across his forehead like a stupid headband that anyone could see. Something more elegant was needed, something easier to use and hide.

"What are microbots?" Peter's gaze shifted to his aunt as she asked the question.

He pondered the question, then answered, "They're tiny machines."

Peter pulled the three he was carrying out of his pocket, reaching across the table to hand them to her. Aunt May took them with great care, knowing he was as finicky with his machines as she was with her pottery and needlework. She turned the small machines over in her palm, gliding her fingers over the polished, onyx-like surface with awe in her eyes.

"How do you make these things?"

"I just do," Peter took a bit out of his took, his wristwatch starting to beep. Uncle Ben laughed, rising from his seat, as Peter was up and around the table. He took the microbots back, tucking them into his pocket as he said, "I can't explain it. You know that. We're gonna be late, Uncle Ben."

"Hasn't been a minute, Peter," Uncle Ben returned, sounding more than a little amused.

Peter frowned. "We're supposed to be in the car by the time my watch goes off."

They were out the door in record time, Uncle Ben driving through the winding streets of the city with the ease of a native. Peter busied himself in his textbooks, flipping through dozens of pages of completed homework. He knew all the answers were right. He didn't even need his textbooks, at this point in the term, but his teachers often didn't take well to that. He moved to his essays and reports, flipping through the pages and then checking to make sure all the sources were formatted properly.

"What will your microbots do?" Peter glanced up from his paperwork, knowing Uncle Ben only asked now because they both knew all of Peter's homework was perfect. Anything less was unacceptable. Peter put the folders away as he answered his uncle's question, "Once I have the neurocranial transmitter finished, they'll do whatever I want them to do. The possibilities will be endless. Unlimited. The only limit is what we can think of, what we can dream."

"Sounds dangerous, kiddo," Uncle Ben paused at a red light, one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other resting on the door where the window was rolled down. Peter's was, too. He traced the spot where the window vanished into the door, feeling the gap under his fingers as Uncle Ben continued, "I'm not a scientist or anything, but a lot of people would do bad things if they found out you were making those. The birds, the spiders, even that one attempt at the cat– those are easy to overlook. But this…"

"No one will know," Peter knew Uncle Ben wouldn't breathe a word. Peter wouldn't tell anyone, no one other than Uncle Ben. His own friends at school didn't know half the stuff he made, though they had seen his lab of metal and the random, machinal spiders crawling all over the place. "I don't plan on letting anyone know about the bots."

"Then why make them?"

The car started again, and, as they drove, Peter murmured, "Because I want to see if I can."

oOoOoOo

"Peeeeterrrrrr!"

The energetic yell caught Peter's attention the moment Uncle Ben pulled up in front of the school, his gaze snapping up to see Edward Leeds, known by most as Ned, and Mary Jane Watson, known as MJ, running towards the car. Peter tapped a pattern on the door as Uncle Ben unlocked the door from his side, not moving as his uncle asked, "Do you need me to pick you up after school?"

"No," Peter opened the door and turned, his gaze settling on his uncle's gaze. "Not today. Ned and MJ, they're taking me to the dinner after school."

"Sounds good. Be home by curfew."

Uncle Ben drove away just as Ned and MJ got to his side, the two of them grinning as he turned to face them. He clasped hands with Ned, grinning easily as they did a side-arm-hug-thing he didn't understand, and then turned to have MJ throw her arms around his neck. She pulled back a second later, punching him in the arm as she yelled, "Late, Peter Parker!"

He checked his watch. "The buses don't arrive for another fifteen minutes."

MJ scowled, Ned laughed. The two looped their arms through his, dragging him across the grounds and into the school. They went to each of his classrooms, waiting patiently as Peter dropped off each of his assignments, and then they made their way through the hallways towards the cafeteria. When they entered the large room, Peter kept close to his two friends even as the third, who he was still confused about, came sauntering up.

"Hey, Peter," Harry Osborn was a senior, seventeen years old. He wasn't entirely how the older student and he had even met, but he went with it as he offered a gentle 'hi' in return. The millionaire carded his fingers through Peter's hair, bumping their foreheads together as he said, "Late, for once. Get lost in your underground lair? Or did the spiders bury you alive?"

He pulled away, clasping hands with Ned and giving MJ a side-hug as they made their way to their self-designated table. Peter dropped in his seat as he said, "Got a bit side-tracked. I got my autoaves finished this morning and was late for breakfast. You know how Aunt May can be."

"She's a good woman," Harry agreed, half-smile in place as he turned to MJ, "How's your art project?"

"It's going," the redheaded girl commented casually, not really saying anything. That's how things usually went. She reached over and grabbed Peter's wrist, startling him, and turned his hand over to eye the watch-face pressed against his pulse. "I have a few more layers of oils before its done, then it'll take a week to set. I'll start on the watercolors next."

The two continued to talk as Peter turned to Ned, voice low as he asked, "You get all your work done?"

"Yeah, I did," Ned sighed, running his hands through his hair. Peter knew why he was so frustrated, a sharp smile spreading across his face as Ned continued, "It was so damn difficult, too! I was up all night trying to finish the history assignment. Then I realized half the answers weren't even in the book!"

When Ned saw his expression, he scowled. "How long did it take you?"

"Fifteen minutes," Peter deadpanned.

Half the questions he recalled easily from the books, others from worksheets they did and others from the movies they had watched. Movies Ned should have taken notes over, which Peter pointed out as his gaze shifted to the buses appearing in the circle drive down the way outside.

Ned groaned. "Sometimes, Peter, I really do hate you."

On Peter's other side, Harry said, "Harsh, dude. Peter can't help remembering everything he reads."

"He remembers everything he sees, too," MJ offered with a shit-eating grin, and Peter really wanted to sink into the table. She was supposed to help him, not make his life harder. Harry blinked, and MJ laughed gleefully as she continued, "He could tell you everything the cafeteria has served for the entire time he's actually eaten in here. He could probably tell you were anyone's sat, too. Or what they were wearing."

"MJ, please," Peter dropped his face in his hands, rubbing at his skin and over his eyes in frustration.

"Seriously?" Harry asked.

Peter looked up to see Ned giving the rich-boy a serious look. "For real, Harry. I've seen him do it before."

Harry's gaze turned to him, eyes wide. Peter shifted, uncomfortable, and looked out the window. He could remember everything, if he thought about it. Calling up facts was easy. He could remember a subway he was on a month ago, see it in his mind's eye like a still picture that was in perfect clarity. He could see the graffiti on the wall, see the homeless man sleeping in the seat and how bright the red scarf around his neck was. He could see a skinny man, dressed in rags, wore expensive shoes that would cost a fortune.

He could see his own bedroom and every crack in the concrete walls, see where the floor dipped from a creaking foundation. He could easily go up two flights of stairs to the second floor and turn down the hall and see straight out a window into the neighbor's upstairs living area where the wall across the room had a massive, wide crack in it. It was like the fact the woman who lived across the street from them changed the light on her front porch every day– blue, green, red, violet, blue, yellow…

Peter watched as the teacher's gathered together. "Time to go."

His mind whirled to the current objective: Oscorp Industries. Harry's father worked there, CEO of the company, and Harry himself worked there four days a week after school. He had Wednesdays off. Why, Peter wasn't sure. Was it a personal choice? He glanced over at the wealthy senior, curious, and then let his thoughts whirl back into place.

His school was taking a trip to Oscorp, touring it in a sense. Peter had a feeling Harry was behind it given Peter had expressed an interested in the studies on genetically modified arachnids. It was one of the rooms they would be allowed in, under careful observation from the scientists, and Peter was eager. In what ways would a modified spider differ from a normal one? Were there differences between those who were venomous and those who weren't? What were their senses like?

He had questions without answers, and he now had a chance to get them answered.

It didn't take them long to start getting on the bus, and, as Peter was making his way for the bus's door, a hard shoulder slammed into his side and threw him to the ground. His glasses flew off his face, and, above him, Eugene Thompson, known simply as Flash, stepped down on his hand as he said, "Sorry, Parker, didn't see you there."

The older boy made his way onto the bus as Peter rose to his hands and knees, his wrist throbbing where Flash had stepped down on it. His rolled the joint, feeling for damage. Just a tad bruised, he mused after a moment. He grabbed his glasses and put them on before standing, shaking himself off and climbing on board. He found his three friends at the back, and he settled in by Harry since MJ and Ned were sharing a seat. The older boy grabbed his hand, eyeing the already darkening skin on his wrist.

"What happened?" There was a dangerous note to his voice, a subtle fury that caught Peter by surprise.

Across from them, Ned leaned in. "Flash again?"

"Flash?" Harry questioned, looking towards MJ and Ned when Peter remained tightlipped.

The bus kicked into gear as MJ said, "Flash Thompson. He's a junior. He and Peter haven't gotten along since day one. Flash tends to push him around."

Peter turned the rest of the conversation out, his gaze focused on the hand wrapped around his and the thumb that rubbed the bruising flesh. He tore his eyes away, wanting to be by the window, but knew he couldn't ask Harry to trade him sides since they were already sitting down. He opted to lean back in the seat, his head tilted back and resting against the seat. He let his eyes drift shut, turning his senses to the faint hum of the bus and how it jerked and groaned with every pothole it hit.

He relaxed into the turns of the massive vehicle, trying to map out the directions in his head as they went just by how the bus shifted under him. It was difficult, likely wrongly constructed, but it would be interesting to see if the directions matched once he looked them up. When Harry's arm wound around his shoulder, Peter's eyes eased open just as Harry asked, "How did you and Flash meet?"

His mind whirled, days rewinding to a year.

He was fourteen, his birthday three days prior. He remembered thinking all the other kids were taller than him, somehow. He hadn't wanted to stay, begged Uncle Ben to take him home. He agreed to stay once his uncle asked him to try the new school for a week. If nothing good happened in all that time, he could stay home and continue his studies online. Like he had been doing.

It was third hour, gym. He had dressed for class, sweatpants and a too-large T-shirt, when Flash had come in and seen him. Peter hadn't realized staring him down, in the way he generally did with people, would have caused the older boy to react badly. Getting shoved into a locker because he was 'in the way' had been an odd response, all of Flash's friends laughing in the background.

These details Peter related calmly, with a matter-of-fact tone. Harry's eyes were narrow, lips pressed in a tight line, and then he said, "Yeah, you have one hell of an intense look on a normal basis, but that's not a reason to bully you."

"I don't think Flash liked the 'you're stupider than me, so go away' look Peter had then," Ned was grinning, eyes alight with laughter at his own description. Then the larger boy blinked, looked quickly towards the front of the bus, and then said, "Frankly, Peter, you still have that look on your face all the time. That 'I'm bored, you're stupid, have a nice day' look. Sad thing is, it's accurate. You are smarter than us."

"You just don't apply yourself to your studies, Ned," Peter felt his cheeks flushing, and he fisted his hands against the loose material of his jeans. He wasn't used to this, not so bluntly and out in the open. He knew his friends thought that, but they didn't think less of him for it. "I can't help it. And I've told you, all of you, that I'll help you study for your tests if you need help. It's not a big deal or anything."

MJ gave a dreamy sigh. "That's why we love you, Peter. You're oblivious."

"Oblivious about what?" Peter looked between the three, calming into the seat when Harry squeezed his shoulder, and then sat up a bit higher to look over the seats out the front window. He adjusted his glasses as he said, "How much longer till we get to Oscorp? The teachers didn't give us a timeframe."

There wasn't much reason for any of them to answer, Peter realized as they turned onto another street and then pulled into a corporate driveway. The driver gave the guard at the gate his driver's license and then they were driving closer and closer towards the massive building rising in the distance. Peter was bouncing in his seat, eager to have the vehicle to park so he could get out and start exploring.

How many floors were there? How many would they see?

What floor were the genetically modified spiders on? How long would they be allowed to observe them, and would the scientists be open to questions? Would they be allowed to interact with the arachnids, to handle them? Peter was out of his seat the moment the bus parked, but Harry pulled him back down with a sharp, startled laugh.

"Easy there, Pete," Harry looped his arm around his shoulder as he said, "Let the others get off before you mow them over. The spiders aren't going anywhere."

Peter huffed. Then he looked at Harry. "Will we see their engineering department, too?"

"Sure, if you want," Harry said easily, offering a grin. "I'll take you there myself, if I have to."

Once they were all out of the bus, Peter was too excited, too filled with energy, to hold still. In front of him was Oscorp Industries, one of the leading companies that covered a wide range of explorations from genetic modification, mutations, weapons and engineering, medicine, and politics. Oscorp had its hands in everything, from what Peter understood. Its products could be found in stores as easily as it could be found in the military, their leading experts driving the playing ground for further development.

And now Peter was here, soon to be walking through those halls.