Chapter Text
The evening sky above New York City is dark. The air is thick with moisture, it swarms with discordant black clouds, and is comprised of inky blue light. Rain droplets streak from the sky like small translucent swords, bombarding the colourful umbrellas and tarmac roads below. Once each droplet hits a solid target it explodes before relaxing and mollifying into a fluid form. This water merges with the other droplets to create rivulets of dirty roily puddles that slide along the pavement, off the curb and fall into the steel gated drains. Streetlamps on the sidewalk offer orbs of dim hazy orange light that reflect off the puddles. The wind whips and whistles. Far in the distance there is a deep rumble. Then a brilliant flash of lightning cuts through the air and in its transitory presence everything is lit a blinding white. Briefly, before it is gone, and once again all is gloomy.
It is Friday. For the common denizen this meant rejoicing to welcome a weekend where they would relax and not have to work. Perhaps they would spend time with their family. For the younger denizens this time meant they would celebrate by dancing and drinking the night away. It was a time where everyone could let go of their courteous professional work image and become as fluid as the rain droplets had after striking the floor. But far, far above the city, there was one man to whom Friday was in fact the busiest and most unrelaxing of days. It was the day that he had to fix the messes that the others made by letting themselves go.
Spider-man was stuck to the wall of a church. He was begrudging and tired. The rain drenched his suit and made it stick to his skin, he felt cold and wet and uncomfortable. The sensible thing to do would be to seek shelter under one of the canopies on the church, but Peter isn’t sensible, he never was. If Peter was sensible he would not be out here wearing a thin layer of red and blue spandex, jumping from buildings and climbing up walls. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to stare at the city lights and let the sound and the feel of the rain occupy him forever. He wants to feel numb, just to watch the lives of others, not to worry about anything, to be detached. To not have responsibility for all those lives walking down below.
But Peter knows he can’t. They need him. They need Spider-man.
Why him though, why did he have these powers. Why was he so addicted to it all? He’d ruined so many of his relationships because of his alter ego. Mary Jane particularly, she always put their relationship in jeopardy because she was afraid Peter would get hurt or that he’d lose it and hurt others, she wanted Peter not Spider-man. Peter however could not give the webslinger up. And true to her word Mary Jane dumped his ass, he deserved it. She could do so much better, she could get someone who was around for her and not Peter who appeared at 3am to say goodnight, slept next to her, then left at 6am and smacked crooks in the face to feel better. He couldn’t give up the thrill, the risk, the adventure, and the duty. Peter Parker was an antisocial nerd, Spider-man was confident and witty. Peter Parker’s life was dull, Spider-man’s was not.
He was scrawny black silhouette with glowing white eyes. Long spindly fingers stuck and slipped off the damp stone walls as he carefully made his way down the spire. ‘I want to sleep, and I want to eat. I’m so sick of sitting and waiting for something bad to happen.’ He thought. His feet slapped against the concrete as he stepped off the wall. Funnily enough the street was almost deserted. And against the weighty gloom he appeared as nothing more than the cheap red haze of his suit.
His thin boots splashed through puddles as he walked down the street. “Wonder if that hot dog place is still open. One of those would really cheer me up right about now.”
Peter sat on a wooden picnic table beside a garish hotdog van. He devoured a greasy hot-dog in the pouring rain, his mask half rolled up and the poking strands of his soaking hair clinging around his jaw. Spider-man frequented this hot-dog van, so the vendor, Mike, was unbothered by the presence of the super hero. Mike was a large burly man, he had small eyes and long dark hair, despite his size his features were soft. He wore a checked apron that matched the theme of the yellow and red logo on the van. The van let out a harsh white light, and it was the only illumination in the area, everything else was dark. Business was slow today, so Mike allowed himself to lean on the plastic counter and start a distanced conversation with the webslinger.
“So, how is life mister Spider?” He conversed in a thick southern accent.
“Great now that I’m eating this. How’s my favourite supplier doing, Mike?” The light from the van reflected off Peter’s lenses as he smiled brightly.
“Yeh, I’m good lad. You sure you’re not cold out in that rain? I’ll let you sit in the van if you want.”
“I’m sure.”
“Alright. Imma not gonna impede on your… choices.”
Peter finished the last of his hot-dog greedily, stuffing the final piece into his maw. He vigorously wiped the ketchup off his face and chin with a soggy tissue and leaned back with a satisfied exhale. That was good, really good. It sure wasn’t healthy yet Peter couldn’t care less. He was 28, but Aunt May still insisted he was a growing boy. He liked to believe her. He also burned more carbs daily then was humanly possible, that there was a good excuse. And anyway, it was a rare occasion that he got to enjoy the luxuries of street food because he was protective of the little money that he had. He was allowed to enjoy it.
Mike coughed anxiously to get his attention. “Hey uh, Spider-man, you wouldn’t happen to know that I got a weird customer last week. He said he knew you. Said it was important.”
“Huh. Strange, but I guess everyone kind of knows me. I am your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man after all. He didn’t hurt you, did he? What did he look like? Listen Mike, if any customers are bothering you then you know you can tell me. I’ll deal with them.”
“He was askin’ about you. Told me to tell him where you were. I said, I don’t know, I’m just a hot dog vendor, obviously. How am I supposed to know? That wasn’t good enough for him, so he got all angry and started to threaten me with his fingers. I spat at him because he was a rude bastard, and he pulled out some big swords. That scared all the customers away, so I told him to fuck off. Then he told me to ‘fuck on’ and said he’d come back again on Tuesday and was expecting a free hot dog with all toppings for compensations. He said I better tell him where you were by that time otherwise he’d make my fingers into hotdogs. He was a goddamn psychopath I’m telling ya. I don’t want him to come back. But I don’t wanna call the police because that’s bad for business.”
Peter sighed. “He wasn’t wearing red and black by any chance, was he?”
“He was. Guessing you do know him then.”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Don’t worry Mike I’ll deal with him. Tuesday. I’ll be here.”
“You’re a good man. Thank you.”
“Come-on Mike. I’m not doing it for free! I expect compensation, you know. Free food.”
“I---”
“Kidding. I wouldn’t do that. If I did that then I would have to start calling this a job and not a hobby. And besides, that hotdog would taste like pure guilt. I couldn’t eat that.” Peter chuckled, getting up and setting off out into the storm to get back to work.