Your Friendly Riverdale Spiderman | RIVERDALE/SPIDERMAN CROSSOVER ¦

10.

Peter arrived at Casey's house at exactkt seven o'clock, the exact time he'd been told to get there. He tugged nervously at the top of his shirt, making sure it was covering the top of his suit that he had on underneath his outfit. His mask was shoved deep in his pocket.
Reaching out cautiously, Peter pressed the doorbell and heard it resonate throughout the house. He didn't know what he had been expecting for the home of a gang leader but somehow, it hadn't been this. This was a modest little town house, complete with a brick path leading up to the red front door, a mown lawn, and white picket fence.
"Peter!" Casey said enthusiastically, reaching the door open and making Peter jump a little.
"Hey Casey," Peter said, smiling nervously.
"Come on in," Casey said, motioning Peter through the door. Peter didn't miss the suspicious scan of the neighborhood Casey did shutting the door.
"You must be Peter."
Peter looked around finding the source of the voice, his heart hammering in his chest as he came face to face with the leader of the Spider gang. He was tall, over six foot with gigantic shoulders tapering into the chest of a body builder. Spiderman powers or not, Peter would not want to face that in a fight. He didn't care if he'd faced worse before.
"Uh, yeah." Peter smiled nervously, reaching to shake the hand extended towards him. "Nice to meet you, Mr Caldover."
"Please, call me Ian," the big man said with a deep chuckle, his hand practically crushing Peters though he didn't seem to notice he was even squeezing at all.
"Okay, Mr Ian. Ian. Sorry." Peter stumbled over his words, cursing himself. He was Spiderman, what was he doing getting nervous about meeting some old gang boss?
"Come on, Ilsa and I just finished getting dinner on the table," Ian said. He turned and disappeared into another room. Peter glanced at Casey, finding himself oddly calmed by the sight of the familiar face, despite not trusting him.
"Don't worry." Casey laughed, taking in the look on Peters face. "He might look scary, but I swear he's just a giant teddy bear." Right. Peter wasn't so sure he believed that given the gang he knew the man lead, but he wasn't about to say anything.
Peter followed Casey into the dining room, which was home to a rather small table set for four.
"Take a seat," Ian said, pulling out his own chair at the head of the table and motioning to the one on his left. Peter headed over and sat down cautiousl, watching as Casey took the one opposite. A girl, probably in her early teens from what Peter could tell was seated in the chair opposite Ian.
"This is Ilsa," Casey said, pointing at the girl. "Ilsa," he said, moving his hands as he spoke. "This is my friend Peter."
"Hi," Peter said with a small wave.
"She's deaf," Casey said simply, and only then did Peter realise thebhabd movements were sign language.
A simple family dinner seemed so mundane a thing to do; so unlike something Peter would have expect to happen in a gang leaders home. He has at least expected some more gang members to be around, or way least for Ian to be more gang like. Besides being big, he didn't look or dress anything like Peter had expected. His hair was nearly trimmed, his face clean shaven, and his simple blue button down and jeans seemed just like every day dad wear to Peter.
The meal conversation, seemed far too normal to be occurring under a gang leaders roof. Ian asked Casey about school, asked Peter how he was finding his new school, asked Ilsa how her day had been. It was when he started to ask more about Peter that the conversation grew more interesting. And complicated in Peters case.
"So, Peter, where were you before Riverdale?" Ian asked as he reached for the potatoes.
"Queens," Peter said after hurriedly finishing a mouth full.
"What do your parents do?"
Peter didn't have a mouthful to finish this time, but he took his time answering. "My parents passed away," he said. "When I was very young."
"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," Ian said, looking genuinely apologetic that he'd brought this up.
Ilsa reached down the table and tapped Peters arm before signing something to him. Unable to understand, Peter glanced at Casey, who obligingly translated for him.
"She says she's very sorry and knows how it feels. She knows what it's like to lose your parents. She lost hers when she was nine."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Peter said, looking across at the girl. She offered him a sad smile which he returned. Peter had been under the impression that Ilsa was Casey's sister, but it would appear not. As if reading his mind, Ian spoke up.
"We took Ilsa in after the loss of her parents," he explained. "I knew them very well and we were all very sorry to see them go."
"My aunt did that for me, too," Peter said, looking across at Ilsa again. "I don't know where I'd be without her."
"So," Casey said after a few moments of silence where nobody really knew what to say. "Dinners real nice."
"Yes, it is thank you," Peter said in a rush, realising he'd forgotten to thank them for having him over.
"That's all Ilsa." Ian chuckled. "I just chopped potatoes."
"So what do you do, Mr, uh, Ian?" Peter asked, wondering what lie he'd be fed.
Casey and his father exchanged a glance. "I actually spend a lot of my time here," Ian said. "I used to be a teacher but I don't work in schools any more. I home school Ilsa most days since she struggles in public school." As he spoke, as they had both been speaking throughout most of the meal in fact, he signed with his hands. Peter found himself wondering if he should be doing the same, though he wouldn't have any idea how.
He also found himself wondering about the legitimacy of what Ian had just said. It had to be true, didn't it? Ilsa was right there, proof of something. Why would Ian lie about her? Unless she was there simply as some sort of cover up, to solidify his lies. How monstrous that would be.

After dinner, which consisted of fairly mundane topics such as the weather and more about school, Peter and Casey washed loaded the dishwasher and headed through to Casey's room.
It was a three bedroom house, and Casey's was the first on the left when they turned down the hallway.
"Sorry if that was a bit awkward," Casey said, hastily shoving some clothes under his bed with his foot. "And I probably should have warned you about the signing thing."
"That's alright," Peter said, taking a seat as Casey motioned for him to do so. He had to admit, none of this evening was proving to be anything like he'd expected. And by the look of Casey's room, Casey was hardly anything more than an ordinary teenager himself. Peter thought of Jugheads room, with the maps and the knife under the pillow, and of the Andrews house filled with hoards of battered Serpents. Was it possible they could be wrong about Casey's family being Spiders? Or were these people just much, much better at hiding their true selves?
"She's a sweet kid," Casey said, sitting down backwards on the wheelie chair  at his desk and swinging himself around to face Peter. "What happened to her parents was awful."
"What happened to them?" Peter asked curiously.
"Murdered," Casey said with a grimace. "By Ilsa's older brother."
Peter let out a long breath. That was tough. "I don't even remember my parents," Peter admitted. "I wish I'd gotten time with them, but in some ways I think it would be worse to know them and then have them taken like that."
Casey nodded slowly. "Yeah, but at least she got time with them."
Peter nodded. If he'd known his parents he was sure he'd feel the same. He felt that way about Tony Stark, the only real father figure he'd ever had. He was so grateful to have known Tony, and wouldn't have those memories of him taken away for anything in the world. It hurt to have lost him, to miss him so much, but he held onto it as a way to hold onto Tony himself. If he could he would gladly have that for his parents, have a way to remember them and to hold onto them, but he didn't, and he wouldn't want to ever go through that pain again. He had his aunt May, and he was happy in his life.
Thinking about it made him miss it; made him miss his aunt, made him miss Happy and Ned and especially MJ.
"Dude, you okay?" Casey asked, nudging Peter with his foot.
"What? Yeah, yeah, sorry." Peter sighed, shaking his head.
"I didn't know my mum either," Casey offered. "She's still alive to my knowledge. Took off when I was a baby though."
"Damn, that sucks, man," Peter said distractedly, his mind still back home.
"Guess we all have our losses." Casey sighed. He stood up from his chair, moving towards Peter and then reaching around him to pick up a small frame from the dresser behind Peter. "This was her." Casey handed the photo to Peter, who took absently and glanced down, taking in the heavily pregnant woman leaning against a sleek silver. She was wearing a worn leather jacket over a pale yellow sun dress, and her long brown hair was wind tousled.
Peter gasped, almost dropping the photo as his eyes landed on the woman's face. He leaned forward, clutching it so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Yeah, that was right before she had me," Casey said, collapsing back into his wheelie chair. "Only a couple weeks before she left."
Peter had no words. He turned the frame over as if there might be some explanation on the back, then turned it over again and focussed back on the woman's face.
"Casey..." Peter trailed off.
"Yeah?"
Peter looked up at Casey's face, seemingly oblivious. How was this possible? "How old are you?"
Casey frowned. "What are you, FBI? You knew how old that photo was or something?"
"What?" Peter asked, the words not registering in his head. There was too much else going on in there.
Casey sighed, running a hand through his hair and averting his eyes. "I got held back a couple of years, okay? It's not 'cause I'm dumb, we just move around a lot." He paused, meeting Peters eyes. "Please don't tell anyone, but I'm actually twenty."
Peter nodded slowly, still clutching the photo as he got to his feet.
"What's wrong?" Casey asked. He looked genuinely concerned.
"I'm sorry, I'm not feeling too good," Peter said, shaking his head. He dropped the photo into Casey's lap as he made his way towards the door. "I have to go."
As Peter made his way out of the house, down the lane and all the way to where his new trailer home was parked, the same thought swirled around and around in his head, blocking out everything else.
It was only when he got into the trailer and was digging through his bag that he realised how possible it really could be, remembering what Fred Andrews had told him.
Back when Fred had come to see him, he'd told Peter that his mother used to live here. That she used to be a Spider.
Peter pulled out the notebook MJ had given him. It contained sketches she had done, notes she had written him, even a few photos. And there, right at the back, was the photo Peter always kept of his parents.
It was his mother he was looking at this time, though. His mother, with her long, wind tousled brown hair.
The very same woman that Casey Caldova had a photo of in his room.