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Peter knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. The apartment was quiet— too quiet. He peeled back the blanket and slipped out of bed, gingerly tiptoeing to the door and opening it a crack to peer out. Nothing in the hallway. He slunk to the living room and jumped around the corner to surprise any unwelcome guest, but again, nothing was there.
He glanced at the clock and frowned. Seven-thirty? May should be drinking her coffee by now. It was Saturday, and though that meant no school for him, May always insisted that getting up early at least once during the weekend was a must.
She was already an hour late.
He crept to her door and paused outside, hesitating with his fingers around the doorknob. Something was wrong, and after weighing his options, he decided to risk the wrath of May and pushed the door open.
The form on the bed moved slightly. "Peter?"
It was his aunt…but the voice sounded more like a frog's. "Um…May? Are you all right?" He bit his lip, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
Her head popped up over the mound of blankets. "Hey, sweetheart. Yeah, I'm okay, I just—" she paused to let out a deafening sneeze "—came down with some kind of a cold."
"You sound like a chain smoker." He took a step further into the room. "Can I…can I get you anything? Are you hungry?"
She gave him a watery-eyed smile and motioned to the empty glass on her nightstand. "Some more water would be nice."
He picked up the cup and turned to the door. "Sure. Anything else?"
"Some aspirin, if we have any." She settled back against her pillow and closed her eyes.
After filling the glass at the sink, Peter rummaged through the medicine cabinet for aspirin, but to no avail. He took May's water back into her bedroom, and when he saw that her shoulder rose and fell evenly in slumber, set it back on the nightstand and scrawled a note on the pad of paper she always kept nearby. 'Going to the store for some aspirin. Be back soon!' With any luck, he'd be back before she woke up.
He ran to his room, shoved a wad of cash into the pocket of his cargo pants, and walked out the front door, locking it behind him. May would be completely oblivious if an intruder discovered an unlocked door, and it would be bad PR if word got around that Spider-Man's house got burgled.
Except that no one knew that he was Spider-Man.
The store was only two blocks away, so he opted to walk. He momentarily entertained the idea of swinging down the street, but quickly discarded it when he realized with a frustrated huff that he'd left his suit at home. What's the point in being a superhero when you can't use it for your own convenience every once in a while?
The store had just come into sight up ahead when an alarm blared and two thugs ran out the door, bulging duffel bags stuffed under their arms. The store's clerk ran out after them, pausing just outside the door. "Thieves!" He shouted. "Someone catch them!"
Peter bit back the "catch them yourself" retort that rose to his lips and instead raced after the robbers. He caught up with them without much difficulty, but without his suit, was hesitant to use his web shooters. He'd have to use the traditional methods.
He winced with a glance at his pants. These were my favorite, too. He sighed in resignation and put on an extra burst of speed. When he was directly behind the thieves, he took a flying leap and caught them each with an arm, taking them to the ground.
When they both rounded on him, he groaned in frustration. Webs always make it so much easier. He dodged a fist, sent an uppercut into the man's stomach, and placed a well-aimed kick to the chest of the other.
It didn't take long before he had them both rolling on the ground, nursing their injuries, but a glance at his clothes had him scowling. "Aw, man, look what you did," he complained to the thugs. "I just bought this outfit."
One of the men scoffed around a swollen, bloody nose. "Cry me a river."
Peter picked up one of their bags and rummaged around inside it. "Oh, duct tape. Thanks, man, you're more prepared than I am." Once he'd used up half the roll on the two men's limbs and mouths, he picked up the bags and turned back in the direction of the store. "I'll just…uh…return these. Like a good…civilian." He gave them a placating smile. "Don't worry, I'll tell the police you're probably hungry from all that fighting. Maybe they'll bring you toothpicks and water…or something."
Peter returned to the store and set the bags on the counter. "The police might want these for evidence, so…uh…" his voice trailed off.
The clerk's eyes widened. "You fought those guys singlehandedly? How did you manage it?"
"Uh…" Peter blinked. "I-I just tried to imagine what Spider-Man would do, you know, an-and I…guess it worked."
"Unbelievable." The clerk shook his head in amazement. "I don't think Spider-Man himself could've done it better."
Peter shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah, well, uh, could you tell me where I could find a bottle of aspirin?"
After the police arrived, Peter explained what had happened and told them where he'd left the robbers, then headed home.
He was outside the apartment building when a familiar voice behind him made him wince.
"Hey, kid, care for a rematch?"
You have got to be kidding me. Peter scrubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. Don't these guys ever give up? He slowly turned around and rolled his eyes at the switchblade in the thug's hand. "How did you get loose, man?"
"Do you see the knife? I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." The thief gave Peter an expression that clearly read duh, you idiot.
Peter grunted, deciding not to comment. "Where's your friend?"
"Eh, he had another can of worms to dig, so to speak."
Peter frowned. "That doesn't—"
"It's just me, all right?" The man interrupted. He tossed the knife from hand to hand. "And I'm prepared this time."
Peter rolled his eyes and spread his hands. "Well, my clothes are already ruined, so why not?"
The man advanced with a sharp jab of the knife at Peter's midsection, which he easily dodged. "C'mon, man, is that the best you can do?" Peter grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed until he dropped the knife, then gripped the man's hair and pulled his face down until he could come up to meet it with his knee.
The man screamed, covering his face with his hands. "You just broke my nose again!"
Peter shrugged. "Sorry, but you kinda asked for it."
The thug turned and staggered down an alley, and Peter entered the building. He was just putting the key in the lock when a door opened behind him. He whirled, half expecting another thug to come out of the woodwork, but sighed in relief when he saw that it was just their neighbor across the hall. "Hey, Mrs. K."
The gray-haired woman smiled, wrinkles around her eyes deepening. "Hello there, dear." She held out a small pot and motioned for Peter to take it. "I could hear your poor aunt coughing even from inside my own apartment, so I thought she might like some soup."
Peter's eyes widened, and he accepted the gift with stammered thanks. "This is so sweet of you, Mrs. K!"
"You just make sure that you get that to your aunt before it gets cold." She patted his arm and turned to re enter her apartment, then paused. "Oh, and dear, next time someone attacks you outside the door, step back and give me a chance to drop a flower pot on him, hm? I'm a bit out of practice." She winked and disappeared inside.
Peter remained in the hallway for a full minute, frowning in confusion.
Apparently I'm not the only one in this building with secrets.