Chapter Text
“The price of greatness
is responsibility.”
~ Winston Churchill ~
Chapter One: Because He Has To
The warning bell to get to first period went off alarmingly loud, loud enough that Peter Parker jumped up and accidentally hit his shoulder against his yellow, scrapped up, well-loved locker. The sound of his shoulder hitting the locker let out an obnoxious clunk! but fortunately the sophomore hall of Midtown School of Science and Technology was bustling with students trying to get to their respective classes, so no one turned to look at Peter. Peter took a deep breathe, opened up his locker and took out his used chemistry and US History textbook that he needed for his first couple of periods.
Peter was pretty exhausted from his rounds last night. After what happened with the Vulture at the beginning of the year (or really he should be saying Adrian Toomes, Liz’s dad), Peter has been trying to take things easy. He wasn’t really interested in picking fights with big guys like the Vulture or anyone like him, but that doesn’t mean Peter won’t shy away from a fight. He doesn’t push himself as much as he did at the beginning of the year, especially since he knew he doesn’t need to prove himself to Tony or Happy or the other Avengers, as dismantled and fractured as the Avengers were. That being said, Peter lived in Queens, New York. It wasn’t like crime doesn’t get committed in Queens, and there has to be someone there to help the little guy when no one else was looking out for him or her.
That was what Spider-Man was for. Taking care of everyone else. Peter liked to think of what he does as Spider-Man as doing something for the greater good, his own little way of giving back to the community. Another part of Peter, one that was more realistic and honest, was that Peter really liked how he felt about himself when he put the suit on. Spider-Man was inevitably the better version of Peter Parker. Spider-Man was the guy who fought with Iron Man last year when Captain America was outside the law. Spider-Man was the guy who fought off an illegal weapon’s dealer and stopped him from robbing the Avengers themselves. Even though that happened in September and it was December now, the Spider-Man euphoria has yet to die in Peter’s neighborhood.
At least Peter can enjoy being Spider-Man.
Peter Parker was just this insecure kid who gets good grades, who doesn’t like to sit in class and who doesn’t see any joy in going to school every day.
Okay. That was a pretty awful thing to say. Peter has a good life and there was no reason for Peter to dislike the life that he has. Still, he can’t shake this dark feeling he has every time he got up in the morning, put on his clothes, made a cup of coffee and forced himself to stay awake in school. Peter doesn’t know what was wrong with him.
Despite being utterly lost in his thoughts, Peter’s instincts ensure that Flash Thompson, a dark-skinned, dark-haired and absolutely spoiled sophomore, doesn’t plow him over. “Watch where you’re standing, Penis Parker,” Flash sneered, as he continued to stride toward his first period class. As much as Peter doesn’t want to hate anyone and as much as Peter knew that he couldn’t ever use his powers against some ordinary guy, there were days in his life where Peter really wanted to punch Flash. Whether it was when Flash was just making jokes about Peter to his friends or when Flash would go racing down the parking lot and barely stop in front of Peter. The antagonizing (Peter didn’t like to say that Flash bullied him since Peter knew people had gone through worse) had been going on for years, probably since middle school. Why Flash enjoyed picking on Peter so much, Peter would never know. At the very least, Peter didn’t care that much anymore.
Peter let out a huge yawn as he closed his locker and started heading to his first class. Midtown was a pretty big school so trying to navigate the halls, especially when everyone is trying to get to their classes, was pretty difficult. Peter ducked and dodged people running, throwing their hands around carelessly as they talked animatedly with each other about upcoming plans (besides hanging out with Ned Leeds or doing rounds, Peter didn’t really have a lot of those). From what Peter is overhearing from the people behind him, there was supposed to be a big party going on at Thompson’s house. Not a surprise. Now that Liz was in Oregon, Flash was the go-to person to throw the major parties. Peter hasn’t been to a party since the one he went to at Liz’s house. Not really his scene. Plus, the idea of willingly going to Flash’s house wasn’t something Peter was too interested in.
The conversation about the party faded into the back of Peter’s mind as he approached the door to his chemistry classroom. It was a stingy little room that reminded Peter of a prison, pretty analogous to high school. The classroom had a distasteful, bleach-like scent (makes since given the subject that’s taught in the classroom) and was decorated very sparsely. The only decorations were the pictures of famous scientists — Howard Stark and Bruce Banner included in this mix — that lined the top of the whiteboards. Peter went to take his seat near the back of the class. The desks were nothing but large black tables with the lab for whatever they were doing that day already set up; stools for chairs fit snugly underneath each table.
Peter went to take his seat near the back corner of the classroom. Today’s lab was supposed to be more “fun and interactive”, according to teacher. Peter thumbed through the lab manual sitting in front of him, absent-mindedly. It wasn’t that Peter doesn’t like science. Honestly, science was Peter’s favorite subject. But ever since Spider-Man, Peter has been having a hard time sitting still in the classroom.
Before class started, Ned Leeds, Peter’s best friend, went to sit down beside Peter. His best friend takes a look at the lab manual and grins. “Dude, look at the chemical combinations we’re mixing today! This is so cool!”
Ned transferred to the Queens school district in seventh grade. The two have been friends ever since Peter stopped Flash from dumping his lunch all over Ned. They’ve been inseparable, someone to talk to during hard times, someone to study with, someone to laugh with. Without Ned, Peter figured that he would have dropped out of high school, especially after everything that Peter has been going through. Ned helped a lot when Ben passed in seventh grade, an unexpected, awful thing that happened in Peter’s life.
Ned was also one of the only people to know about Peter’s secret identity. Peter wasn’t ever planning on telling Ned, especially because, though Peter loves his best friend, Ned sometimes has a hard time keeping a secret. Nonetheless, Peter couldn’t be happier that he has someone besides Tony to talk about all the Spider-Man stuff. Even then, Tony was more of Peter’s mentor, a person who Peter can turn to for advice, can call if Peter needs help, and will scold Peter when he tries to do something pretty dangerous. Of course, Peter was and will always be thankful for what Tony Stark has done for him, but Peter wants that person with whom he can just gush about his latest round or the criminal he just caught.
That’s what Ned is for.
Peter nodded. “Pretty exciting. Better than doing the penny thing last time.”
Ned dropped his backpack beside his desk and scooted in closer to Peter. Peter already knew what Ned was going to ask before Ned even opened his mouth. “So, how was your round last night?” Ned asked. “I saw on the news that Spider-Man stopped an arsonist.”
Peter grinned. “Yeah. Last night was pretty crazy.”
“Did you at least get enough sleep? And did you study for the Spanish quiz?” Ned asked.
“Yes, May,” Peter said, jokingly. “I studied. And I did my homework, and… well, I got a few hours of sleep. Does that count for something?”
Ned frowned. “Yeah, I guess. Are you going on another round tonight?”
“Always am,” Peter said. “I promised May I would get my homework done first.”
“Oh yeah,” Ned said. “How’s everything going with May?”
Peter sighed. “Better than how it started.”
That was true, at the very least. Peter can still remember that day like it was yesterday. He was trying the suit on, feeling really good about himself. He turned down Tony’s offer to become an Avenger (Peter has his reasons — he was still in school, there are other priorities. That was a different conversation he had with Ned). Peter was lost in his own thoughts, completely unaware that a certain someone was standing by the doorway, watching in absolute disbelief as Peter took the mask off. That person, May of course, was the very last person that Peter wanted to know about his secret identity.
“What the fu—” May screamed. She didn’t yell at Peter often, especially not in the tone of voice that she had, so when Peter heard her, he was terrified.
He couldn’t get her to calm down for what felt like hours. There was a lot of screaming (mostly May), a lot of begging (mostly on Peter’s part though) and then a lot of uncomfortable silence (mostly Tony). That’s right. Peter didn’t want to lie to May any more than he already has so he sold Tony out. To say the very least, Tony was very surprised when he got an angry phone call from May that quickly turned into what seemed like May trying to break the world record for how many insults and swear words can be thrown at one person over the span of a fifteen-minute phone call. Tony drove over to Peter’s apartment almost immediately. Another bad idea. Still, the adults talked. The adults came to a conclusion that all three could live with: Peter could stay Spider-Man but May and Tony had to be informed every time Peter was putting the suit on. Peter doesn’t need training wheels, and he didn’t need coddling from Tony either.
At the very least, Peter got to keep the suit, and that was surprising.
After Tony finished a long and painful conversation with May that made Peter squirm in the uncomfortable kitchen chair, Tony and Peter had a private conversation in his room. Now that May wasn’t there to yell at Tony as well as keeping Tony from getting a single word in the conversation, it was Peter’s turn to get yelled at. That’s something Peter doesn’t want to relive, doesn’t want to think about for as long as he’s Spider-Man.
“She’s okay with doing rounds tonight?” Ned asked. His voice brought Peter back from his thoughts.
Peter shrugged. “May is never okay with it, but she doesn’t argue, either. As long as she knows what I’m doing.”
“Don’t you think it’s better this way?” Ned said, and Peter groaned. Ned was Peter’s best friend, and Peter knew that Ned was just looking out for him. Still, Peter doesn’t want to have this conversation every time Ned brings up May. “You’re not going around behind her back.”
Peter nodded. “I know. I know. I just — I feel guilty. She’s up all night worried about me. Before…” Peter stopped himself. “It sucks, Ned. I hate knowing I’m hurting her.”
“So, you would rather lie?”
“It’s easier that way,” Peter muttered.
“It’s been a couple of months,” Ned said. “Things are bound to get better.”
Their teacher gets up from her desk to start that day’s lecture, and Peter can’t help but be relieved that that conversation can end. Ned always has good points when they have this conversation. In the long run, the truth will be better than a lie. That was one of Ned’s personal favorite lines to pull on Peter. Things are bound to get better. It didn’t for Liz.
God, Peter still hated himself sometimes for what happened to Liz. Peter was in a pretty difficult spot with that. Adrian Toomes was guilty of producing illegal weapons, of robbing the DODC as well as attempting to rob the Avengers. He was a criminal, and he was going to have to face the consequences of what he has been doing for the past seven years. There was no hope for Adrian Toomes getting a not guilty verdict. Piles and piles of evidence stacked against him. Plenty of testimony. He’s going to prison for a long time.
But Adrian Toomes was also a father, put out of a job by the Avengers and the Department of Damage Control while he was just trying to clean up Manhattan after the damage Loki’s done. Criminality shouldn’t have been the option but Toomes was desperate. He had a wife and daughter who he loved and who needed him. So, he did what he had to do… And now that Spider-Man got Toomes arrested, Liz and her mom were left to pick up the pieces.
God. God… Peter misses Liz. Not so much because Liz was his first crush, the first girl he felt something for, whether that was just a little sophomore kid having a crush on the really gorgeous senior girl. It was how happy Liz was all the time, no matter how many college applications she was juggling, no matter how many AP classes she was handling and no matter how stressful it was being the captain of the Decathlon team. Every day at practice, Liz would walk in with a smile on her face, a smile that was so wide and effervescent it made Peter smile. And then there was the homecoming dance. And she looked stunning in that pink dress, only Peter didn’t let himself tell her that, show her the attention she deserved because of Spider-Man.
Peter will never be able to forget how sad she looked her last day of Midtown High School. The way the tears rolled down her face as she said her last goodbye to Peter, as she walked through the halls one last time, glanced at the Decathlon trophies one last time. Peter doesn’t love Liz, but Peter misses her.
He has been keeping in contact with Liz, trying to make amends with her, not just because Peter felt guilty knowing that Liz lost her father because of Spider-Man. To make up for all the times Peter didn’t come through for her. He wants to make sure that he’s there for her now. A month after Liz moved, Peter started calling her every Tuesday. Their conversations started out awkward, but they’ve been lasting a little longer and a little longer and a little longer. The conversations only last about fifteen minutes, but fifteen minutes were always enough for Peter to get Liz to laugh, to get a little bit of information out of her and her new life. To make her feel a little less sad.
She’s in Oregon now, supposed to be a way for her parents to protect her from how ugly the trial was supposed to get. Her mom bought a little house in the suburbs about thirty minutes away from Portland. It’s a nice two-story home. Couple bedrooms. Couple bathrooms. A small little porch with an awning that means she can sit outside and do her homework, while it drizzles lightly. It sounds cozy. Supposedly, Liz was doing well at her new school. She made a lot of friends, got into the colleges she wanted. A part of Liz wanted to go to Empire State University, an Ivy league school pretty close to Midtown. The other part of Liz doesn’t want to go anywhere near the home that would remind her of her incarcerated father. Georgetown University and MIT were apparently high on the list. Prestigious schools that Peter wouldn’t dream of being able to afford.
“Mr. Parker, are you still with us?” the teacher said.
Peter looked around the classroom. He realized that the class had already started going through the lab manual. They answered the pre-lab questions and started to work through the questions and hypothesizes. Peter’s paper, meanwhile, was still blank.
“Oh… Right. Sorry,” Peter said.
He shoved his hand into the depths of his backpack and pulled out a pencil. Peter glanced down at the first page of his lab, feeling thoroughly exhausted just skimming through the first couple of words. Dejected, Peter started trudging through the paper, going through the motions like usual. When first period finished, Peter gathered up his belongings and went off to his second period class. Followed by third period. Followed by fourth. It was pretty hard for Peter to keep his mind from drifting too much throughout the day. He would sit in his chair every class, bouncing his legs up and down, looking around, through the windows. Checking the door. Obsessively almost.
When the bell that dismisses students for the day went off, Peter eagerly threw his backpack around his shoulders and raced outside. Being out in the open air was relaxing, cool air that hit the back of Peter’s clammy neck. Peter threw on the inner layer of his winter jacket — he’s just never cold enough to wear the entirety of his heavy jacket, despite how freezing it can get in New York sometimes. Peter quickly maneuvered his way out of the parking lot, glancing in Flash’s direction as Flash slid into his car.
Peter chuckled as he thought of homecoming night. So, Spider-Man may or may not have ruined the shiny silver convertible he borrowed from Flash. After Peter told Tony that he accidentally ruined Flash’s dad’s car, Tony went ahead and bought the Thompson’s another one. Same brand. Same year. Same color, even.
And Peter was still taking the bus home.
Speaking of which, Peter jay-walked (really sprinted) across the street to catch the bus before it took off without him. He contemplated taking one of the seats but then an older man carrying a briefcase and looking absolutely exhausted got on as well so Peter let him take the seat. Fortunately, there was still an open spot for Peter to stand near the back. The bus ride was short and it dropped him off right in front of the deli that Peter loved so much. He got the same order. Number Five.
“Hey, Mr. Delmar,” Peter said as he put the gummy bears and pack of gum onto the cash register as well. “How are you doing?”
Mr. Delmar, an older man with a thick black and white beard, stood before Peter, ringing up his order. This deli place has been around for as long as Peter can remember. When Peter was really young, back when Ben was still alive and well, Ben would take Peter to this deli place after school. “Best sandwich place in Queens,” Ben would always say as he would take a huge bite out of the number seven, his favorite order. Ben was gone now, but this place made Queens feel like home.
“Good. Customers are still coming in, even after what happened,” Mr. Delmar said. He gestured toward the walls where Peter could clearly see the marks left from the fight across the street. You know. The fight with Spider-Man and those ATM robbers that started this mess.
“You’ll never lose me as a customer,” Peter promised.
“You are half my customers,” Mr. Delmar said with a laugh. “At the very least, Spider-Man has been attracting some good business.”
“How so?” Peter asked, politely, even though he already knew the answer.
Peter felt pretty bad about how much business Mr. Delmar lost while trying to rebuild his deli after the fight so the masked vigilante showed up throughout the night, cleaning up his place, helping to remove some the scrapped rubble after the fight. Peter doesn’t quite have the capability to rebuild the entire deli but Peter did what he could. Once the media got hold of what Spider-Man was doing, customers from around New York started showing up to try and see him.
“Everyone wants to know who this Spider-Man guy really is,” Mr. Delmar said.
Just out of curiosity, Peter asked, “And who do you think this Spider-Man guy is?”
Mr. Delmar shrugged. “I don’t really care. There’s a reason why this Spider-Man wears a mask. I guess as long as he—”
“Or she,” Peter said.
“Or she,” Mr. Delmar added, “keeps New York safe, I say just let them be. We’ll figure out who this person is when the time is right.”
Don’t expect that to be soon, Peter thought to himself.
“Thanks for the sandwich,” Peter said. He threw the gummy bears into the bottom of his backpack, wrapped the sandwich up tight and then started jogging in the direction of his apartment.
He thought the entire way there about what Mr. Delmar said. About how Spider-Man is the hero of New York. Hearing people say that about him always made him smile. The appreciation for what Peter — or really Spider-Man — did was always nice to hear. There were times, especially more recently, that Peter sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve that appreciation, though. The bigger the scale of the opponent Spider-Man faced, the worse the collateral damage. Mr. Delmar’s deli was nothing. The fight with the Vulture that went all the way to Coney Island. That was bad. Trying to get past DODC was a mess. Not to mention the Sokovia Accords.
Tony only told Peter a little bit about the Sokovia Accords last year. That it was a United Nations approved document. That the purpose of the document wasn’t to limit the Avengers or to even politicize what they’re doing. It was to make sure that the Avengers get into the good graces of the people. That the Avengers aren’t just sending crazy amounts of fire power with nothing to keep them in check or with no one to take care of evacuation when the Avengers need to focus on getting the criminal in hand. What Tony didn’t mention was the Raft prison, not that Peter knew a lot about that — or was supposed to know a lot about that. The fact that Peter wasn’t just trying to settle an argument between Tony and Cap and nab the guy who bombed the UN. It was a surprise to Peter when he stood on the side as Everett Ross’s men went after Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson and (god, what was his name?) Scott something.
“What’s going to happen to them?” Peter remembered asking. The four remainders of Team Cap were being chained together and shoved into a helicopter violently.
“They’re out of our hands,” Tony said back. “It’s best if you don’t worry about them.”
Of course, that was impossible not to think what was happening to them. And Peter wasn’t stupid, nor was he bad at hacking into things. Learning about the Raft Prison left him shocked and worried that he was going to end up there. All criminals apprehended under the Sokovia Accords would end up at a floating prison, including former Avengers. Team Cap, now at large after Captain America broke them out, still has their own cells waiting for them.
After what happened at Coney Island, it was a real shock to Everett Ross to find out that Spider-Man happened to know Iron Man. Just like the Raft, Tony didn’t mention what would happen if the government found out about Spider-Man. Peter remembered being pulled out of school by May and they spent the entire day at the new Avengers Compound sitting in Tony’s office as he went back and forth with Ross. There was a lot of yelling. A lot of threatening. A lot of May pacing back and forth as she tried to figure out what she’s going to say to Tony once he gets off the phone.
Peter did have to sign the Accords, but not the same way that Tony, Vision or the other team Iron-Man members did. He wasn’t an official Avenger so he doesn’t have to operate on the same rules as the Accords. There were technicalities, though. If Spider-Man ever paired up with someone operating under the Accords, Spider-Man would have to follow the same rules. There were jurisdiction issues, as well. Spider-Man could operate legally in the United States but anything international that could turn into a serious political mess, meant that Spider-Man was under Accords rules. Peter could live with these rules for now.
Peter’s phone went off. He fumbled with his sandwich a little bit as he reached to take out his cell phone. On it was a message from May. <<Are you almost home?>> In the eyes of most parents, it would look like she was just trying to make sure that Peter was okay. In the eyes of Peter, however, he knew that this was code for May making sure that Peter wasn’t running off as Spider-Man right now when that wasn’t the deal.
He types up a quick response: <<Yes. Almost home :)>>
Peter’s neighborhood was pretty safe all things considered. It was the kind of neighborhood where Peter knew practically everyone in the apartment, as well as some of the people in the complex next to his. It was a lively neighborhood too, cars bustling up and down the road, people constantly hurrying around the sidewalk, sometimes a street performer or two on the corner of the intersection. On the upside, it makes Peter feel like energy and life is constant, no matter how tired he gets. On the downside, trying to sneak out of his apartment in the suit was pretty difficult. Sometimes it requires sneaking around the back or even traveling by rooftop so that no one of the ground level can see where Spider-Man went after his rounds.
The apartment itself, an old brick building that sat in front of a busy little intersection, has been Peter’s home ever since Peter moved in with Ben and May. He buzzed himself in briskly before taking the stairs three at time to his and May’s apartment. His apartment was a quaint little place, well-loved considering how many years Peter and May have lived there. A kitchen table that had pen and pencil markings from Peter doing his homework and May doing the bills. Green paint from when Uncle Ben thought it would be a fun project for him and Peter to redo the kitchen. The nicest furniture being the leather couches in the living room paired with a glass coffee table. The living room was May’s favorite. Flowers matched the color themes. Pillows matched the flowers.
“May?!” Peter yelled. He hung his backpack onto the coatrack by the front door and kicked his sneakers off.
“There you are,” May said. She walked out from the hallway that connected to her bedroom.
May Parker was in her late forties. She used to work part time at the local bank while Ben was still alive but after he passed and she needed to come up with enough money for her and a growing teenager, May went back to juggling a full-time job and being a full-time mom. On Mondays like today, May only had to work a couple of hours in the morning. She spent the rest of the day cleaning up the apartment, going grocery shopping, making sure that this place stayed together — adult things that Peter didn’t always understand but was always grateful she was doing. She wore a pair of light wash boyfriend jeans and an old white t-shirt, brown hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail and her glasses still on. May was beautiful, flushed skin and a wide smile every time Peter walked in the door (even if it was past curfew).
May threw a couple of envelopes and a pen onto the kitchen table. “How was school?”
Peter shrugged. “Long. How was work?”
“Long. You hungry?”
“Always am,” Peter said. He went to sit at the kitchen table while May rummaged through the refrigerator.
“Alright. Let’s see what we have,” May said. “Leftover pizza from yesterday. Fruit. I can make you a salad.”
“Can I have all three?” Peter asked.
May smiled. She got the ingredients out and started working. “Teenage boys.”
“I think it’s more of the Spider-Man in me,” Peter said, chuckling.
“Do you have a lot of homework?”
Peter shrugged. “Sort of.”
“How did your Spanish quiz go today?” She asked.
“Alright. I mean, I studied so…” Peter said.
May just finished putting the pizza on a cookie tray and turning the oven on. She poured both herself and Peter a glass of ice water before going to sit down at the kitchen table. Judging by May’s face, Peter knew what she was going to ask; this was how their conversations went everyday outside of school. Are you going out tonight? She would ask.
“Are you going out tonight?” May asked.
Peter grimaced. “Probably. There’s always going to be another bad guy, May.”
She sighed. “I know. You just be careful alright.” She pressed a kiss on Peter’s forehead before going back to finishing up his midday meal. May doesn’t say another word as she finished prepping Peter’s food. Peter tried to get a good read on her face, tried to figure out exactly how she felt. As usual, May’s expression was blank. Peter knew she was worried but a part of Peter also knew she respected and understood why he put the suit on.
He owed it to New York. It was his job.
Peter and May spent the rest of the afternoon together. She sat at the kitchen table doing bills for a little bit, got through some of her paperwork and then went to go do the dishes. Peter, meanwhile, kept himself busy with his homework. It was what May wanted and it was the only way she wouldn’t ground him for running off at odd hours of the night. First chemistry. History. Trigonometry. Mindless work that Peter wasn’t interested in.
Then came the nap. Another stipulation for Peter to be Spider-Man. His sleep and his health came first, even though that wasn’t always how Peter saw it. Hours passed slowly and the darker it got outside, the more and more excited and anxious and eager Peter got to put the suit on. Peter woke up from his nap at 8:00 that night and he eagerly kicked the blanket May threw over him off. Peter took special care to refold the blanket and set it on the corner of the couch. Peter can hear the TV in May’s bedroom going off so he quietly heads to his room to change into the suit. He tried his hardest to be quiet — May already knew when he was planning to leave and being able to eliminate another awkward conversation was just easier for the two of them.
The lights stayed off as a preventative measure while he pulled off his sweatshirt and jeans he was wearing. He tumbled around his room in the dark as he yanked the suit out of its hidden spot in the ceiling. Now that he has gotten more used to putting on the suit briskly, Peter stepped into his suit and pulled the arms through the holes in matter of seconds. He pressed the button in the center and the spandex material glued itself onto his appendages. Peter paused to look at the mask for a second, ready to take on his alter ego.
When Peter was Spider-Man, Peter didn’t feel like himself. Peter felt better than himself, improved. Stronger. All the baggage that came with being some awkward kid in high school went away. He wasn’t a loser. He was Spider-Man, and it felt great to be able to say that.
Focus, Peter told himself as he pulled the mask over his head. The eye slits readjust themselves, opening a little wider and the blue lights activating.
“Hello Peter,” Karen said. Karen was the AI Tony put into Peter’s suit. She has always been helpful to Peter, whether Peter needed someone to activate a different type of webbing in a split of second or if Peter was lost and needed directions. Or if Peter just needed someone to talk to. Karen was there for him. “Ready to do another round?”
“Yeah,” Peter said. “Just let me get out of here.”
Peter went to open the window and immediately was greeted with a harsh, freezing gust of wind. Shivering, Peter checked out the sidewalks and streets near his apartment. There were a couple of people driving and some of the lights were on in the street across from him. Didn’t matter. Peter has done this hundreds of times and he was positive that he had never been caught. Peter stepped onto the sill of his window before launching a web onto the ledge of the roof of the building across from him. He kicked off the side of his building, swung around and comfortably caught his balance on this new building.
“Alright, Karen. What does the police scanner say?” Peter asked.
Karen paused for a second before she said, “There’s a reported theft at the local mall down the street. And someone called in a domestic violence a couple streets down from you.”
“And cops are closer to which one?” Peter asked.
“The reported theft,” Karen answered.
Peter scoffed. “Typical. How do I get to the domestic violence call?”
“Get to 8th Street and its on your left,” Karen said.
“Spider-Man to the rescue…” Peter said to himself.
Peter has been getting better at the whole traveling from place to place without using just running or without scaling the sides of building. He found street lamps, balconies that he can swing from. As he flew through the street, Peter arched his back, wrapping his fingers around the web to keep himself from falling off. The way that Peter gracefully (at the very least, he hasn’t hit anything) traveled through the air always reminded him of flying. It felt like absolute freedom, a place where Peter could just be there with these thoughts.
At least, that’s how Peter used to feel.
Now, when Peter traveled through the air, Peter was always checking the streets around him, listening sharply to make sure that he wouldn’t miss anything. Peter even felt vulnerable at times as he flew through the air. Like the time he was trying to get back to the party and then Adrian Toomes got hold of him. Like when Peter was dropped into the lake and nearly drowned. That night —
“Peter, you’re about to miss 8th street,” Karen said.
Peter jerked. Sure enough, he was just about to soar past 8th and go straight to 9th. Peter let go of the web right before he could soar any further. He flipped onto the ground, hitting the landing perfectly. Peter landed in the alleyway. Silently. His heart was starting to race the way it always did before he would prepare to get himself involved in a fight. While Peter would get excited to put the suit on in his bedroom, Peter would start to feel terrified when he was ready to face an actual threat.
“O—okay, okay, man, let’s just play it cool,” someone said. It was a guy judging by how deep the voice was, but Peter could tell this guy was terrified. His voice was shaking and he was stuttering.
Peter went to go stand beside a dumpster to quickly assess the situation.
“Give me the money and you won’t get shot,” another person growled. A mugging. Peter has handled plenty of this. There was almost always a weapon involved. Sometimes a knife but more often it was a gun. Before Peter attacked the perp, he went through what he was planning on doing: surprise the perp, disarm him, web him up. Simple. Routine.
The victim, a guy probably no older than twenty-five, shoved his hand into the depths of his pockets and started fumbling with his wallet. “H—here.”
Peter leapt forward before the perp can take the wallet. He got a running start and kicked the gun out of the mugger’s hand. The mugger, pretty small compared to the other perps Peter had faced, was taken by surprise. The gun flew across the alleyway, hitting one of the dumpsters with a thud. “Hate to interrupt,” Peter said. He grabbed hold of the mugger and threw the guy forward. “Grenade web!” Peter didn’t have to wait for more than half a second. The sticky matter shot out from Peter’s suit, latching the mugger to the side of the suit. The mugger struggled against the web that was keeping him stuck to the wall. “Dude, I wouldn’t try fighting. You won’t be able to get free from that.” Peter looked over at the victim. “The cops are already on their way. You should just stay put — but maybe not too close to that guy.”
“Uh…” the victim stammered.
“What’s your name?” Peter asked.
“Uh, Zach,” the guy said. “Thanks Spider-Man.”
“You know, you should really stop shortcuts through alleyways,” Peter warned. “Just go wait by the sidewalk. The cops should be here pretty soon.”
“How — how do I thank you?” Zach asked.
Peter shrugged. He was already starting to walk away. “No need. Stay safe, buddy.” Peter flung a web to the rooftop of the nearest building, gave this Zach one more wave and then propelled himself to the rooftop. Peter landed on the roof swiftly. “That went well, didn’t it Karen?”
“Yes. Good job, Mr. Parker,” Karen contemplated.
Peter glanced over the side of the rooftop to watch the victim, Zach, standing a few yards away under a streetlamp on the phone. “Do you think he’s calling his parents? Or a girlfriend?”
“I’m not sure. I could activate enhanced reconnaissance mode if you would like.”
Peter shook his head. “No, no. I don’t want to intrude on his conversation.”
“Do you wish you had a girlfriend?” Karen asked.
Peter went to sit down on the ledge of the rooftop. He took a couple deep breaths while he waited for his heartrate to even out. “I don’t know,” Peter said. “I mean, I’m only a sophomore in high school. It’s not like relationships in high school mean a lot.”
“Do you miss Liz?” Karen asked.
“I knew it was a mistake to tell you about Liz,” Peter muttered. “I just feel bad that she’s in Oregon without her dad, who I know loved her, despite everything that he did. I think it’s just kind of—”
The conversation ended with the sound of tires squealing against the road. Horns blasted in the distance and Peter could faintly hear the echoing sounds of what he thought were gunshots going off. Peter jumped up from the ledge of the rooftop, head tingling. Another effect of the spider-senses that he has been slowly starting to develop over the past couple of months. The spider-senses really started to develop after May found out that Peter was Spider-Man. The first time these tingling sensations went off, it felt like electricity was shooting up the back of Peter’s spine to the bottom of his head. Scared the living hell out of Peter the first time it happened. The sensation reminded him of the weapons Adrian Toomes used on Peter while they were fighting. Peter was walking to Midtown when he thought he was about to have to fight some bad guy, only it turned out to be Flash and his car speeding too close to Peter. The last couple of months Peter has managed to hone the spider-senses in so that it goes off when there’s a more legitimate threat.
Like now.
“What’s happening, Karen?” Peter said.
“It’s off Hawthorne Avenue,” Karen said. “Reported armed robbery turned into a car chase. One hostage: the bank manager. The criminals are about fifty seconds away from this road.”
“Are the police in pursuit?”
“Yes. Two squad cars are following the bank robbers, but they’re backing off. The hostage situation is making this much more difficult,” Karen said.
Peter sighed. “Figured.”
He waited for a long second as he saw a black SUV go speeding down the road, just a couple seconds away from where Peter is perched on the rooftop. The sirens are starting to fade in the background; red and blue flashing lights are growing more and more distant the farther the SUV car moves. Peter gave himself one moment to draw in a huge breath of air before taking a running start off the ledge. He free fell until he hit the top of the SUV with the car. Shocked, the driver swerved a little bit. The bad guy in the passenger seat stuck his head out of the window and looked around for a couple of seconds. Peter stayed low to the rooftop.
“Activate enhanced reconnaissance mode,” Peter whispered.
“On it, Peter,” Karen said.
There was a long pause, a little bit of static and then— “turn to get to the exit?” one of the bad guys said in a growling, angry voice.
“Coming up. Look, it’s not my fault we had to take a detour. The cops—”
“I don’t want to hear it! You screwed up! You’re lucky that Spider-Man isn’t here,” the first said. Peter laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “What the hell was that?” the same guy said. “It sounded like someone was laughing.”
Whoops, Peter thought to himself. He hooked a web onto one of the crossbars and flung himself into the back window. His feet broke the window violently. It shattered with a deafening CRACK! The back seats were put down so Peter rolled across the car and hit the other door. Glass went flying, showering the perp in the passenger seat. The hostage, a guy in his late fifties cowering in corner of the SUV, shrieked in terror while the two criminals yelled out in shock. The guy sitting in the passenger seat yelled out, scrambling for the gun that Peter could see was resting in the cup holder. Meanwhile, the driver panicked, swerving and nearly clipping one of the street signs at the intersection. As the car wailed at the wild driving, Peter was almost thrown to the other side of the car.
“What the hell?!” the driver yelled.
“So, heard you’re knocking off some local banks!” Peter said. He turned to look at the perp reaching for the gun. “No, no. I’ll take that.” Peter flung one string of web, which secured itself around the gun before disarming the assailant. The guy let out a gurgled grunt as Peter’s unchecked strength accidentally made the guy nearly flip out of his seat. Peter seized the opportunity to kick the guy in the passenger seat hard enough to nearly knock him unconscious. Only, Peter kicked the perp a little bit harder than expected. He crashed into the side of the passenger door, which shook against the blow. The door crunched and the man nearly flew outside.
“Shit!” Peter yelled.
Without thinking, Peter lunged forward, nearly flying out of the car himself. Peter caught the perp, who’s hair on the top of his head was just barely grazing the road that was zooming past them. “You’re very lucky you didn’t become—”
Peter stopped dead in his sentence. The thing about the spider-senses, Peter figured out, was that the more imminent the threat, the more the spider-senses make his body freak out. Beside the near burning sensation from the electric shock at the back of his skull, his muscles move practically involuntarily. Peter throws himself against the dashboard just as the sound of a gun goes off. Only, Peter wasn’t fast enough… Searing pain, the kind that made Peter feel like he was going to pass out, erupts in his side. Using one arm, Peter threw the perp in the passenger seat out of the car and toward the side of a building they were passing; before the perp could land with a thud, Peter webbed him up.
“What the—” Peter managed. He turned to assess the damage: the side of his chest was gushing blood. A lot of blood. Enough to make Peter’s head spin just looking at how blood-soaked his suit was becoming. “Oh god, oh—” Peter turned to look at the driver, who was still holding the gun with a shaky hand. The driver shifted only barely before Peter got a web onto the driver’s shoulders and thrust his face into the wheel, rendering him unconscious.
“Peter, your vitals seem to be weakening. Would you like for me to call the local hospital?!”
“No — no!” Peter yelled. He lunged for the wheel to stop the car from hitting a stop sign. Peter has been practicing driving with Aunt May since homecoming so he knows the basics of operating a vehicle. Peter hit the brakes and threw the car in park. The pain in his side was overbearing, excruciating, almost as bad as when the building was on top of him… Peter can feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, the dizziness threatening to pull him under.
Peter turned to the hostage still curled up in the back of the car. “Call — call the police…” Peter managed. “They shouldn’t be too far from here.”
“Do you need to get medical attention? Should I call for paramedics?” the hostage managed.
Peter shook his head. “I’ll — I’ll be okay. I’ve gotta—”
“Peter, perhaps that man is correct. Mr. Stark is on speed dial,” Karen suggested.
The sheer thought of calling Tony right now made Peter’s heart pound just as much as his head was pounding right now. “No!” Peter exclaimed. “It’s nothing…” Peter kicked the door to the car wide open and he dropped out of the vehicle, accidentally rolling over the driver. As his feet hit the ground, Peter blinks out tears. “Get me home, Karen.”
Though Karen was just an AI and was supposed to do whatever Peter requested without a hitch, she only reluctantly gave Peter the fastest and most discrete way of getting back to his apartment. The entire way there she kept pressuring Peter to go to the hospital or call Tony or at the very least tell May. None of those ideas sounded enticing to Peter. Going to the hospital would mean potentially comprising Peter’s identity. Peter didn’t want to worry Tony, especially if this just happened to be a little graze. And if Peter told May? He didn’t even want to think about how she was going to react if she found out what was happening.
“I’ll see how bad it is first,” Peter promised Karen.
He was right around the corner of his apartment. There were even less people than when he left but that still didn’t mean he could just waltz through the front door of his complex. Peter forced his way up the side of the apartment building to where his bedroom window was. He only used one hand to maneuver himself up the wall, using the other to clutch his bloody side. Peter always left his window open a crack to make it easier to get into his room at a night. That made it a hundred times easier right now.
“Ah, god,” Peter groaned.
He staggered into his bedroom, taking care to not land on the floor of his bedroom too loudly; the last thing he wanted to do was to wake up May. Peter kept his hand pressed against his left side. One of Peter’s old t-shirts was lying on his desk chair. Peter snagged the shirt off the chair, pressed it against the wound and groaned. He pulled the door open a smudge and looked down the hallway. May’s door was closed, but he could still see the light on, which means that Peter would have to be extra quiet. He looked around his bedroom, grabbed hold of a spare change of clothes and, instead of going to bathroom first, went to the kitchen. Extra cautious not to get blood anywhere on the carpet in the living room, Peter found May’s little sewing kit in one of the drawers of the cabinet by the TV. With his supplies, Peter went to the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
First thing was to get the suit off and get a good look at what he’s dealing with. Peter hit the button in the center of his suit and the spandex material slackened against Peter’s body. Carefully, he took the mask off first, and Peter cringed just at the sight of his face. There was almost no color left in his tear-stained face. Peter pushed his bloody fingers through the brown mess of hair on top of his head before turning to yank the suit off of him. As it falls, Peter immediately grabbed for the shirt he was using as a towel and pressed it against his wound again. A second passed before Peter got the courage to look at the wound again.
Peter was by no means a doctor so his self-diagnosis was probably very wrong. Still, a part of him knew that this was just a flesh-wound. It was a terrible looking mess of blood on the side of his stomach but there was no place where the bullet could have entered. The fact that Peter thought it was just a graze gave him a little bit of self-assurance. Sewing this up properly coupled with Peter’s enhanced healing abilities could potentially mean that this would be healed in a couple of days — without serious medical attention and without the need to tell May or Tony. Peter wasn’t completely clueless when it came to sewing things up. After all, Peter did make his original Spider-Man suit. But this was sewing skin. His own skin.
“Okay, okay, Parker. You can do this,” he whispered, though he felt a little corny giving himself a pep talk. Peter got an old towel from a bathroom closet and soaked it with water to clean the wound. It stung like a bitch when he tried to clean himself up but he kept going. Dabbed at the wound a couple of times before throwing the towel to the ground, sterilized the utensils he was using and then threaded the needle. Peter glared down at the needle before, with absolutely no hesitation, started stitching himself up. Each time Peter would thread the needle through his side, he thought he was going to pass out. It was agonizing work — and sloppy, too. Still, it got the job done and effectively stopped the bleeding. When it was finished, his face was sweaty. He felt dehydrated and sick.
For a second, Peter thought about taking a shower, only he didn’t think that would have been a great idea after what he just did. Peter dug through the medicine cabinet before he found some ibuprofen. He popped a couple in his mouth and then went to clean up. He changed into the clean clothes he got before gathering up all the blood-stained clothes and towels and went to do a load of laundry. Peter poured an excessive amount of detergent, cranked the setting up to what it needed to be in order to get blood stains out before nearly collapsing in his bed. Given how thoroughly drained Peter felt, he was asleep in a matter of seconds.
Peter was jolted awake by the sound of pounding on his doorway. “Peter! Peter!” He recognized the voice to be May, of course. She sounded worried and angry all at the same time. It wasn’t like how May was feeling wasn’t unjustified, however, because when Peter checked the clock, he realized he overslept. He was well on his way to missing all of first period. Groaning, Peter lifted his shirt up a little to examine the stitching. It wasn’t bad work, especially now that he could see it in natural light. It was uneven work, clearly not in a straight line but the stitches didn’t tear and that was what was important. “The one morning I decide not to wake you up and you’re late!”
Peter groaned. “I’m coming…” he managed. He tried rolling out of bed, only it felt like every muscle was screaming as he tried to move. “Shit.” Peter gathered enough strength to force himself out of bed. “I’m sorry. Last night was kind of crazy,” he said as he opened the door.
May looked like she was about to scream until she caught a good look and whiff — Peter really regretted not trying to take a shower last night — of her nephew. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks May,” Peter said.
“How late were you out last night?” she asked.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Last night was just a little more exciting than most other nights. I came back and crashed.”
May narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Go take a shower. I’ll drive you to class. But hurry!”
Peter involuntarily let out a sigh of relief as he walked back into his bedroom and gathered up his stuff. Some comfortable pants and a baggy sweatshirt just so that Peter wouldn’t feel like he was going suffocate his chest. Peter had to get stitches after what happened with Adrian Toomes, so he knew that his enhanced healing abilities meant it would be safe for him to shower just eight hours after getting stitches. He hurried to the bathroom, trying hard not to make eye contact with May, who was still watching him as he walked out of his room. Once inside, Peter locked the door. He only briefly glanced at the mirror as he pulled his clothes off to go into the shower. Nearly black bruises were painted across his chest. Purple bags were under his eyes, even though he got more sleep last night than he has had in a few weeks. Sighing, Peter stepped into the tepid shower. He only used his arm on the good side of his body to scrub out the sweat and blood caked in his hair to keep himself from tearing the stitches.
The shower felt great given how weak his muscles felt and he almost tempted just to stay under the hot spray. Only, he knew he had to get to class. Peter dried off and got dressed quickly before hurrying to the kitchen where May greeted him with a plate of eggs and pancakes. He practically swallowed his food whole.
“Chew your food like a normal kid, Peter,” May said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t wanna be late,” Peter said in between gulping his glass of water.
“Too late,” she said.
“Don’t want to be any later than I already am,” Peter corrected.
When he was finished with breakfast, he went back to his room where he shoved his things into his backpack in a rush, nearly knocking over his lamp. Before leaving his room, he paused. A headache was starting to set in, a painful one in his temples. Peter searched for the bottle of aspirin he always kept in his room and swallowed a couple.
“You’re fine, Parker,” he told himself before going to meet May in the kitchen. He kept repeating that to himself the entire time he was in the car on the way to school. The entire time he walked through the empty hallways as he went to his second period class.
Peter tried to act nonchalant as he snuck into class, only his teacher stopped his lecture to turn to glare at Peter. “Mr. Parker, so glad you could join us. Late. Don’t worry. You can make up for it with detention today during lunch.”
“Sorry,” Peter muttered as he made his way to his desk. Peter rested his hands on his forehead.
Ned, who sat right next to Peter leaned over and whispered, “Dude, you alright?”
Peter didn’t answer at first. What Peter really wanted to do right now was to go to bed, sleep all day, maybe watch some cartoons. He didn’t want to be at school right now. He didn’t want to go to Decathlon practice that he knew was tonight. And he certainly didn’t want to get dressed as Spider-Man after just getting shot last night.
Only, Peter knew he couldn’t not do any of his responsibilities.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” Peter said, even though he isn’t. Even though his feels like his insides were being ripped to pieces. Even though his head was ringing from a god-awful migraine. Even though Peter was too exhausted to even give a whole-hearted smile.
But he pretended he was okay, put on a fake smile to make sure that no one had any idea just how much pain he really was in.
Because he has to.