Chapter Text
“Peter! It is so good to hear your voice, I finally caught you. You never call!”
“Aw, that's not true. I called last- I called you like a week ago, I think.”
“You mean when I called you on your birthday?”
“Oh.”
“Last month?”
“Shi- crap. I'm sorry. It's just- it's been ridiculous out here. Super busy. You know how it is.”
“I bet they're working you to death out there, huh? God, I'm so, so proud of you-”
“May, c'mon-”
“ I am ! I alway knew you were a smart-ass, but MIT? How are they treating you? What have you been working on?”
“Oh, you know. I’ve always been a magnet for the ladies-”
“How could I forget?”
“-And I'm going to have to stop accepting friend requests or else I might not even have time for our weekly calls-”
“Monthly, apparently.”
“... yeah.”
“... That bad, huh? You know, if you ever want to escape the MIT scene, your room will always be here waiting for you.”
“Please. You’d kill me if I messed this up or tried to leave now-”
“I would not!”
“It's MIT, May. You don't just leave MIT.”
“...”
“Uh, you there?”
“I miss you.”
“... Yeah. I miss you, too.”
“I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah- yup. I know. Look, I've gotta go, I'll try to call you tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“Already? We just got started, there's so much you have to tell me.”
“I mean- not really. Plus, winter break is in a couple of months, just about, right? Maybe I can go see your or- or something.”
“Jesus, Peter.”
“What?”
“What's going on?”
“ What ?”
“ Are you ok, please, you-”
“May.”
“Let me-”
“I really have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Peter, wait, I-”
*****************
That wasn't very nice.
Peter let his arm fall to his side, phone sliding out of his hand and onto cold concrete. Eyes closing, he let himself take a moment to breathe. Underneath red spandex, his side ached, pulsing with heat to the rhythm of his heart. His blossoming headache thundered behind his temples, and he found himself wishing for the blessed void of unconsciousness.
The alley around him was wet and cold, smelling of garbage and vomit and steaming garbage and cold garbage and rotting garbage and a little bit of axe body spray. He was slumped against the wall of what might've been a pizzeria or a bakery, sitting in a puddle of what he hoped was water.
An unconscious, bleeding man was webbed to the wall right across from him, almost mirroring his position against the wall.
He groaned dramatically as he pulled himself to his feet, snatching up his phone and putting it into one of the hidden pockets of his suit. He shook out his legs, right then left, before stepping up to the man and poked him with his foot, twice for good measure. The man's head rolled, eyelids fluttering. Peter crouched in front of him, angling his head to look into his eyes as he woke.
“Hey ugly.” He greeted, and it took a moment for the guy to meet his eyes, jerking back in recognition. He tried to shout, the webbing over his mouth muffling his words into an unintelligible mess.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He muttered, rubbing the sore spot at the base of his neck. “I don't really want to waste any more of your time, and I'm very sure you don't wanna waste mine, right?”
More outraged shouts.
“Uh huh. Listen up, buddy. Cops have been called, you're going away, blah blah blah, I’d lecture you on how trying to mug people isn't model citizen behavior but- god I'm just so, so tired.”
He stood and gave him one more nudge with the toe of his boot, making sure he was still making eye contact as he loomed over him.
“Long story short, if I ever catch you pulling something like this again, you'll only wish I’d’ve called the police. Comprende ?”
A couple of hesitant, frightened nods.
“Good! Good. ow.” He exclaimed, high pitched with faux-cheer. He winced as he straightened, a shot of pain blossoming from his side. He'd gotten distracted for half a second while fighting this guy and paid for it with a crowbar to the ribs, As if he weren't sore enough to begin with.
Don’t be like that, Pete.
Peter huffed, a grimace crossing his masked face before absentmindedly wiping the tip of his nose with the side of his hand. A thoughtless gesture.
“Bug off,” He grumbled, taking a few steps away from the bad guy, towards the mouth of the alley.
I'm just worried about you. It's not like you to be so… aggressive.
“People change. This is getting repetitive.” He withheld a sigh at the twinge of pain in his side.
The man behind him made a confused grunt of a noise
Peter…
“Fuck,” He hissed. “Can we- can we not do this right now? I'm busy.”
The mugger guy looked up at him and made a noise, and Peter whirled around to face him. He made an urgent, desperate sound as Spider-Man marched up to him, but let out a relieved sigh as he kept on going, straight past and out of his range of sight, deeper into the alleyway.
Peter climbed up the wall swiftly, rushing across the roof and hopping from one short building to another before collapsing behind an air-conditioning unit in a mess of uncoordinated limbs.
“Ow.”
What are you doing, silly?
“Waiting.”
What for?
“ For you to go away. I need to focus and you're not helping .”
You know I can't do that.
He groaned, letting his head fall back onto cold gravel.
I'm not that much of a bother, am I?
“I mean- kind- ugh.” He sat back up, using the metal box as leverage. “No. I don't mind.”
He minded a little bit.
A couple of shouts pierced through the busy city bustle, catching his attention. It didn't sound like the fun type of shouting, either, he noted as he rose to his feet.
Time to go to work, Pete?
“Please stop calling me that.”
Geez. Alrighty, Spider-Man . Identity crisis, much?
“It has nothing to do with an identity crisis ,” He said, grunting as he leapt off the roof and shot out a web. “I'm working.”
He swung past wailing sirens and took a hard right, the sun setting over the horizon ahead.
May called you Peter just now and it didn't bother you.
“That's different.” He hissed, swinging up and over the edge of a nightclub, skidding to a stop on the roof. He could feel the vibration of the music under his feet, so loud the walls couldn't contain it.
The sounds of a scuffle lead him to peak over the edge cautiously. Two drunken businessmen having a disagreement wasn't that uncommon, he supposed. They were going to ruin their suits, though. Suits were expensive.
He dropped down a few feet from them, landing silently on the pavement.
“Evenin’ fellas. We got a problem here?” He said, hands on his hips.
The two men whirled around to face him, the one on the left almost overshooting and falling over, while the other didn't seem too bothered by the new presence of the masked vigilante.
“Hell yeah, we do.” He growled, a southern lilt to his words. “This guys gotta be taught some fucking manners.” He glared in the shorter man's direction, looking ready to pounce.
“Can it, fruitcake. Tha’s Spider-Man,” The guy slurred. He tried to take a step back but the first man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in. Anger was written in every tense line of his form.
“You fucking bigot- this is between me n’ you, not him.” Peter watched with dull amusement for a moment before stepping forward, placing a hand on the big guys arm.
“Bigots, huh?” He said, shaking his head at the other guy.
“Saw me with my partner and decided to get all up in our business, man. Can’t have shit around here, I swear.” He said.
Peter nodded solemnly.
“Maybe if you kept your fag shit private we wouldn’t be in this fuckin-“
“ Hey !” Peter interrupted, hackles rising. “Watch your mouth, asshat.” He replaced the other guys hold on his shirt, lifting him off the ground and hesitating for a moment before turning back to the southern, who was watching intensely.
“Shit man,” He sighed as the guy struggled in his grip. “I don’t even know what to do here. Its not exactly illegal to be fucking stupid, unfortunately.”
A disappointed nod and a frown.
“How about this?” He said, then dropped the man roughly to the ground, shoving him against the wall threateningly.
He leaned in, masked mouth brushing against the man's ear.
“God this is getting real old. I just threatened someone like five minutes ago.” He muttered before lowering his voice. The man flinched but made no move to run.
“If I ever see you bothering this nice gentleman or anyone else around town. If I hear about it. If I even think you’re thinking about it, I will find you, I will web out to the ceiling, and I will feed you to my spider children.”
He pulled back, satisfied at the terror in his eyes, his cowering form pressing into the chilling bricks at his back. Peter turned.
“You tell me if he bothers y’all again, ok?” He said, and the taller man nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face.
“And before I go,” Peter said, taking a step back towards the wall. “I think I’m legally required to tell you that beating people up in dark alleyways isn’t very nice. Or something. I wouldn’t know.” He rubbed at his face, willing away the growing headache.
“Yeah,” The guy said just as another man emerged from the establishment, hesitantly keeping his distance. He was dressed in a black button down and dress pants. Really shiny shoes.
God his head hurt.
“You ok, Spidey?”
“Huh?” He answered stupidly, and the new man walked forward, lying a hand on the southern guys shoulder. This must be the partner, then.
At some point during this interaction, the guy he had threatened must have slipped out of the alley and to safety, the spot where he left him was empty.
You’re losing your touch, Pete.
“You seem-“
“Shut up.” He hissed. The man jumped.
“Oh- not you dude, it's- fuck.” He took the matching expressions of growing discomfort on their faces as his sign to go, muttering something intelligible, turning and launching himself up the wall, tripping over the ledge and landing flat on his face at the roof.
“Fucking kill me.” He moaned.
It was getting worse. It was getting so, so much worse. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, right? That was how that’s supposed to go, but no . Time was insistent on fucking him over.
He curled into a fetal position, listening as the two pairs of footsteps left the alley and walked back into the club, the open doors blasting electronic music before muffling it once more as they slammed shut. The noise was not agreeing with him. He should probably do something if he didn't want his head to implode.
He didn’t even think about moving.
If he was being honest with himself, which he wasn’t so he decided it was all fake and inconsequential, he really wanted to call May back. He wanted to apologize and tell her he loved her and feel her warmth and hear her tell him everything was going to be ok-
Except he wanted none of those things. He couldn’t want any of those things. He chose this, He could deal. This right here, lying on a roof in the middle of the night craving the sweet release of death? This was him dealing.
It was normal. He was fine.
It was his choice to save May from having to deal with him anymore, from worrying about him. It was unfair of him to put a burden like that on someone as sweet as May, so he left. He’d forged an acceptance letter and everything it involved, and she had been so proud. ‘I didn’t expect anything less than MIT’, she’d joked with a spark in her eyes. Seeing her smile so wide, so proud… He would protect that spark with his life.
So he kept up the illusion for over a year. He’d moved to a different part of New York, close enough to be able to patrol his usual turf regularly, and far enough away that he’d never run into anyone who knew Peter Parker.
Not that there was much of a chance of that happening, since he spent most of his time as Spider-Man. So much time, in fact, he didn’t bother with trying to get a job to afford an apartment he’d end up using only a few times a week. He had places to hunker down, certain warehouses, rooftops, and benches he’d deemed safe enough.
This rooftop right here? Definitely safe enough.
This was the right thing to do. For everyone he's ever let down, everyone who had died by his hand. He knew he’d never be enough- there was too much red on his ledger for that to even be thinkable - but it was his power. It was his responsibility to keep going, to fight until he couldn't anymore and then some.
This pity party wasn't really helping anyone, though. He should probably get up before he fossilizes right there on the roof.
As if on cue, his ‘impending doom’ radar went off, raising goosebumps. He pushed himself up as it buzzed lowly at the base of his skull. It didn't have the intensity of an imminent attack, but something was definitely going down.
Two sets of footsteps suddenly got louder than the bustle inside and Peter jerked to the side, away from the door for roof access. He jumped over the edge of the building, sticking to the wall with only the top of his head and large bug eyes peeking over, trusting the darkness to keep him concealed.
They grew louder and clearer until they reached the door, slamming it open. A man was shoved out with a yelp, stumbling to his knees. The buzz of Peter’s nerves didn't falter.
A larger man strolled out behind him, twirling a kitchen knife between deft fingers. His hood cast a shadow over his face, making his features unidentifiable. Peter shifted slowly, moving from his position to try and get a better view.
“Please! Please- I swear you’ve got the wrong guy! I- I’ll pay you double whatever he’s giving you now, please!” The kneeling man cowered, eliciting no reaction from knife guy. “I’ll even stay out of your territory, I swear. Please don’t hurt me,”
“You've got it all wrong, friend!” the hooded figure said, voice deep and gravely. He strode forward confidently, ignoring the other man's frightened scramble away. “It's gotten way past that point. See, they don't hire me to threaten people, they hire me to do their dirty work.” The knife stopped, held tightly in his fist.
“I'm the guy they call to make sure you suffer.” He stuffed his free hand into his hoodie pocket, emitting an air of calm despite the situation.
Peter leaned forward, ready to strike, when his ‘impending doom´ radar went wild, his heart jumping into his throat. He launched himself up and over the edge, right out into the open as a bullet hit the wall right where he had been moments before. He whirled to face the hooded figure as the sound of a radio cracked from inside his pocket. Shouts from the alley below followed the gunshot.
“Spider-Man,” He said, adjusting the hold on his knife. “You never do know when to mind your own business, huh?”
Peter shrugged. “I know. My bad. It's just- I get this urge to stick my nose where it doesn't belong when people shoot at me, it's a bad habit.”
The man huffed, kicking his hostage down on his back into the gravel to give Peter his full attention.
“You know,” Peter continued. “This is the second incident I've had here tonight. You guys really need to get your act together.”
“You talk too much.” He growled, drawing a gun from under his hoodie and aiming at Peter.
“Bad habits,” He replied curtly as the first shot fired, missing him by an inch. Peter rolled forward and shot a web at the man's arm, yanking as it made contact. The gun fired into the floor. He sprang forward and flipped, launching himself into the air and off the guys shoulders, taking him with him to the ground.
“Well that was too easy. All bark, no bite, huh?” He said as he webbed the furious man to the ground. He only took a second to make sure he wasn't going anywhere before webbing the door shut as well. He turned to the hostage, who had scrambled into a corner, trembling in fear.
“Hey, buddy.” Peter said, approaching slowly and keeping his hands visible to the poor guy. “He's still got a lot of goons out here and they'll be here real fast.”
The man's eyes flitted from him to the webbed criminal, then back to him. He seemed to be calming down. The buzz at the base of his neck kept on intensely, meaning the others were still near.
“You'll be ok, sir. Let's get you out of-” He tensed before spinning on his heel, dropping to the ground as a shot went right over his head.
“ Shit !” He yelped. A second shot had him rolling to cover by the entrance to the building, shooting a web and pulling the target with him out of range.
“Shit,” He repeated, turning to the man, whose skin had taken on a ghostly pale shade. “What’d you do to these guys?”
No response. Not that he really expected one- the guy looked just about ready to pass out.
Peter tried to peek around the edge to find their shooter, but quickly jerked back as another shot fired and chipped the concrete where his face had been half a second before.
“Ok,” He grunted, rising off his ass into a low crouch.”New plan.”
He pointed a stern finger at the man. “ Do not move . I will know if you do.” He didn't wait for the shaky nod he gave before moving to crawl around the building, hoping to sneak up behind whoever was targeting them. He moved quietly and swiftly among the shadows, hopping to the neighboring building and launching himself up, webshooters ready to hit anything that moved.
You’re not going to get them in time, Peter.
Shit. shitshitshitshit-
Just like me.
The glint of bullet casings littered the gravel, the only sign of life. Back on the original rooftop, people banged on the door, trying to get through. He hopped back over and rolled back to his position beside the man.
He's going to die.
“Hey,” He whispered urgently. “What's your name?”
The man blinked at him incredulously.
“....What?”
You've already killed him, Peter.
“What is your name?”
“Uh- Alejandro?”
Just like the others.
“Cool. great. Look, Al, here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna hang onto me, ok? Do not let go, no matter what. We're getting outta here.”
Don't run.
The banging at the door increased, and he strained to hear any noise around them.
“Alrighy,” He said when he heard none, standing and extending a hand to Alejandro to help him up. It was taken hesitantly. “You ready, Alejandro?”
Maybe now you'll finally pay.
“This is adorable ,” A new voice appeared, and Peter grabbed his arm, throwing Alejandro behind him. His head jerked up, eyes catching the figure atop the door.
He froze.
He stared straight into the barrel of the gun, not two feet from them, aiming right between his eyes.
His sight shot up from the gun to the red and black panda mask of the man behind it.
“ Bam .”