Chapter Text
It was another ordinary day for Peter Parker. He woke up at dawn, went to eat breakfast, opened his fridge, only to, unsurprisingly, find it yet again completely barren, and he left for work, which is where he was now.
He didn’t even feel the hunger anymore, just ate as a habit and a means to an end. Collapsing on the job could lead to more questions than he cared to answer. And collapsing as Spider-man would be so embarrassing.
Just imagining what the tabloid would write about him, once they found out that their least favourite hero went down, not because of actual injuries, but because of a rumbling tummy, made him shiver. Or maybe it was the cold.
He always felt cold nowadays. More so than he ever did, even in September which was fast approaching its end.
He never used to feel like that. The younger version of him had always been notoriously warm-blooded. He remembered one time when Ned and he had a snow fight on the way home from school and when he got back, May gave him the scolding of a lifetime because he wasn’t wearing gloves and his jacket had been completely drenched. What he’d give to have that now.
On top of that, his head had been hurting him like crazy lately. Pain erupted behind his eyes every time he moved. He felt like throwing up.
Thankfully, he didn’t usually even have anything to throw, so that problem took care of itself. The only relief he had were meds. One night, when the pain became unbearable he took half a bottle of Advil and it had actually somewhat helped. Not completely, but a win is a win.
Now he had the other half of that bottle stashed under his bathroom sink, waiting for the right time to use it. If it was on him, he’d have already done it by now, but unfortunately, meds are expensive and money was the one thing he absolutely didn’t have right now.
Nor could he risk his system getting used to the chemicals and them slowly becoming less effective. Peter wasn’t really keen on losing the one thing capable of keeping him afloat.
Currently, he was stacking up boxes full of something heavy. Peter didn't really know what it was and as long as it wasn't drugs or guns which he would have smelled, he didn't really care to know either.
“Hey Pete, how you doing?”
That was Marlene. It must have almost been time for him to clock out and he didn't even notice. She always came to check on everybody just before the shift ended, otherwise she was stuck in the office, busy with her own work.
“Oh, hi Marlene. I'm good, thanks. Just wrapping up here.” Peter attempted a smile, knowing it didn't reach his eyes, but he couldn't quite conjure up the real thing right now, so it would have to do.
He looked around and belatedly realised that he actually was wrapping up. Nice, maybe he could leave a bit early.
“You sure? That head of yours not bothering you anymore?”
Oh yeah, Peter remembered with a wince. A couple of days ago, he came in with a busted lip and a black eye again. Said he got mugged. Blamed it on living in a bad neighborhood.
“Yeah, it's fine now, thank you. Listen, so sorry to bother you with this, but do you think I could maybe leave five minutes earlier today? I'm supposed to be off in twenty minutes anyway, and I don't have much work left.” Peter smiled awkwardly now, hoping that whatever was still left of his charm would work.
Marlene's eyebrows pinched, then she quickly looked around and let out a sigh.
“Sure, you can, Pete. Just don't let anyone see you, otherwise the higher-ups would have my head. And be careful when you walk home, okay?”
The warm expression on Peter's face was at least partially genuine this time.
“Thank you so, so much. Don't worry, I'll be careful.”
The fifteen minutes he had left dragged by so slowly he thought the clock might just have a personal grudge against him, speeding up and slowing down whenever it felt like it. Needless to say, he was more than ready to run out, by the time he finally breathed in fresh outside air. As fresh as air could get here.
As predicted, he got fired from his second job about a week ago. The official reason stated being “poor performance”. The reality of the matter was, that you couldn’t do a good job ringing up customers if all of them left after seeing your beaten-up face.
So he was free to head straight home. It wouldn’t be ideal for his income, but he’d have more time for his Spider-man related duties, at least until he managed to land another job.
By the time he opened his apartment door, it was five o'clock. He came to the bathroom first.
The person that greeted him in the mirror while washing his hands was nearly unrecognisable. Hollow cheeks and blood-shot sunken eyes, one of them framed by a slowly fading ring of purple, staring back at him with a vacant expression. God, he really looked awful.
His healing factor was becoming slower and slower. He ran some tests on it a while ago, to see what was wrong, but apparently, if your body doesn’t have the energy or the resources to properly repair itself, it just tends to not work as well.
After wiping his wet hands into his jeans, gross, yeah, but he doesn’t exactly own a towel anymore (the last one fell victim to a pool of blood when he got stabbed), Peter headed to the kitchen. Carefully, he bent down into a cabinet and grabbed a granola bar and a singular apple. His first meal of the day.
He really liked apples. Sure they might not be the most filling, but they were usually cheap and nutritious. Also, sometime during his childhood, he might have internalised the phrase “an apple a day, keeps the doctor away”. And believe him, he’s had more than enough of doctors for a whole lifetime. No more Doctor Strange debacles, no, thank you.
Soon he had finished eating and got ready to start patrol early. Maybe he’d get to help some old ladies just cross the street today. That would be nice.
For a while, he tried to convince himself that being Spider-man was enough. That it was fulfilling on its own. But after a bit he gave up. He already lied to everyone else around him, he didn’t feel like lying to himself.
It wasn’t enough. Nothing was anymore. He was as alone as a person could be.
Once back when he was still part of the debate team, the topic of discussion turned to the ethical treatment of prisoners. One side had to argue for their right to visitation, while the other was against it. Peter couldn’t remember which side he was on anymore, but now he could attest to the fact that isolation was the worst punishment of all. Guess there’s a reason it’s classified as torture.
He couldn’t really find it in himself to be excited about going out as Spider-man. Helping people was nice, felt good, but it still left him hollow. Like a rotten corpse still walking around only by sheer force of will.
But he had a responsibility. A responsibility to the city, to Mr. Stark, to aunt May, to his friends, even if they didn’t remember him.
And a part of that responsibility was holding up his image. The constant talking, the silly words directed at anyone within hearing range. It was what people expected, it made them feel safe. What did it matter if he couldn’t muster up the energy for it at all?
Sometimes it was harder than the fighting itself. Lips and tongue struggling to shape around the witty quips he was known for, after not speaking at all for hours. The delicate skin around his mouth cracking, not because of injuries, but out of dehydration. Voice crackling unpleasantly with disuse.
Unfortunately, the day didn’t intend to wait for him to rest. His phone beeped with an alert. Apparently there was a robbery just a few streets over.
Peter sighed, pulled on his mask and swung out the window.
A web pinned one of the robbers holding the hostages at gun point to the wall. The other looked around panicked, only to follow his partner seconds later anyway.
“Hey guys! Pointing those things around like that isn’t really nice! They can shoot, you know?” Rang out Spider-man’s chipper voice out of somewhere. It reverberated around the walls of the bank in a way that made it impossible to tell which way it came from.
The two remaining robbers looked around with wide eyes, then broke for the swinging doors simultaneously.
“Oh, that’s just cliché, not to mention rude. Here I am, talking to you and you just run. And leaving your friends without saying goodbye, really bad form guys.” Spider-man shook his head while hopping down from the ceiling and webbing the entrance shut.
Realising their escape route had been blocked, the criminals turned around and started firing at him rapidly.
“Shoot!” The masked hero exclaimed and flipped out of range.
Ugh, why couldn’t they just surrender, for once in his miserable life?
He jumped back up to the ceiling and fired at the nozzles of both guns following just a second behind his movements, disoriented by the sudden change in position. In doing so, he effectively rendered them useless.
Which still left him with two very angry, but now ironically gunless gunmen.
He quickly attached webs to them both, but kept a hold of them. Then, at the same time, jumped to gain momentum, twisted and pulled.
The criminals were left tangled in webs together, hanging from the ceiling. The lines he’d attached to them were not even straining from where he stuck them overhead.
Spider-man, now standing on the ground, looked up at them.
“Ah, sorry about that, hope you don’t mind heights. I have a feeling you’ll be hanging out there for a bit.” The awkward smile was apparent in his tone.
Then he turned around to face the hostages.
“Is everyone okay?”
Some of them had tear tracks on their faces and all were stunned into silence, until one little girl squealed. “Mommy, look, look, it’s Spider-man!”
Stars danced in her eyes as she pointed her chubby little finger. That seemed to break the silent spell. Sounds of agreement reached his ears. Satisfied, he just grinned, waved at his little fan and swung out the open window from which he came.
---
Spider-man landed on a glass high rise, feet sticking to the shiny surface. God this was exhausting. Peter was thankful for the small breather.
So far, he has managed to stop two robberies, save a family from a fire and help an old man with his groceries.
The sun began to set. Dark would soon envelop the city and invite more crime than the daylight ever allowed. But for now the honey-coloured rays bounced off of the crystal glass he was perched on and warmed him through in a way that reminded him of long summer days.
For a precious second, he allowed himself to just sit there and enjoy the moment. The fresh breeze was caressing his face over the mask and breathing seemed just a tiny bit easier.
Then he heard it. That familiar decisive step, confident but not aggressively so. The voice he hadn’t heard in years.
Happy Hogan was walking beneath him. Talking on the phone while crossing the street. He still looked the same as ever.
Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He felt like choking.
Damn, his stupid enhanced hearing. Why did he have to see him now? For so long he’d avoided him successfully.
Peter couldn’t breathe. It felt like falling with an anchor attached to him, pulling him to that single person in a crowd.
Of course, he kept tabs on him, just like he did on everybody. But the man had nearly no social media presence, so he hadn’t actually seen his face in over a year. Last he heard, Happy started a private security company. Funnily enough, he didn’t really look happy in the picture posted to celebrate the announcement. He was just as serious looking as ever.
Peter didn't go as far as to stalk the man in real life, like he did MJ and Ned. He didn’t need Peter’s protection, he could handle himself.
On top of that, Peter couldn’t bear to see yet another person he loved moving on without him, as if nothing happened at all. He didn’t think his heart could take it.
So he made sure to never run into him at the cemetery while visiting May’s grave and contented himself with setting up E.V. to alert him whenever the name Happy Hogan popped up anywhere.
And now he was here.
Peter was following him before he even realised what was happening, but he couldn’t make himself stop. Just for a bit, just to convince himself that he was alright. Just to satisfy this burning need to chase anything leftover from his past life.
Before he knew it, the sky had cycled through all shades of golden and crimson it could offer, only to end up pitch black, and he was five blocks away from where he started. The shining city beneath him turned into a blur.
Where was he heading? Was he on a job right now? Hopefully not, it was late. He should head home. He should rest, Peter could see the exhaustion clinging to him like a phantom from meters up in the sky.
Or maybe he actually was heading home. Peter hadn’t checked his address for a long time. He went to Happy’s apartment once, post the disaster. It hurt so much, he left and never came back again.
His train of thought was interrupted when Happy actually entered through the doors to one of the high-rise buildings before him.
Its outer walls were almost entirely made out of reflective glass, interrupted only by balconies protruding from the smooth structure. This wasn’t an office building, so he most likely did actually live there.
It was nice to know that he was doing well.
Peter did his best to ignore the uncomfortable stinging feeling in his eyes.
He stood there for a while, just watching. Who knows how long, Peter certainly didn’t. He could have stood there forever for all he cared. Not aware of anything at all.
That is until quiet footsteps forcibly shattered his trance. He turned on his heel slowly, still dazed.
If it was a threat, his spidey sense would probably warn him, and if it didn’t, then he didn’t really care. Maybe it would be better that way.
To his surprise, it wasn’t a source of danger standing across from him, but Daredevil.
Huh, that was weird. The vigilante didn’t usually venture out of Hell’s kitchen.
Peter guessed it was partially because of his job. Not everybody had the benefit of traversing the whole city with a couple of well placed swings. It would probably be inefficient to travel across such a distance only to have to get back almost immediately to come early into the office.
He felt a bit guilty knowing the other’s identity, without Daredevil knowing his or even being aware that he did, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about that.
“Spider-man.” The other inclined his head in a greeting.
“Hello, Daredevil sir!” Peter repaid the greeting, polite as ever.
“Uh, not to be rude, but what are you doing here? It’s just that I usually don’t see you around these parts, is all. Is there something wrong?” Anxiety crept into his mind. Please don’t let there be another disaster today. I really can’t handle that right now, he thought to himself.
“I’m here for you, actually. I’m dealing with an issue I think you might know something about.”
No wonder this guy was a lawyer. The unreadable tone must do wonders for him in that line of work, but it absolutely wasn’t doing Peter any favours right now. A problem he might know something about, could be everything from something as relatively minor as a corrupt politician, all the way to Thanos coming back from the dead.
“Yeah, sure. Always happy to help! What can I do for you?”
“There is a new guy on the scene. Thought you could maybe know something about it.”
Peter blew out a breath. Okay, so nothing that terrible, cool.
“Sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard of anybody new. Why? Is something the matter with this guy?” He tried for a joking tone, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I don’t know, that’s why I wanted to ask you.”
“And I would know something about him because….?” Jeez, for wanting to get information out of him, the man wasn’t giving him much to work with here.
“Haven’t gotten a good look at him, but from what I can tell he’s got spiderlegs, webs and multiple eyes.”
It was weird hearing the Daredevil talk about looking at something, but then again, the other had no idea that Peter knew he was blind, so it made sense why he would say that. Secret identity and all. But never mind that, because…
“What! That guy sounds like total nightmare fuel! And he stole my entire gimmick! Not cool man, not cool. Did he do anything? Like try to eat you or something?” Peter managed after gaping like a fish for a hot minute.
A tired sigh followed. “No. He didn’t do anything. Just stood in one place mostly. But it never hurts to get ahead with these types of things.”
Peter had to agree, threat or no threat, information was always the most valuable weapon one could have.
Could it be another Peter? Maybe something broke Doctor Strange’s spell and they were coming back? He’d never met another mutant with spider DNA, besides Peter Two and Peter Three.
No, that was impossible. It’s been years. He would have noticed if the spell broke, right?
Panic started flooding his brain. His lungs picked up pace without him even noticing.
At that moment, the pain that had been building up behind his eyes all day suddenly tripled and rattled inside his skull. His vision blurred and then doubled. While his feet, which functioned just fine before, started to feel like they were made of jelly and he stumbled just a bit.
“You okay?” A voice laced with concern pierced through the fog that wrapped itself around his mind.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
All was fine. The universe wasn’t collapsing, so it couldn’t be that. Calm down, Peter! You’re no use to anyone like this.
The voices in his head insisted.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just had a long day. I should probably head home.” He steadied his stance and replied.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful, but good luck!” With that, Peter hurriedly jumped away, before he could embarrass himself further.
He could feel the pointed worried attention burning holes into his back for a long time before he managed to escape into the night.