Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hazel knows there are better ways to spend her Monday morning than to be handing out an ass-kicking to four grown men inside a dingy-looking warehouse in a part of town she had never thought to visit. 

Until now, of course. 

As quietly as possible, she locks a wire in place of the miniature smoke bomb she’s about to drop in the middle of the room. Set to go off in ten seconds, she lets it fall out of her hands. As expected, the noise it makes as it hits the ground startles them. But they have little time to investigate before it goes off. 

Under the cover of smoke, she moves closer to them, throwing a punch at the first body she touches. Her vision isn’t too affected, but the man she chose swings his fists as he tries to find her. 

“Is that the best you can do?” She asks, swinging through the air and easily dodging the projectiles being thrown wildly at her. Ranging from tires to empty soda cans. She shoots a web at the closest man’s face, effectively muffling his scream of surprise before kicking him upside the head and knocking him out. 

One down. Three to go. The smoke is beginning to clear.

She bounces on her feet like a boxer, gesturing for the next guy to get closer, “Come on. Try me,” She tells him, cracking her neck from side to side. It’s one of her usual quips, usually works too. They always took the bait. 

This guy’s lankier than the others, but he still runs to her at full speed like he’s confident he could knock her down in one fell swoop. His eyes are full of rage as he gets closer and closer…

Wait for it, she thinks to herself. 

Hazel waits for just the right moment, relying on her enhanced senses to jump up onto the ceiling right before they can collide. He stumbles, thoroughly shocked that he missed. She looks down, hands and feet firmly planted on the ceiling. Her grin is wide, probably noticeable even behind the mask. 

She jumps off, covering him with a cocoon of webs just in time to sense someone else trying to catch her off guard. In a split second, she grabs the fist about to collide with her face, twisting it enough to fling him backward. 

Hazel webs him up too, keeping him stuck to the ground.

She walks up to the cocooned guy, “Sorry about this,” and then punches him. He’s knocked out immediately. 

The sound of shoes scuffing on concrete catches her ear, just in time to watch the last man scurry out of the warehouse through some back doors she hadn’t even noticed. He glances back at her for only a moment. She curses under her breath, sprinting after him. 

The brightness of the outside world is so different from the dark warehouse that it takes her a second to adjust. She squints, ignoring the looks of some passersby. Nothing. It’s like he disappeared into thin air. 

Hazel sticks to the wall, running up to the roof of the closest building to get a better view. But she can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Except—a weapon discarded on the ground in front of her. Some kind of gun. 

She takes careful steps toward it, picking it up. It’s huge, way bigger than your average pistol. More like a rifle. It’s technology that rings a bell in the back of her mind, some memory she can’t quite place. And it’s all she has left from that guy. 

“Damnit,” She grumbles. Her phone buzzes in her waistband. She pulls it out to read texts from PJ and Josie in their group chat. 

PJ: dude where the fuck are u??? u KNOW we have a test in 1st today

Josie: there’s only so many times i can tell mrs. connel that you caught a late bus

Hazel: when duty calls, i have to answer

PJ: ok ew. don’t ever say that again

Josie: i just got chills. not the good ones

Josie: are you ok?

Hazel: yeah. just spidey stuff. i’m omw as we speak

Josie: OH MY GOD PLEASE DO NOT TEXT AND SWING

Hazel laughs at the message, tucking her phone back into her suit and making her way off the building. As much as they could be a lot sometimes, PJ and Josie were the only ones who knew her secret identity. And even that had been an accident. If she could have it her way, no one would know. Because knowing that meant being a target for whatever the villain of the week was. 

She had ten minutes before she would be counted as tardy, so she put every ounce of strength into each swing, even while carrying the mystery weapon. The sun is shining, but the wind in her face makes it bearable. Either way, she made a mental reminder that today was definitely a suit-washing day. 

Even after three years of doing this, the feeling that swinging through her home city never got old. 

She arrives at Midtown School of Science and Technology with two minutes to spare. She lands in a nearby alley, quickly taking her suit off and stuffing it and the weapon into another backpack she kept behind the dumpster. Once she’s in her usual jeans and button-up, she sprints up the stairs of the school, grateful to not be the only one rushing to make it before the bell as a few other stragglers go in with her. 

Hazel speed walks to her classroom, careful of the hall monitors. 

The second she shuts the door behind her, the bell rings. 

Nailed it. 

_____

Lunchtime rolls around fast, and she’s glad for it. All that superheroing in the morning made her hungry and her appetite had only grown since she got her powers. So she practically devours the meatball sub in just a few bites. 

Their table had always been a little odd, even more so this past year as the three of them had created a film club, the very first one at their school. And surprisingly, Isabel and Brittany, two of the most popular girls at school, had joined it. From there, it only grew in size. 

So, they were friends. New ones but very good ones at that. Having to put a whole film together did that to you.

Hazel remembers her first real interaction with Isabel. It started with her sulking in the hallway outside the classroom last semester where the club meets. They had not worked on a film that year, instead they mostly watched films and talked about them and how they were made. But next school year, they wanted to actually make one to end senior year off with a bang. This had been a brainstorming day.

But she felt stuck that day, clutching half of a script she had typed up over the summer. 

“You look sad.”

Hazel startles, looking to her right and finding the most beautiful girl in the world staring at her. “Uh, w-what?”

Isabel towers over her from where she is slumped against the wall, chewing gum a little too loudly. But she’s looking at Hazel like she’s a problem to solve. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Sad.”

Hazel frowns, “I’m not—why are you even out here? Everyone’s inside.”

Isabel softens her eyes. It makes Hazel feel like she’s translucent. “You’re upset.” Which is really just another word for sad but she digresses.

“It’s just, um, my script,” Hazel finally relents, not sure why she’s admitting to anything but also not wanting to keep talking in circles. “I don’t think it’s good enough to show everyone.”

Whatever they came up with would have to be finished by the end of the school year, in time to be submitted to the National Film Festival for Talented Youth. Held every year in Washington. 

“Can I see it?”

Hazel presses her laptop to her chest, nervous. This isn’t something her closest friends had ever seen. It’s practically a part of her soul she’s being asked to bear here. To a stranger. To Isabel .

“I…”

Isabel falters. Hazel’s never seen her like that. “You don’t have to. I just thought—”

Hazel just about shoves the script into her hands. 

Isabel read it. Loved some bits. Hated others. She went into so much detail on her thoughts that Hazel had to interrupt her, asking her if she wanted to help write the new draft. They showed the rest of the club. It became her and Isabel’s brainchild. 

And the rest, as they say, is history. 

That was a month ago. With help from the school with funding and Isabel and a couple of other members with money to spare, they had what they needed to make a thirty-minute short film. 

They each saw parts of each other that were not always appreciated by their previous social circles. With both of them co-writing and Isabel trying her hand at directing, they were really doing something worthwhile here. 

Of course, it didn’t help that Hazel had been harboring a not-so-small crush on Isabel since middle school. But she digresses. 

“Hey, loser,” PJ’s voice breaks through her thoughts, “Stop staring. It’s getting creepy.”

Hazel blinks, realizing she’s been making eyes at Isabel this entire time who is thankfully occupied by whatever their other club member Annie is telling her. When she finally catches Hazel’s gaze, she only smiles before going back to her conversation. 

Hazel smiles back like an idiot, yelping when PJ pokes her side. “What the fuck?”

“You should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.” 

“I’m not—she hardly noticed!”

“Said like every creep ever.”

Hazel nudges her back, holding back nonetheless. Super strength was no joke. “Shut up.”

PJ rolls her eyes, “Are you asking her to homecoming?”

“No way. She’d never go with me.” Isabel was on the planning committee in conjunction with film club. She probably already had that figured out anyway.

“Uh-huh,” PJ says, popping a baby carrot from the lunch tray into her mouth. She speaks between chews, “And how do you know that? Did you ask her? Oh, right. You didn’t.”

Hazel ignores her. The last thing she wants to talk about is that stupid dance. Isabel was so popular she definitely had a line of guys wanting the honor to take her. She should stand no chance. At her core, she would always be the odd one out. 

Besides, she was Spider-Woman. There was always one thing or another dragging her away from her personal life. 

_____

Back at home, she opens the door to the smell of something cooking. Her nose takes her to the kitchen, where her mom is stirring a pot of…something. She’s been doing this more often. A new hobby, she says. One of the many she’s tried these past few years. 

“Hey, hun. How was school?”

Hazel shrugs, “Same old stuff. It was fine. But…” She peers over the stove, “What’s going on here?”

“Just some veggies,” Her mom says, “I’ve also got rice and chicken ready to eat. It’ll be dinner.”

Hazel nods approvingly. At least this one was something she was actually good at. She shivers as memories of her mom’s knitting phase pop up in her mind. “Sounds great. I’m gonna try to get some homework done.” 

As soon as she shuts her bedroom door, she locks it and tosses her backpack on the ground. Her desk is as cluttered as it was this morning, but she pushes some of it aside to dump the contents of her other backpack. The suit falls out with the mystery weapon not far behind it, thumping her carpeted floor with a dull thud. 

Hazel places it on her desk, getting to work on examining it more carefully. In another life, she would still be using her glasses for stuff like this but getting bitten by a radioactive spider had enhanced all of her senses. Sight included. And so it was bye-bye glasses. 

She takes out her mini toolbox she keeps in her right desk drawer and pulls out a small screwdriver and a pair of pliers. It definitely wasn’t made by humans, but there are little divots here and there that she can try to pry open to get an inside look at the thing. 

It takes a few minutes before a small panel towards the handle of the weapon comes off, revealing wiring and lights. 

“Huh,” She mutters, poking around with the screwdriver. It makes a zap noise, sending sparks of electricity out of it.

I should probably wait for Josie and PJ , she thinks, leaving the weapon alone for now. Josie and PJ would have a better way to study it, so she switches her focus on making sure her web shooters are properly filled. Those things were a bitch to work with sometimes. 

She spends so much time tinkering that she almost misses her mom calling her out for dinner. There’s an empty chair across from her at their table. It’s been there for years. And yet she still finds herself staring at it in between her conversations with her mom.

_____

The next day is more of the same, beating up some bad guys before school. Somehow makes it on time and powers through it all instead of passing out in her chair like she wants to for every class. 

Once the last bell rings, Hazel rushes to Josie’s side. They shared their last class together. 

“Hey,” She greets, “Do you think you and PJ could stop by after school? I really need help with something.”

Josie furrows her brows, “What?”

“It’s just—” Hazel whispers, “Spidey stuff. A weapon I found yesterday morning. But I think it’s important. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“Sorry. You didn’t let me finish. What the fuck? We have film club after school today. Or did you forget?”

Hazel opens and closes her mouth, blinking rapidly. She feels like she’s short-circuiting. “I—of course I did. I just think this is a little more important—”

“Uh-uh,” Josie shakes her head, “I’m not trying to get in the way of Isabel’s wrath if you don’t show up to another meeting again. You’re basically second in command and you’re hardly ever there.”

“I’m busy!”

Josie gives her a level look, “Maybe PJ will tell her then. Or, and I know this may be difficult for you, you can just save the scary weapon shit for later.”

Hazel scoffs, turning away and pulling her backpack straps tighter against her shoulders. She’s about to say something else when a sense of dread passes over her like nausea. Something was going down a few blocks away. Her phone buzzes less than a second later. She had jailbroken it a while ago, attaching a police scanner app to it that notifies her whenever something particularly crazy was happening. 

“Well, now I really have to…” Hazel trails off, looking up from her phone to meet Josie’s gaze. 

“Are you fucking—” Josie stops herself, taking in a deep, calming breath. They don’t say anything for a few seconds more before she makes a shooting motion with her hands, “What are you waiting for? Go! I’ll figure something out.”

Hazel grins, giving her two thumbs up. “I swear I will bring you all your favorites from the bodega when I’m back.” 

She just about sprints down the rest of the hallway, turning the corner and expertly dodging an oncomer. Who she quickly realizes is Isabel. Shit. She had AP Government as her last class and it was in this area. How could Hazel have forgotten?

“Isabel!” She exclaims, just saying the first thing she could think of. “Hey. Hi.”

“Hey yourself,” Isabel says, hugging some textbooks close to her chest, “Aren’t you running late for club?”

“Doesn’t that mean you are too?”

Isabel shrugs. Hazel could hear the sound of distant sirens from whatever was happening out there. It must be near silent for anyone else. “We’re supposed to work on finalizing where we’re filming. You should be there. Both of us should.”

“I can’t,” Hazel blurts, itching to get in the suit. Seconds passing means people getting hurt. Means not saving anyone. “I have to—I have to help my mom with something. She was, uh, pretty insistent about it. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Isabel says, slowly like she’s trying to give Hazel time to backtrack whatever the fuck just came out of her mouth. “I guess…I’ll let you know what we came up with.”

Ignoring the lump of guilt in her gut, Hazel tries to smile, “Thanks. Okay, gotta go. Bye!” 

_____

Hazel rushes to a nearby alleyway, shrugging off her clothes and slipping into the suit. She stuffs the clothes into her backpack and leaves them behind a dumpster. Not the cleanest option, but she was running low on time.

She’s barely adjusting her mask over her face as she’s mid-air and swinging upwards. The screeching of sirens has completely enveloped her head and her heart is just about beating out of her chest. She couldn’t just turn her back on the world. That wasn’t what Spider-Woman did. Ever. 

Not even for a pretty girl. 

She arrives by landing on top of a nearby lamp post. There’s commotion inside a bank. Cops have surrounded the outside, guns pointed at the doors leading inside. They have never been big fans of her or rather Spider-Woman. So she decides to keep the web bombs she kept on her web-shooters to a minimum. The less to clean up the better.

But she always keeps a few tricks up her sleeves. 

Shooting a web forward, she sticks to the roof, checking it out for any openings, as in vents. The first one she finds is a bit of a squeeze, but it’s enough for her to get inside the bank without alerting anyone. Especially whoever might be inside with presumably hostages. 

Pushing open the vent, she slips out quietly, sticking to the ceiling as she enters what looks like the back room where only employees have access. As she continues moving, she eventually makes it to an open area, the front. 

She scans below her, seeing at least six employees cowering behind their desks and a dozen or so customers gathered in the middle of the bank, looking terrified for their lives. But the majority of her attention is on the group of two masked robbers, pointing their guns in every which way. 

Except one of them is holding this…launcher…? It’s got three clawed prongs sticking outside the barrel and a glowing, blue light in it. It looks almost exactly like the high-tech weapon she took from the crime scene just days earlier. Which is concerning, to say the least.  One was weird enough, two was beginning to not look like a coincidence. 

Hazel drops down in an instant, hands up in a placating manner. “Hey, guys. Didn’t realize it was Halloween already.”

One of the masked men whips his head toward her, the one without a weapon and a mask that resembles the one from those Scream movies. Ghostface. 

“Get outta here, Spider-Woman,” He says, pointing the very real pistol at her,  “This doesn’t concern you.” 

She tsks, “Kinda does,” She takes a careful step closer to him, “ ‘Cause you’re scaring all these people, so why don’t you just put the weapons down and turn yourselves in before this gets ugly.”

Ghostface guy laughs in her face, “You’re funny.”

“I try,” She says, keeping a watchful eye on his trigger finger. She’s been shot before, so the feeling would be nothing new. But it sucks nonetheless. “Now, come on…” She gestures for him to give her the gun. In the rare instance this may end with no violence, she would really fucking appreciate it. 

He goes to shoot her instead. 

Hazel leaps out of the way just in time for it to land on the blank wall behind her. She quickly shoots out another web, dragging the gun out of his hand. It clatters to the floor, echoing. 

Ghostface guy looks at it in what appears to be shock and Hazel tenses up, prepared for whatever he might pull. Instead of doing anything smart, he just rushes at her. She dodges again. He goes to throw a punch that barely grazes her shoulder. She turns to kick him in the stomach. 

As he doubles over, she is just about to knock him down for good when she starts floating out of nowhere. 

“What the hell?” Hazel exclaims, mostly to herself. She looks down at her hands and then her whole body because she’s covered in some blue haze. The sound of something whirring comes from behind her. She twists her head as best she can to see the other man pointing his weird launcher at her. 

All she can focus on is his Spider-Woman mask. God. She really should start copyrighting shit. Her voice comes out strained, every part of her body feeling heavier, “Aw, did you put that on for me? I’m touched.”

“Shut up,” Spider-Woman mask keeps the launcher trained on her as he gets closer to his buddy. “We’re taking the money and you’re gonna let us.”

Hazel laughs but it comes out more like a cough. “And why would I do that?”

Ghostface guy seems to have recovered from the hit as he brings his gun up and slams it across her cheek, “‘Cause you can’t move a damn muscle.” The sharp pain in her jaw makes her grunt. Yeah, that one was gonna leave a bruise. 

“I really thought we were getting to know each other,” Hazel wheezes out, “Really building a friendship over masks, you know?” Her eyes dart around, looking for something—anything to get her out of this bind. She’s been in worse. Much worse. This should be a cakewalk. 

Mustering up all her strength, she tries moving her fingers, enough to tap her right wrist. If she can, then she could shoot a web into the glowing orb of the launcher and hopefully put it out of commission, if only for a few seconds. That would be all she needed. 

Her hands shake with every movement, but she’s almost got it. Ghostface guy has moved onto pointing his gun at a woman who works here, yelling at her to put the money in the bag. 

Her middle finger is ghosting over the web shooter when she’s slammed to the far left end of the bank’s wall, crashing straight through it all and onto the street outside. 

“Fuck,” She groans on her back. Spider-Woman Mask must have gotten sick of holding her up and tried to knock her out. And just when she was about to have a comeback, too. 

Everything hurts when she stands up, her entire body is buzzing with pain. Her vision is hazy as she tries to steady herself on a car parked on the curb next to her. 

“Spider-Woman, you need to exit the premises! This is an active crime scene!” A gruff voice shouts at her. 

Hazel looks up, trying to speak without slurring to the fucking captain of the NYPD. “I got it ‘M fine,” She blinks once, hard enough to regain some of her vision. With that intact she runs back in through the hole she fell through in the least clumsily as possible. 

There are still a few black spots in the corners of her eyes, but she can see that the men have gotten what they need in two large garbage bags. With a renewed sense of vigor, she leaps forward. 

“Dude,” She yells in mid-air, grabbing their attention. She shoots two webs in quick succession, prepared for the launcher this time. Their hands are glued to their respective weapons, no longer able to pull any triggers. “It’s rude to leave without saying a proper goodbye!”

Hazel targets Ghostface guy first, landing a blow right to his nose. He trips over his own feet, falling backward. She webs him up some more, sticking him to the floor. Next up is Spider-Woman Mask who actually looks a little scared now that he can’t use his launcher. 

Of course, this does nothing to stop him from trying to run away. 

Hazel shoots a web at his legs, making him stumble. Now that all his limbs are accounted for, she can breathe easily. She looks around at the hostages, putting on her most brave voice, “Everyone okay? Do I need to swing any of you to the closest hospital?”

When all she gets are murmurs of ‘nos’ and shaking heads, she walks up to Spider-Woman Mask, prying the launcher from his hands. It takes a minute. Sometimes she forgot how strong her own recipe for the web fluid really was. 

Once she has the weapon, she swings out of the bank before the police can question her for taking in evidence. 

_____

Landing on top of an office building a mile away, she slumps against an air conditioning unit and takes her mask off. She runs a hand through her hair, now a sweaty mess. The pain from being tossed like a rag doll has subsided only somewhat and this headache feels like it might just do her in for good. 

Hazel closes her eyes, just needing to take a breather for a moment. 

Her phone buzzes. She unlocks it to see a picture of Isabel grinning. A picture she had taken of her when they went out to eat at a local diner while they were still tweaking the script. Her thumbs click the green answer button without a second thought. She tries to not sound like she just got thrown through a wall. 

“Hey, Isabel. What’s up?”

“Club just finished. I’m just walking out of school now.”

Hazel tries not to overthink how she called her immediately after, as if she was that important to Isabel . They were trying to make a film. Of course they needed to communicate often and as soon as possible. “Oh, right. How’d it go?”

There’s shuffling on the other line, “Um, good. We agreed that the opening would be at the school, preferably after hours. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to get permission either. Mr. G’s, like, the golden ticket for that stuff.”

Hazel pinches the bridge of her nose, realizing this is more of a migraine than a regular headache. “Cool. Yeah, that sounds good. Anything else?”

“Yeah, but it’d be better to talk in person. What do you think about Friday? My place?”

“Sure,” Hazel perks up then, “It’s a date. Um, wait, not—not a date date. Just—”

“I know,” Isabel says and it sounds like she’s smiling. 

Before Hazel can get in her head over the implications of that, she clears her throat, “Are you gonna be okay getting back home? ‘Cause I can drive you if you need it.”

“I’m fine. Brit is just grabbing her stuff and then she’ll take us both.”

“Okay, cool,” Hazel rubs her side, wincing a little at how sore it still is, “I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Later, Haze,” Isabel says, the little nickname slipping out. No one else called her that. Not that they weren’t allowed to or didn’t care—they just didn’t . It’s not like Hazel gave anyone else nicknames. 

As much as Hazel wants to fall face-first into the concrete of the roof, she stays sitting up and dials up PJ and Josie in a group Facetime call. They needed to get together and look through the two high-tech weapons she had found within the span of a few days. That just spelled trouble in her mind. 

So, she jumps down to that alleyway from before to grab her backpack with her clothes. 

Only to find that it has been stolen. 

____

“Okay, I knew you looked like shit but not this much like shit.” 

“Wow, thanks. Real ego boost you are.” Hazel drawls out sarcastically, nursing a frozen bag of vegetables to her quickly bruising cheek. Her lip was also busted but hopefully, everything would be better by tomorrow due to her advanced healing. She had to crawl in through her window since she had no change of clothes from her suit and hope her mom wasn’t going to question how she got into the house without going through the front door. PJ and Josie had already arrived, waiting in her room.

PJ salutes her from the carpeted floor of Hazel’s bedroom, “I aim to please.”

Josie sighs from her seat at Hazel’s desk. “If you two are done bickering, can we please focus on why we’re even here in the first place?” 

Hazel sits up from her bed, “Have you found anything?”

PJ shakes her head at the same time that Josie raises her hand, some kind of sphere in it. “I did, actually,” She shoves the sphere in Hazel’s face, “It’s a power core. Definitely not from Earth.”

Hazel chews on her bottom lip, she takes it from Josie. Something about it is familiar, setting off that buzzing in her head whenever she feels like she’s in danger. That sinking feeling in her gut. “I swear I’ve seen this kind of tech before. I must’ve fought something using it. Before all this,” She glances at PJ, carefully giving it back to her, “What do you think?” 

Being in the school they were in, they all had some affinity for any or all the STEM subjects, but Josie had always fared better with digital applications of things, as in hacking and coding, and computer science. PJ was into practicality, building and creating, and (especially) destroying. 

PJ clicks her tongue against her teeth, turning it over in her hands. “It’s alien. It’s high-tech. There’s more than one, so it was probably a group or something.”

“Shit,” Hazel breathes, realization hitting her all at once. “The—the fucking—the Chitauri. Do you remember them?”

PJ nods fervently, sharing concerned looks with Josie. Those two could always communicate without saying a word. It was actually a little freaky sometimes. “The reptile alien dudes from last year. Yeah, of course I remember. They almost fucking killed you, Hazel.”

“So you definitely shouldn’t mess with them again,” Josie says. “Like, for real. I don’t ever want to see you with that many stab wounds again.”

Hazel shakes her head, not in the mood to remember those memories of her half-dead on Josie’s fire escape because she couldn’t go to an actual hospital. “There’s no way they’re still around. I took them all down. I made sure of it. These guys—they must have found another way to get this stuff.”

PJ looks thoughtful for a moment, “I mean, there’s gotta be like a seller or something, right? Someone who found all the leftover shit and kept it for themselves.”

“Yeah, but who? I thought I got rid of everything.”

Josie snaps her fingers, “But you left the scene, right? You always do. You never stay for the cops and the people who probably clean up after your shit.”

Hazel purses her lips. It’s not like she liked leaving her damages for the city to clean up, but she had to. The police hate her and would have her taken in for questioning the second they had the chance. She just couldn’t risk it. 

She reaches for her backpack leaning against the frame of her bed, pulling out her laptop. Opening it, she gets to work on googling salvage companies in New York City. A few pop up within seconds. “Okay, there’s just a couple in the city that do stuff like that,” She clicks on the first link, “But the one I remember seeing the most is this one,” She turns her screen towards them, pointing at the top of the webpage, “Bestman Salvage.”

“Well, there we go,” PJ says, “It’s gotta be someone who works there. They took the tech that was left over for themselves.”

“Why don’t we just send this as a tip to the cops?” Josie pipes up, “That way, they know and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“But I will. You know I will,” Hazel says, clenching her hand into a fist for a second because even just thinking about letting this go is enough to anger her. So she has to force herself to take in a deep breath, “Look, I get it. I know you guys care about me, but this is my job. It’s Spider-Woman’s job. And…when you can do the things I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.” 

Her words turn quieter and quieter until it’s just a whisper as she finishes speaking. She thinks of her dad. Of that day. Three years has done nothing to dull the memory. If she closes her eyes, tries hard enough, then she can picture the scene perfectly. Blood on her hands in every way possible. It had been her fault.  

Josie is the first to speak, talking softly like she’s trying to get a wild animal to calm down, “Hazel, we’re on your side. We always are.”

Hazel shuts her laptop, swallowing down that frog in her throat. “I know,” She stands up, ignoring how it still hurts to move too quickly. “I’m just—I’m gonna go on patrol. Clear my head a bit. You guys can stay or go. My mom won’t be home until later.”

PJ nods slowly, “Yeah, okay. Text us if you need anything, alright? Don’t be a bitch and ghost us.”

Already grabbing her suit from the clean laundry basket, Hazel cracks a grin. Leave it to PJ to care in the strangest way possible. “I won’t. Promise.”

_____

Her heart feels less heavy the more she swings. It’s always been the perfect distraction. She can focus on the small-scale stuff back down here on the ground, and not potentially world-ending threats. She was just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman. 

Patrol goes by slowly until a bike thief happens upon the route she usually takes to check over Citi Field. Hazel promptly swings into action. It’s simple enough. She just lands in front of the dude as he pedals away.

“Sorry. Is this yours?” She asks, tilting her head to the side in faux confusion. 

He looks her up and down, shocked, “Uhh…”

Hazel smirks under her mask, “Yeah, didn’t think so,” and shoots a web up on the part of the roof that hangs out from the side of the store they are in front of. She holds onto it like a rope and thwips out another to his chest, connecting the two webs and immediately lifting him off the bike, leaving him to hang in mid-air. 

She glances around at the passerby, grabbing the bike, “Is this anyone’s?” When no one answers, she sighs. She rushes inside the bodega the thief was hanging off of, borrowing a pen and paper. 

Hazel hastily writes out a quick note and leaves it on top of the bike seat, leaning against the window of the bodega. It reads: 

Is this your bike? If not, don’t steal it! - Spider-Woman

After another mugging and saving a real genuine cat from a tree, she takes a quick rest to sit on top of the metro as it goes about its usual route above the city. She scrolls her phone mindlessly, checking in with her friends and giving her mom the excuse that she was studying at the library and would be home a little late. The free time gives her an opportunity to call up some students who signed up to be extras in the short film and double-check that they were still in.  She gets a few no’s, some maybes, and mostly yeses.

With that done, she jumps off near the next part of the city she wants to patrol. And as soon as she lands on the building by the train tracks, she hears someone yell out, “Hey! You’re that Spider-chick on YouTube, right?”

“Call me Spider-Woman!” Hazel shouts when she glances back at them. It was just a hot dog vendor.

“Okay, Spider-Woman. Do a flip!”

Hazel laughs but does a backflip anyway. Definitely one of the less weird things she’s been asked to do by a stranger. The vendor only gets more excited, yelling, “Yeah!” And a customer trying to order a hot dog says, “Not bad.”

As the day begins to wind down, she finishes off by helping an elderly woman get to a some insurance office she couldn’t find. She’s speaking in Spanish the whole time, but Hazel pulls out her phone to meticulously translate everything to her and back. It takes a while and Hazel stays with her until she finally walks through the office’s front door.

Of course, her job is truly never over because she hears screams and the sound of a struggle as she passes by her school. Upon closer look, it seems to be happening in an alleyway. 

Hazel lands on one end of it, effectively blocking the mugger from fleeing the scene. She’s just about to launch into her usual barrage of quips when she takes a good look at the victim behind him. 

Isabel.

The realization catches her off guard enough for the mugger to shove her out of the way to escape the alley. 

“He took my purse!” Isabel yells, pointing at him. 

Snapping back to reality, Hazel pulls him back to her with a web. That’s when he reveals the knife in the hand that was not holding the hot pink purse. It slashes her shoulder just before she knocks him down and keeps him stuck there with more webbing. 

With a wince, she bends down to extract the purse, ignoring the new wound in favor of Isabel with wide eyes that always showed through her mask. “Are you okay, Miss?” She asks, deepening her voice to try and conceal her identity a little more. 

Isabel nods, taking the purse. Her eyes have not left the cut on Hazel, “Uh, yeah. Are you?”

Hazel waves her off, which actually makes it hurt even more but she keeps the wince to herself this time. “I’ve had worse. This is nothing. Now,” She places her hands on her hips in typical hero fashion, “Is it okay if I walk you wherever you’re heading?”

“I guess,” Isabel says, keeping her purse close to her chest as if it might get stolen again. “Thanks, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so up close before. I thought you’d be taller.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Hazel mumbles, pressing a hand to stop more blood from trickling down her shoulder. This honestly wasn’t that bad. It’d be gone by morning.

Isabel hangs her purse on her shoulder, beginning to walk out of the alley. Hazel is quick to follow. “So, where are we heading, exactly?” 

“My house. It’s just a few blocks from here.” 

Hazel nods, making sure to not take the lead because it would be very weird for Spider-Woman to know Isabel’s address. It’s dark enough for her to question why Isabel  was even out alone in the first place. So, she does. 

“Do you always interrogate everyone you save?”  

Hazel blinks once, “Uh, no. I just—sorry.”

Isabel laughs, “I’m kidding,” A beat, then, “I’m in a film club at school. I just worked on some stuff for that after school and the time flew by before I realized it was getting late.”

That sends a pang of hurt to Hazel’s heart. She didn’t even ask her for help, even when they were supposed to be partners on this whole project. What kind of friend was she if Isabel couldn’t even be sure that she would show up for her? It’s not like she was great at doing that at any other time. 

“Oh,” She says instead, “That’s cool. I lose track of time when I’m on patrol, so I get it. This nice lady gave me a churro after I helped her out, so I got distracted enjoying it until I heard you.” 

“A churro?”

“Yeah! She was—she was nice. I just helped her with directions. I don’t think she spoke English, so I used Google. But it worked out. She was super grateful.”

Isabel looks at her like she did when they first met (not that she would know). A problem to solve. Something working itself over and over around in her brain. “That’s sweet.”

Hazel nods, “Anyway, you should, you know, carry pepper spray on you or something. At least. Just to stay safe.”

"I will," Isabel assures her, quiet for a moment, "Hey, can I...ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Um, I have a friend. Her name's Hazel and she—apparently she's been helping you out? I was just wondering how that happened or if that's even true, but I think it is because I don't think she would lie to me. So."

Oh, right. Hazel forgot she'd made that an excuse once or twice. Said Spider-Woman was always patrolling her neighborhood as she walked to school and that made them become familiar with each other. One thing led to another and they became sort of friends. In a way that meant she would "make" tech for Spider-Woman to use every once in a while. 

"Yeah, that's—that's true. Why?'

"Just—I don't know. I worry. I guess. Can you make sure she stays safe?"

"Of course, I always do." That doesn't seem to completely assure Isabel as she stares at her for a second or two longer than normal. It makes Hazel want to look away, conflicted about lying to Isabel when she so obviously cared for Hazel herself. 

The rest of the walk is silent, with Hazel keeping a careful eye out for anyone who looks suspicious. But they make it to Isabel's in one piece. It’s a big house, more of a mansion than anything else, reminding her of the fact that the Allan family was loaded. 

“This is me,” Isabel tells her, facing her now. “Thanks for the security detail, but I'm okay walking up my own stairs.”

Hazel nods, saluting her like an idiot, “Right. Uh, have a good night, Miss.”

Isabel smiles. Hazel thinks if sunshine could be personified, then that would be it. “Don’t call me that. It makes me feel old. My name’s Isabel,” She pauses, contemplating, “Plus, you hardly sound that much older than me. So it’s kinda weird.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah—yeah, okay. Have a good night, Isabel.”

“Night, Spider-Woman.”

And with that, she whips back around, hair almost hitting Hazel in the face. She gets the faintest whiff of strawberry shampoo. It’s almost intoxicating. 

_____

Hazel and her mom go out to eat one night. It’s Thai. It used to be her dad’s favorite place. They don’t come here as often anymore, but here they are. Sat at a table for two in a far corner at the busiest hour of the evening. If she scooted her seat back any more she would hit the kid in the baby seat behind her. 

One of the many TVs hung up displays news of the recent bank robbery thwarted by Spider-Woman. 

“If you ever see anything like that happening, you turn and you run the other way,” Her mom says.

Hazel nods obediently, sipping at her lemonade before she speaks. “Yeah, of course. That’s dangerous.”

“Six blocks away from us!” Her mom exclaims, absentmindedly twisting a forkful of her papaya salad on her plate, “The city feels even more dangerous now than when I was a kid.”

“Yeah…” Hazel says, poking at her bowl of curry, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I need a new backpack.”

“What?” Her mom taps her ear, as if expecting to have heard her wrong.

Hazel, to her benefit, looks embarrassed. “A new backpack.”

“This is the fifth one, sweetheart.”

“I know, I know. It just—keeps getting stolen. I’ll take better care of it this time.”

Her mom sighs after a moment, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Hazel breathes out. 

“In exchange, I want you to not forget about defrosting the chicken after school tomorrow.”

“You got it.”

(By some miracle, she remembers.)

_____

In a rare turn of events, Hazel makes it to the film club meeting only five minutes late. Well, it’s less of a meeting and more of day one of filming. Since the school was mostly empty, they had a lot more freedom to set up shots and make sure they could move around as needed. 

She barges into the room, immediately regretting making the noise when she notices Annie holding the camera and Crystal with the boom mic. Josie and PJ stood off to the side, with PJ taking on the role of the Grip, holding the rest of the heavy equipment the camera operator might need. Josie sort of dabbled with everything, but would take the job of editing the film down to its final product when it wrapped.

Right now, though, she was pretty helpful with assisting the director. Brittany was there too of course, she was their stylist and make-up artist. There were more girls in the club and a few guys who seemed okay with being the minority in a big group. But they certainly were not working with the big budgets and crews of blockbuster movies. 

And, of course, there was Isabel, following Annie’s every move as she filmed the two main leads of their story (and it really was theirs —hers and Isabel’s), Stella-Rebecca and Sylvie. Their director. 

Hazel tries to quiet herself as she sets her backpack down by the door, she knows this scene. The opening where the characters meet in detention. Mr. G had wanted to play the teacher, so they let him. His very own cameo, if you will.

Isabel clocks Hazel immediately, smiling a little as she eyes Josie to take over while she slinks away. 

“You’re here,” She whispers, getting close to her to make sure they make as little noise as possible.  

Hazel grins, grateful that PJ is too busy to make fun of how lovesick she must look. “Yeah. It’s day one. Couldn't miss it.”

Isabel’s eyes are shining and it makes her heart swell with happiness, “You should stand next to me. Make sure everything sounds as good as it did on paper.”

Hazel nods eagerly, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s do it.”

The rest of her afternoon is spent like that—glued to Isabel as they shoot take after take. Sylvie and Stella-Rebecca are great, taking every critique in stride as Hazel and Isabel work to make their joint vision come to life.

It’s nice—makes her feel normal. Makes her feel like any other kid with a passion. One that did not involve beating up bad guys and telling lies to their friends every other day. 

“I think that’s it for today,” Isabel announces as they finish the final scene where the leads snuck into the bathroom to escape detention, unnoticed by the teacher who had gone to sleep. She clasps her hands together, smiling. “Nice job, guys. Next shoot is on a weekend. Don’t forget. The group chat has all the information.”

As Hazel takes a bite out of the cookies Stella-Rebecca’s mom had brought for their craft table, she holds a hand up for Isabel to high-five. When she swallows, she says, “That went better than I thought it would.”

“Yeah,” Isabel says, “God. I was so nervous.”

Hazel takes another bite, finishing it now. “What? Why?”

Isabel seems to think about her words for a moment before saying, “I…didn’t think you’d show. I wasn’t sure how I could’ve directed everyone without your help.” She glances down at the floor, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. Something Hazel thought was impossible with her. 

Hazel wipes her mouth with some napkins piled next to the plate of cookies, “Oh,” She deflates, “I’m sorry. For making you think I wouldn’t.”

Shaking her head, Isabel shoves her shoulder playfully, and yet the shine in her eyes is burnt out as if being reminded of Hazel’s usual absence had dulled it. It’s the very same shoulder she had eyed with concern when Hazel had shown up as Spider-Woman. “Whatever. It’s fine. You’re still coming over though, right?”

Hazel nods. For once, she didn’t forget. 

_____

Isabel’s home is big, bigger than anywhere Hazel has ever lived in. She wasn’t even sure how living in such a huge house could be comfortable, all these rooms that would never be used, all this space only to still feel infinitely lonely. 

Isabel has admitted as much to her once, when she first came over and they first began work on the script. Hazel had looked at the high ceilings and walls covered in pretentious paintings with something like reverence. And Isabel had been quick to shatter the illusion. 

Somehow, it only made Hazel like her more. 

They walk upstairs. Isabel’s mom had just been on her way out to meet some friends or something, leaving them two twenty-dollar bills for pizza. Which Hazel had promptly ordered, starving even though she had already eaten almost half of their craft service table. But being Spider-Woman came with a demanding diet, so she would take all she could get.

Hazel trails behind Isabel, pulling on the straps of her backpack. Even now, after everything, she still felt out of place here. A popular girl. An ex-cheerleader. What the fuck was Hazel Callahan of all people even doing here?

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep her from just making a run for it as her eyes flit around, landing on some framed childhood photos of Isabel in different stages of her life. There are a few with her older sister who was off at college. She smiles when she sees a Mini-Isabel in what must be her first cheerleading gig. 

“—used to look like that.”

Hazel startles, rattled from the thoughts in her head. She blinks once, twice, “What?”

“I can’t believe I used to look like that.”

“It’s really cute, though.”

Isabel smiles, something distant in her eyes. Her fingers ghost over her younger self’s face. “It is?”

“Yeah!” Hazel exclaims. She points to the one next to the cheerleading frame. Isabel is older in this, maybe twelve or so. She must be at the beach, holding an ice cream cone up to the camera. “Especially this one.”

“Yeah, this one’s from my twelfth birthday. My dad took me out that morning before everyone else had woken up. It was just us and some burgers. He made me pinky promise not to tell Mom about it,” Isabel looks up, “I don’t think I’ve been to a beach since. Especially now. He goes on so many business trips and it’s…” She doesn’t finish shaking her head and backing away from the picture. “We’re supposed to be working.”

Hazel shakes her head, softening her voice, “I don’t mind. We’ve got plenty of time. I—I can listen. If you want me to.”

Isabel sighs, looking at Hazel like she’s double-checking that she’s telling the truth. Then, she says, “Recently, he apologized. For being distant and stuff. He said he’s going to do better from now on. I just—don’t know if I believe him.”

“Um,” Hazel starts, hating herself for never not being a bundle of nerves of awkwardness. “Not that I’m the dad expert or anything, but I don’t think there’s any harm in believing him. Especially if he told you to your face.”

“Oh, fuck,” Isabel curses, realization hitting every corner of her face. Like she’s just seen a ghost. It’s the most distressed Hazel has ever seen her in all their years of going to school together. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. That was stupid. Here I am complaining about my dad wanting to talk to me when yours…” She trails off helplessly.

“It’s fine,” Hazel assures her, pushing that memory deep down before she starts crying in Isabel’s bedroom, “Really. And you don’t have to take my advice. Like I said, not a dad expert. You do you.”

Isabel nods, biting her lip like she still feels bad. 

They quickly move on to the reason they were even together. The script is done and has been for weeks now. But the ending has slipped past their fingers time and time again. They had no idea what to do with it. 

So, here the two of them were, side by side on the canopy bed and trying to figure it out.

“It’s a love story,” Isabel murmurs, highlighting a few lines on the final pages of her packet. Hazel had kept the digital version, finding it easier to edit. But Isabel preferred working with a real, physical thing. “Those usually have happy endings.”

“Maybe we need a tragedy, though. Like, a big one.”

Isabel scrunches her nose in disgust, “We are not burying our gays if that’s what you mean.”

Hazel laughs, surprised at the sudden turn of words, “It’s not! Just, you know, something for you to think about.”

“Something for us to think about. I’m not doing anything without you.”

Swallowing harshly, Hazel nods. She doesn’t get how Isabel can just say stuff like that and mean it wholeheartedly. She doesn’t think the girl is even capable of speaking anything but her mind. And that’s a little terrifying. 

She leans into Isabel’s space a little, pointing to a specific line said by Slyvie’s character, Quinn. “I wasn’t ever sure about this one. I mean, does it feel like something she would say?”

“You know, you wrote that. I told you it might sound a little off.”

"Which is exactly why you're my partner in this."

_____

An hour passes. They get through some last-minute edits and are one step closer to a real ending. The money left over by Mrs. Allen is used for a pizza and when it arrives, Hazel asks if they can take a break. 

“What’re you doing for Homecoming?” Hazel asks, covering her mouth as she talks while eating. 

Isabel sighs, taking the pepperoni off of her slices one by one and placing them on Hazel’s plate. “I have no idea. All the boys at school are...less than desirable.”

Hazel almost chokes on her pizza but coughs to clear her throat before speaking. “That bad?’

“One of those idiot football players thought it would be funny to make me a sign that said ‘will you go to homecoming with me?’ Except they made it say cumming, like, you know.” She gestures with her hands wildly to make her point. 

“Oh,” Hazel frowns and then louder as it sets in, “Oh. That’s—so fucking gross. I’m sorry.”

Isabel shakes her head, taking a bite of her pizza “It’s fine. Or—not really, but I made sure to let him know how I really feel. So it's fine."

She wipes some grease off her hands with a napkin. “Well if that’s not enough, I can always beat him up for you.”

Isabel raises an eyebrow, teasing, “What? Are you Spider-Woman all of a sudden?” 

Hazel’s eyes widen, almost choking for the second time this evening. “What? No way. That’s—that’s crazy.”

“Relax,” Isabel giggles from behind her slice, “I'm joking” She takes another bite and swallows, “You know, I actually met her yesterday. She saved me from this guy trying to take my purse.”

“Oh? And how was it? I mean, was she nice?”

Isabel nods, “Infuriatingly so. I was kind of hoping she’d be an asshole. But she was just—nice,” 

Hazel furrows her brows, “And that’s bad?”

“No. Just odd. She has so much power. You’d think it’d go to her head at some point. But she's just...nice." She says the word like it holds more weight then she's letting on.

“Maybe it will,” Hazel offers, already having gone down this line of thinking more than once in the past. To think that she could just snap like that and completely change her way of fighting crime. She’s strong. Stronger than she’s ever been thanks to the spider bite not only enhancing her senses but her actual body as well. It would be so easy to just hurt people for the hell of it. “But I…hope she doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Isabel says, “You’ve met her, haven’t you? Like, a lot.”

Hazel nods, fiddling with her hands in her lap. For some reason, talking about herself in the third person made her uneasy. “Uh, yeah, here and there. She’s, uh, she’s always been pretty nice to me.”

Isabel hums, giving her that same stare that she did when Hazel walked her home as Spider-Woman. "Good. That's good." She finishes the rest of her pizza before standing up from her bed and stretching her arms upward, showing off the tiniest sliver of skin that makes Hazel avert her gaze immediately. “Come on,” She nods to the balcony built off to the side of her bedroom, another perk of being stupidly rich. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

Hazel hops up, following her as she has done many times. 

The sky is darkening, less of a sunset, and more dark blues and blacks. The stars are never easy to see in the heart of the city, but if she tries hard enough she can pretend the airplanes flying overhead are exactly that.

As soon as they step out, she can feel herself perk up a bit, that instinct to keep an eye out for any sign of trouble coming out in an instant. And then Isabel’s rubbing her palms up and down her arms, as if to warm herself up.

“Here,” Hazel says, already slipping her faded Midtown hoodie from off her body and into Isabel’s hands. “Take mine.”

Isabel  raises an eyebrow at her, “You sure?”

“ It's fine,” Hazel says, yanking the final section off of her with some effort, the cool air hitting the part of her stomach that gets exposed for a second and then covered by her t-shirt. “I run hot anyway.”

She takes the hoodie, biting her lip. Which Hazel is pretty sure she wasn’t doing it earlier. “Thanks.”

Hazel smiles back lopsidedly, “No problem,” She looks out into the skyline, scratching the back of her neck, “Uh, about homecoming. I was actually wondering…” 

She glances over to find Isabel watching her with patient eyes, expecting something. The hoodie envelopes her well. Hazel is honestly surprised that it even fits, given their height difference. 

She nods at Hazel to go on when she stays silent. 

“Would you—I mean, if you don’t already have anyone you’ve decided on. Which I’m sure you do, but if, uh, you don’t then maybe, if you want, I could take you? As—as friends. Obviously.”

A look of genuine surprise crosses Isabel’s face and it makes Hazel want to shrivel up into a hole in the ground and stay there. “That’s…really sweet of you, Haze.”

Right. Sweet. Not romantic. Because they were friends. Nothing more. All Hazel would ever be to her is sweet. 

“Is that a yes?”

“I don’t know,” Isabel looks away, looking like she’s fighting off a smile, “I’m pretty busy with this film club I’m in…” She slowly meets Hazel’s eyes, rolling her own in faux annoyance, “Obviously it’s a yes.”

Hazel huffs out a laugh, some of that earlier tension leaving her. She’s buzzing, but it’s not her spidey sense. It’s nerves. Getting the pretty girl to agree to go to homecoming gave her just about the same adrenaline rush that came with stopping a bank robbery. 

A butterfly lands on the balcony, those Monarch ones you always learn about first in school. 

“Oh my god, I love butterflies,” Isabel gushes quietly beside her, careful not to spook it away. 

Hazel smiles, “Really? Butterflies?”

“Yeah, don’t you think they’re beautiful?”

“I mean, sure. But love them? I dunno.”

Isabel’s cheeks turn pink as she looks away, “I just—I always thought it was sweet how that’s how we describe crushes. Butterflies in our stomachs. Fluttering all around. It’s kind of accurate, honestly.”

“I guess, yeah,” Hazel watches as it flaps its wings but doesn’t fly off just yet.

“But I think this little one’s lost,” Isabel says, “They shouldn’t be in New York this time of year. I bet the rest of his family is already in Mexico,” She frowns, reaching forward as if to hold it, but it gets scared and finally leaves them. “I hope it finds them soon.”

Hazel watches it disappear into the night sky, “Yeah, me too.”

_____

Weeks go by in a flash. She goes out often, hoping to catch a glimpse of more Chitauri weapons. But there’s nothing. For once, the city seems quiet. Patrol is more or less normal, more helping people cross the road than fighting for her life against alien technology. 

Film club goes smoothly, with Hazel only missing it at least once or twice a week now. They get more scenes done, pushing through the especially rough day they spent out in Central Park (after the grueling process of getting a permit for the day). Who knew a simple picnic date would turn into so much work?

Hazel was talking with Stella-Rebecca about the scene, trying her best to give her reasoning as to why her character, Ava, was so standoffish until she wasn’t. It’s weird, talking about a story she had kept close to her heart for so long with someone else. With Isabel, she had felt understood, especially as they worked through it together. But this was different. Not necessarily bad. Just different. 

“She’s basically just like ‘everyone always leaves me anyway, who's to say you won’t either’, you know?” Hazel explains, spreading her arms wide to emphasize her words. 

Stella-Rebecca nods, “That makes sense. So she’s just insecure. Not really mean.”

Hazel nods eagerly, snapping her fingers once, “Yes. That’s it!” She pats the other girl’s shoulder, “She was written to be more than one-dimensional, you know?”

“I totally get it,” Stella-Rebecca assures her. She turns back to where the rest of the crew is setting up the scene, “I’m just gonna go over this with Sylvie to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Hazel nods, sending her off with a two-fingered salute, “For sure. Let me or Brit know if you need more help understanding anything.”

As Hazel steps back, she feels that familiar buzz of her phone in her back pocket. She unlocks it to find the notification of the police scanner app. In all capital letters, it says: PUBLIC DISTURBANCE: FLASHING LIGHTS REPORTED BENEATH LEFT SIDE OF BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 

She quickly finds PJ scrolling through her phone beneath a large tree some others have taken refuge from the sun in. She looks up as soon as she hears Hazel say her name. With a raised eyebrow, she asks, “What do you want?”

Hazel puts on her best pleading expression, “Cover for me?”

PJ scoffs, “Why don’t you ask Josie? Isn’t she the one who usually does that?”

“She’s too busy with the crew to give a shit about whatever I have to say right now.” Hazel clasps her hands together like she is going to start praying any second now, “Please? Just tell Isabel  something important came up with my mom if she asks.”

PJ crosses her arms, “Fine. Go save the world or whatever.”

“Thank you!” Hazel exclaims as quietly as possible to not attract attention. “You’re the best.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

In an instant, Hazel is sneaking away from their group, backpack in hand. She finds an alley like usual but looks around to make sure no one is paying attention before attaching her web-shooters and bringing herself up to the roof of the building next to her. 

At the top, she digs into her backpack for the suit, putting it on. The mask slips over her face smoothly and she takes a deep breath. Usually, Brooklyn Bridge was around a fifteen-minute drive, but if she swung there it’d be two or three tops. So she gets to work. 

There is a police officer already on the scene by the time she arrives, making her silently curse herself for not being faster. A white van is parked in a greasy area underneath the bridge, and a few guys loiter beside it, looking more than a little suspicious. 

Hazel sticks to the side of the bridge, listening in to whatever the officer is telling them. She catches the tail end of the conversation, which is just the officer giving them a warning and urging them to stop throwing fireworks, the apparent excuse given to him. But the men seem undeterred as the cop car drives off, leaving them back to whatever they were doing before. 

“What an idiot,” One of them mutters, making the two others chuckle as they open up the back of the truck, revealing the motherload. An entire stash of Chitauri weapons. 

Hazel crawls up the bridge, getting closer. “What the fuck?” She whispers to herself. 

“Let’s just wait it out. He said he’d be here in two hours when it’s dark out,” Another one wearing a beanie says. 

Two hours? Fuck. She really was going to miss the filming now. Hazel could only hope Isabel would understand as she had dozens of other times. Especially since she had the gall to ask her to homecoming. 

With a sigh, Hazel jumps down, finding a good bush to lie in and wait for whoever they were waiting for. It better be worth it. 

_____

The sound of another car screeching to a halt beside the van is what wakes Hazel from her half-asleep reverie in the bushes. 

She yawns as quietly as possible, swinging back up to the bridge and getting a lay of what was about to happen. The car is red and a man steps out from the driver’s seat. He nods at the men in greeting, dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt. He looks like he shouldn’t have any authority here. 

But the men scramble to show off the weapons to him. 

He’s a buyer, Hazel realizes, trying to commit his face to memory.

And, of course, her phone chooses this moment to start ringing. MUNA’S “Silk Chiffon” begins playing at full volume from where she perches up high. 

Like, life’s so fun, life’s so fun, got my mini-skirt and my rollerblades on…  

“What the hell is that?” The unnamed man questions, pushing the weird-looking pistol back into one of the criminals’ hands, “Is this some kind of fucking setup?” 

The one in a beanie shakes his head, “No, Aaron. We’re good. It’s fine.”

Hazel quickly shuts her phone’s ringer off, already thinking of a few choice words to tell PJ for trying to call her while she was obviously doing something important. The buyer, Aaron apparently, still doesn’t look convinced as he begins slowly backing away and looking for the source of the ringtone. 

His  hand slips into his waistband, pulling a regular pistol out, “Don’t play me with me.”

Hazel quickly tucks her phone away, jumping down, “If you’re gonna shoot at someone, shoot at me!”

Aaron turns his head to her, “Alright,” and shoots at her. 

Hazel dodges it, shooting a web at the gun and throwing it into the river beside the bridge. Then she begins running up to him, arm stretched back and ready to give him a hefty punch in the face. 

The other men scramble and once she gets a good hit on Aaron, she switches her focus to the van full of weapons. In a split second, she sees the stash and then looks up at the man inside the back of the van. His fist glows, bigger than what she remembers. He’s wearing a fucking weapon.

He punches her, making her fly back a few dozen feet. 

“Ugh,” Hazel grunts on impact, dazed and confused at how they managed to get a super fist. The man even looks surprised by how strong it is, but that does nothing to deter them from hopping into the van and Aaron into his car to drive off. 

At that moment, Hazel decides to only pursue the van for the weapons. And, once she can stand up, she leaps into the air and stays right on their trail. They cut through a nearby suburban neighborhood and she tries extra hard to not crash through a roof or window. 

Once she is close enough, she sticks a web to the top of the van, yanking herself forward until she lands on it. Leaning to the left, she catches sight of the driver and passenger, with the rest presumably crammed into the back. The passenger is angrily talking to someone on the phone, but it’s hard to make out the exact words when she’s clinging to the car for her life.

She raises a hand in greeting, “Hey, guys. So nice to see you again. It’s been too long!”

The driver’s eyes widen, before he narrows them and proceeds to swerve to the right. Hard. Hazel feels her grip on the side of the car loosen and she flies off, landing face-first on the pavement of the street. 

Hazel jumps up, sprinting forward again to build some momentum. She’s back in the air in no time, but she thinks her nose must be bleeding. If the sudden spot of warmth in the middle of her mask means anything. But she has priorities. 

Just as she’s about to go for round two of stopping the vehicle, she’s suddenly swept up further into the air, heading toward the stars. 

“What—what the fuck?” Hazel chokes out, twisting and turning her body to see her attacker only to realize she’s in the clutches of some kind of mechanical claws. She can look up a little though, and she finds a pair of beady, green-lit eyes staring down at her. Two large wings span across the back of whoever this is. Everything is metallic. 

“I know,” A gruff voice, muffled by their mask, says, “It’s a hell of a grip.” The claws sink into her sides. White hot pain shoots up across her body.

Hazel makes the mistake of looking down. After all these years of swinging high in the city, she had never gone this high. Any sudden wrong movement and she would be nothing but a splat on the ground. 

“Relax. I’ll be quick with it.”

Hazel takes two seconds to make a decision, which can feel like hours when you feel like you’re about to go beyond the ozone layer. She proceeds to bring a fist to the side of their face. They startle, not expecting this, probably expecting her to give up at such an altitude. But it’s enough to loosen their grip the slightest. 

Hazel places her hands on both of their shoulders, pushing down with all her strength. Which is thankfully, a lot. Her perpetrator laughs at her attempt. But then she raises her head and brings it down with full force, colliding with the metal mask in front of her.  

It disorients the attacker enough to falter and she jumps, feeling her heart in her throat now as she finds herself thousands of feet up in mid-air with nothing. And then she shoots a web at the attacker’s chest, falling back onto them. Her feet land on their stomach and she pushes again. 

They both begin falling at breakneck speed back into the city. 

Her forehead is throbbing and a trickle of blood seems to be falling down the side of her head. She blinks rapidly, cold air gusts hitting her face like slashes of a knife. Still, she musters up a grin, “This is nice and all, but I gotta go!”

The attacker yells in pain and their mask must malfunction because it opens up for a moment, revealing a disgruntled-looking man. And then it closes and the green eyes look even more hardened. They’re quickly approaching the East River, a large body of water that would kill them with this much impact. Well, depending on how his weird suit of armor with fucking wings works.

The attacker tries to break out of the grip she now has him in, rolling over in the air.

Hazel keeps all her force in her legs, not letting up as she keeps him down. And then, she’s being thrown, strong arms gripping her by the waist and hurling her across the water. All she can see is the figure flying back further into the sky and leaving her behind. Like he had given up. For now.

She hardly has time to think about that when her body slams underwater. The impact stings all over and she thinks she blacks out for a few seconds. When her eyes open, she immediately swims up to the surface, every movement feels like it is in slow motion, like she will never actually make it out of the river. 

And then, she’s up and gulping for air. Hazel looks around and then up at the bridge. She didn’t land too far from it, so she attaches a web to the side of it and uses it to swing herself up to land. 

Once her feet land on grass and dirt and everything she had sorely missed from her brief moments away. She looks around, realizing this was where those guys had their meetup. If the leftover debris was anything to go off of, she makes sure to grab a stray piece of weaponry from the ground before swinging away to find a barren roof to take refuge on. It almost saps her of all her strength. Only then does she allow her knees to buckle. 

“Fuck,” She curses, scrambling to take her phone out of her waistband. It’s soaked, but it works. Thank you water resistance. 

She’s got a few missed calls from Josie, PJ, Isabel, and even a text from her mom telling her to let her know if she’s staying out late.

With shaky and bloody fingers, Hazel clicks on Josie’s name. 

Please pick up.

Josie answers on the first ring. “Where the fuck did you go?”  

Hazel coughs and she tastes metal, “I…are your parents home?”

Silence. Hazel can practically see how Josie’s eyes must widen. “No—no, they’re at a church thing tonight. It’ll run long. Why? What happened? Are you okay?”

Hazel winces at the barrage of questions and instead says, “I’m coming over. Let PJ know too. You should probably get the first aid out if you still have it.” She hangs up, wondering how she would survive even swinging there. 

_____

Hazel lands in a crumpled heap in the window of Josie’s bedroom. She barely makes it through the fire escape when her legs decide enough is enough. 

“Oh my god!” Josie exclaims and, probably to PJ who Hazel can’t really see because she’s fading in and out of consciousness, “Help me pick her up!”

They both come up to Hazel’s left and right, picking her up enough to gently drape her across Josie’s bed. 

Hazel feels the mask being slowly pulled off of her face, revealing two pairs of worried eyes staring down at her. “Sorry…sorry about…the bed,” She mumbles. 

“It’s fine,” Josie assures her.

“What the fuck happened?” PJ asks, scrambling to open the first-aid kit Hazel knew Josie kept in her closet for exactly this reason. “It thought you’d be gone an hour or something. Not the rest of the day.”

Hazel laughs but it turns into a cough. She swallows harshly, sitting up slightly. “It was fine until it wasn’t.”

PJ looks at her like she’s insane, “Well, that’s not vague at all!” 

“Here,” Josie brings up some disinfectant wipes from the kit, “You should clean up a bit and then we can talk. Do you want to shower?”

“Yeah, if—if that’s okay,” Hazel says quietly. They both stay quiet as she and she’s reminded of how much she appreciates them for always putting up with whatever bullshit Spider-Woman brings wherever she goes. 

Josie nods, face full of concern.

Hazel takes the sweatpants and t-shirt Josie gives her out and into the bathroom in the hallway. It is only when she shuts the door and is alone that she tugs the upper half of her suit down, revealing the claw marks of dried blood on the sides of her ribs, not to mention those already showing signs of bruising. 

She stares herself down in the mirror, taking in the paleness of her face and her drenched hair sticking to her forehead. The sweat and blood had mixed into every facet of her skin, looking like she was just in a warzone. It certainly felt like it. 

She takes in a deep breath, gingerly brushing her fingers over her abdomen and against the gashes. They weren’t too deep, nothing life-threatening. But still. Hurt like a bitch. 

In the shower, she watches in silence as the red and brown mix of whatever was on her skin runs down the drain, tainting the clean, clear water. She thinks there must be a metaphor in there somewhere. But after a good scrubbing, she feels infinitely better than how she did when she first arrived here. 

Once she steps out, she dries off quickly and wipes the wounds down with the wipes, grimacing at the sting. Then, she presses bandages on each of them. It should be enough to help her heal faster. It’s harder to bandage the side of her head, so she just sticks to cleaning the surrounding area enough so that the blood is less visible. It does little to deter her headache.

“It was like a bird or something…” Hazel says as soon as she’s back in the bedroom. “A big metal bird.”

“With wings?” PJ asks like this is all normal. Which it kind of is. 

Hazel confirms, “With wings. I was just following a van—a lead on the weapons like we talked about. I wanted to interrogate the guys about where they found them, but then one of them was on the phone and—and then I got picked up. Literally plucked from the ground like a worm.”

Josie worries her lower lip, “Did you get a good look at their face?”

“I…I think so. It was an older white dude, definitely. But it was so quick. I—I just wanted to get out of his grip as soon as possible so I fought back and he tossed me into the East River.”

PJ huffs, crossing her arms, “ Fuck . We need to figure this shit out before it hits the fan. Now you’re really on their radar and whoever that is will probably try again. They wanted to kill you, Hazel.”

Hazel shrinks further into herself, “I know,” She looks between both her friends, repeating, “ I know . I’ll be prepared next time.”

“God. I hope there isn’t a next time,” Josie says, placing a hand on her chest, “You’re going to give me heart problems at eighteen, asshole.”

“I know,” Hazel says, feeling like a broken record. She adjusts the web shooters on her wrists, “I’m gonna head home. My mom thinks I’ve been with you guys all day, so just tell her that if she asks, okay? We can try to research that salvage company later.”

PJ shakes her head, “I already tried. The website went tits up a few hours after we figured it out. Nothing about it exists. At least, not anymore.”

Josie’s eyes widen, “We’re seeing how sus that is, right? ‘Cause that is really fucking sus.” 

“Yeah,” Hazel breathes out, walking to the bed where she left the suit and mask. “They’re onto us. We need to be careful. All of us.”

_____

Hazel slips back into the suit, pointedly ignoring the smell of sweat. She keeps the fresh clothes underneath it, promising to wash them (after another thorough wash of the suit and mask). 

She arrives home to a dark apartment. Her mom had probably already gone to bed. So she just decides to make a B-line to her bedroom, shutting the front door as quietly as possible behind her.

When she flicks the light switch in the living room, she hears a voice, “Where have you been?”

Hazel almost jumps up to stick to the ceiling on instinct. But her shoes stay firmly planted on the floor and she puts her hands behind her back because she had no bag to put her suit in and prays her mom doesn’t notice. She comes face to face with her. Wide awake and in her pajamas. Not so much mad, but concerned. Worried. Anxious. All the synonyms. 

“Uh,” She tries to grasp at her excuse, “Josie and PJ wanted to hang out after film club. So…yeah. Sorry for forgetting to let you know earlier.”

“So if I call them up, they’ll say the same thing?”

Hazel gulps, nodding once. 

Her mom sighs. She looks tired, older. Hazel had never really noticed before. “Sweetie, is everything okay? You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Hazel says, gripping the suit even tighter. “Everything’s fine, mom. Promise.”

Please don’t look behind me. Please don’t look behind me. Please don’t look behind me. Please—

Her mom looks like she wants to say more but decides against it. “Okay, hon. Okay,” She walks up to her and Hazel thinks her knees might have buckled again if she hadn’t taken a moment to recuperate back at Josie’s. Her mom presses a kiss to her forehead, “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Hazel says back, watching her back away and walk into her bedroom. As soon as she shuts her door, her shoulders sag in relief. She just about sprints to her own room, quickly throwing the suit under her bed. 

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” Hazel whisper yells, palm on her heart. Her eyes land on fucking Isabel of all people sitting by her window sill, still slightly open. They live on the third floor, so she must have used the fire escape. But that doesn’t really make her feel any better. How was everybody getting the jump on her today? “What are you doing here? Did–did you sneak in?”

“You should really make sure your windows are locked from now on,” She pauses, looking around the room, “I called your mom when filming wrapped. Just to check up on her since she seems to be going through something every other day. She said you never showed up. That you were probably with PJ and Josie.”

Hazel clears her throat, “Isabel…”

“Are you in trouble? Like, legally. Because if you need money you know my family—”

“No!” Hazel says loudly, then lowers her voice when she realizes it’s past midnight and they are not home alone. “No. I don’t—I’m not in any trouble. I’m sorry if I worried you, but I’m okay.”

“Then talk to me,” Isabel all but begs and it breaks Hazel a little more than she thought she already was from everything the metal bird guy did to her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Hazel purses her lips, curling her hands into fists at her sides, “I can’t. You just—you have to understand that. Please.”

Isabel stands up, eyes full of hurt and pain and everything Hazel wishes could be thrown onto her instead. She steps closer, close enough to be at arm's length. Her gaze stays focused on a part of her face. Careful fingers press against the side of Hazel’s head, “There’s blood here,” Isabel observes, quiet. “But…you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“Look,” Hazel whispers, staring at anywhere but Isabel’s face. So much for cleaning herself up. “Let me just walk you home, okay? It’s late. You shouldn’t be here.”

Isabel shakes her head, retracting her touch. Hazel misses the warmth immediately. “I stole my mom’s car. I can drive back.” And with that, Hazel walks her out, all the way back down the rickety elevators of their shitty apartment building. They hardly say a word to each other, other than to bid each other good night. 

Hazel returns to her bedroom, writing down a sticky note to clean her suit (again). And then she lays in bed, shifting uncomfortably every so often because her accelerated healing always took longer after a particularly bad fight. 

Eventually, she falls asleep. She dreams of nothing and she’s grateful for it.

_____

The following morning is a Sunday. She sleeps well into the afternoon, waking up only to find a glass of water and some ibuprofen on her bedside table. It embarrasses her to realize her mom must think she went out all night to just drink and come back with what will give her a hangover. 

Still, she takes it to make sure any residual pain from the fight will leave her. At least for a few hours.

In the bathroom, she lifts her t-shirt enough to peel off the bandages on her sides. The gashes are almost completely healed, looking more like faint red, jagged lines on her pale skin. She tries using water to wash off any excess blood around the side of the head.

Sundays are her mom’s only days off, so she finds her in the living room. A Desperate Housewives rerun is playing on their shared TV. 

“Good morning,” Her mom says with a smile. She sips a sweet tea and a bowl of popcorn is in her lap. “Feeling better?”

Hazel smiles back sheepishly, running a hand through her hair,  “Uh, yeah. I’m okay,” She points to the TV, “Mind if I join?”

Her mom scoots over to give her more room on the couch, “Be my guest.”

They spend an hour or two like that, commenting on every interesting part and gasping at the drama that comes with reality TV. It makes her feel better, like the world outside of their home doesn’t exist. It’s just her and her mom. Like it has been for three years now. 

She just wished it could last forever.

_____

School is the same as always. But the film club progresses every day. More weekends are budgeted into her schedule to be present. Isabel seems to either have forgotten about their entire conversation in Hazel’s bedroom or is purposely not acknowledging it. Which Hazel can’t say she’s opposed to. If it means they can be normal with each other. 

Time flies by. The holidays are a welcome break. Isabel let her know that they plan on submitting the film in time for the festival’s final deadline in February. With the actual event being on a weekend in April. All the way over in Washington, DC. 

When it does finally wrap, the whole crew share hugs and a few tears. The final scene was in front of the school. Back where they started. A full circle for both the characters in the scene and everyone in real life. 

Mostly everyone goes home, but Hazel is invited to grab some food with her closest friends on the team. It’s only when they all cram into a booth at their local diner that Isabel is going to throw the equivalent of a premiere for themselves when the final draft of the film is done. All at her own house, with food and drinks and a huge projection screen set up in her backyard. 

PJ is the main editor, but she takes on another set of hands for help from their vast crew who can work their way around Premiere Pro. So she assures everyone that she will have a cleaned-up cut of the film by the time they have to screen it. 

This leaves Hazel wondering what to wear to their own little makeshift premiere. If everyone else was going to treat it seriously, then she knew she had to, too. 

_____ 

The night of the premiere, she decides on a new crisp long-sleeve button-up. Its maroon shade compliments the cuffed olive-green slacks she pairs them with some Doc Martens she got for her birthday last year and didn’t wear for anything other than special occasions. A sort of ‘I’m sorry’ from her mom for spending more time at work than at home. 

She puts on a silver chain as a finishing touch before hailing a cab to Josie’s place, where PJ and Annie were also waiting so they could all go together in Josie’s car. 

Isabel’s home is decorated to the max, with an actual honest-to-god red carpet rolled out from under her staircase entrance and stopping just before it hits the actual road. It continues inside, where the living room has a large wall decorated with the name of the film: After School . Just like real Hollywood premieres. 

Everyone is either helping themselves to the tables stacked with food and snacks and beverages (No alcohol, though. Isabel’s mom was pretty adamant about that apparently) or taking pictures on their very own red carpet. 

Hazel spots Brittany taking a selfie with Isabel, both in their nicest blouses and skirts, which Hazel does her best to not stare at as Isabel begins walking toward her. She straightens up instead, still feeling like they were on an unsteady foundation. 

“Glad you could make it,” Isabel says in lieu of a greeting. 

Hazel smiles, a little nervous, “Wouldn’t miss it,” She clasps her hands behind her back just to give them something to do, “It looks amazing, by the way. This was a really nice idea. I know everyone’s nervous about making it to the festival, so this was a good way to decompress.”

Isabel sighs, looking around, “Yeah. I’m— I’m nervous. I think.”

Hazel raises an eyebrow, amused, “You think?”

“Shut up,” Isabel shoves her shoulder. Not nearly enough to actually hurt. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Hazel agrees softly, “But this is good. We did… you did good.”

Isabel frowns, “It was your idea, Haze.”

“I know. It’s just—” Hazel’s senses perk up suddenly, gaze flicking over to right, where a ping pong ball is being flung right to the back of Isabel’s head. In that one second, she takes a quick step forward, placing one hand on Isabel’s shoulder and using her other to grab it before it can connect. She must be too distracted because the whole thing flattens in her fist, completely destroyed. 

“Sorry!” Sylvie yells from across the room, in front of a table full of red solo cups. Stella-Rebecca and Annie are with her. “We were playing water pong and things got a little crazy!”

“Oh my god, did you crush the ball?” Isabel questions, gawking at the center of Hazel’s palm. 

Hazel blinks, tossing the remnants of the ball into the nearest trash can, “Uh, yeah. That was—probably badly made. You know how these things can get. They’re shitty toys mostly,” She dusts her hands off, looking up at Isabel, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Isabel laughs, “I don’t think a ping pong ball would’ve done serious damage.”

“You never know,” Hazel shrugs, hoping her nerves are not as obvious as she thinks they are. 

Eventually, everyone gets wrangled into the backyard, lit up by dangling fairy lights weaved in and out of the tall trees above them. The projector lights up a large, white blank canvas draped against the fence. It’s bigger than what Hazel had been expecting, making it feel even more like a real premiere. 

Hazel is loitering toward the back of the crowd, content to stay on the sidelines and not bring the spotlight onto her. Of course, Isabel has other ideas. 

(She’s dragged to the very front, having a microphone shoved into her face as soon as everyone settles down.)

She supposes she should have seen it coming, with her being the co-creator of the film and all. 

“Um,” Hazel begins, looking out into the sea of faces. She had never been a fan of public speaking, but as she finds her friends she realizes these were all people who cared about this whole thing. A lot. So much work had been put into this by each and everyone of them. They just wanted to have a good time. 

“First off, I just wanted to thank you guys for even coming,” She smiles when she hears a few whoops from the guys she recognizes as their electricians, “This was, uh, a big labor of love. Sometimes more labor than love. But I think it turned out amazing. And I really appreciate everyone here for making Isabel and I’s vision come true. So, yeah. Enjoy the show!”

The crowd erupts in applause before Isabel says her part. And then the film finally begins just as Hazel is finding an open seat on the left side of the front row, with Isabel making the easy decision to sit beside her. 

Hazel smiles at her, hoping she can convey everything she’s feeling in that one little gesture. All the words that have gone unsaid. 

Isabel squeezes her hand in response. And, for once, Hazel thinks everything might actually go okay. 

_____

“It’s a grenade.”

Josie gawks, “Then why are you fucking holding it?”

Hazel turns the piece of tech around in her hand, giving her an amused look. In a rare moment for them, PJ was not around. Too busy putting the finishing touches on the film to help them study the piece she managed to nag from the thieves when she escaped the metal bird dude. “It’s not activated. We’re fine.”

“Uh-huh. And you’re not worried that it might get activated because…?” Josie trails off, narrowing her eyes at the thing, “It’s blinking. That thing is definitely blinking. What the fuck, Hazel?”

“Relax,” Hazel says, spinning around in the shitty office chair she’s had for years now, “That’s what I need you for. Once I break it, I wanna know what that blinking light inside it is.”

Josie sits up straighter, bringing her knees up to her chest as she leaned against Hazel’s headboard. “What if it explodes?”

“That’s why I’m gonna open it outside,” Hazel tells her, grabbing her mask from her desk drawer and slipping it over her face. She doesn’t bother with the rest of the suit as she leaps out of the window without another word. Not even thirty seconds later, she zips back in from the fire escape. “Here,” She gives the broken-apart grenade to her friend. 

Josie rolls her eyes, focusing on the tech instead of sending another insult Hazel’s way. She picks it apart with her hands, fishing out a small, black stick. “A flash drive,” She muses quietly to herself. With a sigh, she gestures for Hazel to hand over her laptop, “Against my better judgment, I am going to plug this random flash drive into my laptop.”

Hazel squeezes in next to her on the bed, watching as the screen changes from the wallpaper Josie had of her family to some screen filled with code. 

Josie hits a few buttons on her keyboard, and then it shifts again, showing a map. 

“Wait, I think this is live,” Hazel says, pointing at a red blinking dot cruising along a road on the map. “Is—is this tracking something?” 

“Yep,” Josie confirms, squinting at the screen, “Maybe it’s the truck. It’s moving fast enough to be a vehicle. I’m guessing some of the tech was outfitted with trackers to keep it all in check.”

Hazel bites her lip, the gears in her head turning, “Yeah, yeah, it probably is. Looks like they’re on the run after our little rendezvous. I have to go after them.”

“But we’re leaving for DC tomorrow,” Josie reminds her, “The dot is closing in on Maryland. You can’t be in two states at once.”

“I have to try , Josie. This shit is dangerous. I’m lucky no one’s gotten seriously hurt from this tech yet.”

Josie unplugs the flash drive, shutting her laptop. She turns to face Hazel directly, “I know. It’s just—when do you get a break? Why does it always have to be the end of the world with you?”

Hazel’s expression crumples slightly, but she keeps her composure, “I don’t— I…I can’t. It’s too risky.” She places a comforting hand on Josie’s shoulder, “It’s something I have to do. I’ve accepted that already.”

_____

The film festival has everyone buzzing with excitement. Hazel even more so as she packs her suitcase with two days worth of clothes for their trip to DC. And as much as it gave her a bad feeling in her gut, she made sure to pack in the suit and mask at the very bottom. As well as some of the tech to research it some more. All out of sight but certainly not out of mind. 

“Is that everything? Don’t forget a toothbrush. And some slippers for the shower. Oh, and—”

“Mom,” Hazel cuts her off, laughing, “Relax. I’m not a kid. I can pack my stuff.”

Her mom sighs, crossing her arms, “So you didn’t forget your nice jeans? The ones I bought for you a couple weeks ago?”

“Of course.”

“You forgot.”

She hangs her head, “ Okay , I forgot. But,” Hazel jogs back into her room, coming back out with the jeans, “I’m putting them in right now, okay?” She stuffs it in, zipping the suitcase up with finality. 

Her mom smiles, gesturing for Hazel to step into her arms. Which she does. “I’m so proud of you, you know that? A festival . That’s big, hun.”

Hazel sinks into her embrace, “I know, mom. I’m…really glad we made it in at all.”

“And you’re going to win,” Her mom assures her, kissing the crown of Hazel’s head, “I know it.”

Hazel can only hope that’s true. 

_____

They ride to school together, but the film club isn’t going to be in any of their classes as they all pile into two school buses for the ride to DC. Hazel is just glad that she doesn’t have to deal with trying to stay awake in first period for once. As much as she liked science, it should not be taught at 7 in the morning under any circumstances. Especially spidey ones. 

The bus ride there is uneventful. They sing shitty road trip songs all throughout the four hours, with Hazel getting sick of it an hour in and plugging in her earbuds and choosing to count how many cars she sees before she gets bored and starts over again. It also helps that Crystal is next to her and she was never one to be loud. Isabel was behind her and next to Brittany, Josie and PJ had taken the seats on the other side of the aisle from her. 

Hazel tries hard not to think about how she would find the time to go to Maryland while still being here for the majority of the trip. It didn’t feel very possible. 

They arrive in one piece with Mr. G taking a head count before telling them their roommates and their assigned rooms as they check into the hotel near the venue for the festival. Hazel lets out a sigh of relief when she gets PJ, one less person to lie to if she had to suddenly leave. 

As soon as they shut the door to their room, Hazel collapses on the bed on the left side, unzipping her suitcase and dumping out the tech parts she brought, most importantly—the power core from the very beginning of this entire journey to finding the weapons. 

PJ looks unamused,  “Oh, we’re doing this now? Like, right now?”

“You brought your laptop, right?”

PJ is silent for a second. Then, she says, “Obviously.”

“Then we can totally do it. But you don’t have to, PJ. I’m okay working on this on my own. I’m sure some of the others wouldn’t mind hanging with you.”

PJ sighs, rolling her eyes, “I’m calling Josie.”

Hazel grins. 

Josie arrives in a few minutes, and they get to work. Well, it actually isn’t all work. They spend a good chunk goofing off and getting distracted by the TV when they finally find the Cartoon Network channel. I mean, who wasn’t going to watch Adventure Time when there’s a marathon airing? 

But they do, eventually, get a lead. 

“Herman Schultz?” Josie questions, “Are you sure?”

Hazel nods fervently, “I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” She pushes her open laptop screen further toward her friends, “That website may be down, but LinkedIn can still tell us who works or worked there. This guy—I recognize his face from the night at the bridge. I swear he was the one who dropped the grenade,” She switches to another tab, “And he was just released from prison six months ago on aggravated assault and armed robbery charges.”

“So he’s definitely on the truck then. And this confirms that this fucking company is connected to the weapons somehow.”

Hazel sets her laptop down on the bed, thinking, “So I have to go.”

Josie shakes her head, “The festival is tomorrow. You can’t.”

“I’ll make it back before then. Maryland isn’t that far from DC. And if I swing, it’ll be even faster.” 

PJ’s expression seems to be set to permanent concern, “I know this is important to you. So just go,” She points an accusatory finger at Hazel, “But I swear if you do anything stupid I will kill you.”

Hazel chuckles nervously, never quite sure when PJ is joking, “Yeah, okay.”

She is quick to pack her backpack with a suit and some other essentials for the quick trip out of state. Josie and PJ watch her, worry emanating off of them in waves but Hazel tries her best to ignore it. She knew this was dangerous. She wasn’t stupid, but she had to do this. If not her, then who? She’s Spider-Woman for a reason. 

“Please be careful with the core,” Hazel says, attaching her web shooters to her wrist and hiding them under her sweatshirt. “We still don’t know how it all works.”

Josie gives her a two-fingered salute, “We will.” 

As she exits the hotel room, she almost immediately bumps into Isabel. Just her luck. 

“Hey, Haze,” Isabel smiles. She’s holding a towel over her shoulder and wearing a bathing suit. The moon shines down on them enough to illuminate a swimming pool on the first floor. “We’re all heading to the pool. I know it’s after hours or whatever, but it’ll be fun. You should come.”

Hazel feels her heart sink, slow like molasses. The excuse leaves her so easily. “I was gonna go to the conference room to study.”

Isabel furrows her brows, “But you don’t need to study. You’re like the smartest person I know. Besides, a rebellious group activity is good for morale,” She bites her bottom lip like she's actually nervous or something, “Well, I read that in Ted Talk. Or—heard it in one, actually. And I read a book about this stuff. So.”

Hazel softens her gaze, grip tightening on the strap of her backpack that hangs off her shoulder. Her voice is just as soft. “You’re…this is really important to you, huh?”

“Of course it is,” Isabel says with the utmost certainty. Hazel wishes she could feel the same about anything in her life, “It’s our future. I don’t want to screw it up,” She tosses her a bag of chips, “Plus, we raided the minibar and these things were like $11, so put on some shorts and get out here.”

With that, Isabel joins the others as they run down to the pool, some of them patting Hazel’s shoulder and encouraging her to do the same. 

_____

Later, when Hazel has put her suit on, she watches everyone from the rooftop of the hotel. Splashing around in the water or just lounging on the chairs around the pool. It hurts. In the most simple way. But she knows what she has to do.

She turns away from the scene and swings away, in the direction of the moving truck. 

_____ 

Hazel keeps track of it with the help of her phone, having been able to transfer the live map onto the smaller screen with the help of Josie. Besides, she was happy to not have to bother her friends every few minutes to make sure she was on the right track. She hoped they were enjoying their time at the impromptu pool party. 

The road is dark, illuminated by street lights every few miles. There are hardly any cars around, but she is able to hitch a ride on top of a freight truck traveling in the direction she was going. It helps since there were less and less tall structures to swing off of the further they got into the state. 

When the map shows she’s less than a 100 meters away, Hazel jumps off, landing gracefully on her feet. 

She tilts her head as she finds a van parked in front of an abandoned gas station. 

“That’s such a lame place for a lair,” She mutters to herself, jumping to the top of a lamp post to survey the lay of the land some more. This is definitely the same van from the bridge, which meant that Herman guy was here. She was right on the money. She can also tell there are a few men in there, with how loud their conversation was. So much for subtlety.

Hazel can’t catch anything specific, but she jumps to the roof of the gas station to try and get a closer look. It felt a little silly to be doing all of this with her school backpack still on, but she wanted to keep her clothes nearby in case this ran longer than she expected and had to rush to the festival in the morning. 

She hardly has any time to calibrate her hearing to zone in on the men when suddenly another freight truck pulls into view, driving down the street next to the gas station. She hears some kind of commotion from inside the van as it starts up, slowly driving out of its parking space. 

Hazel watches them carefully, prepared to follow when she notices the name of the company on the side of the freight truck they were trailing. The Department of Damage Control. She knew them intimately, always tasked with cleaning up major fights that other superheroes around the city and even the nation caused. Last year's fight with the Chitauri had called for them to show up. These guys definitely had even more other wordly tech picked up from all their jobs. 

They’re probably holding more weapons , She thinks, Metal Bird Guy and his lackeys are definitely in the middle of a heist. 

As if on cue, the Metal Bird Guy slowly flies in closer to the freight truck, dropping some small spherical things on its roof. Almost immediately, she sees some kind of purple light spread over the area the spheres fell onto. 

Hazel takes that as her own cue, leaping away from the gas station and onto the roof just as Metal Bird Guy drops inside the truck. 

Cautiously, Hazel presses her fingertips against the purple light, surprised to see them go entirely through the roof. “Woah, it’s like some kind of matter phase shifter.”

Metal Bird Guy emerges seconds later from the truck, as if he had only gone in to inspect it and make sure it would be worth their while. Hazel straightens up upon seeing him, “Hey, big bird! This doesn’t belong to you?”

His head snaps in her direction. “Name’s Vulture, actually.”

“Oh, shit,” She says under her breath, forgetting how scary those cold green eyes really were. She dodges his rush attack on her just in time. 

He targets her again and she narrowly avoids a punch to the face, but he’s quick enough to make her stumble and almost fall off the edge of the truck. When she finally balances herself again, she sees him coming back to kick her. 

Hazel grabs onto his legs then, hoping to bring him down to her level. She tries using all her strength, but all it results in is being pushed even more and stumbling through the phase matter shifter. And, without thinking, she jumps up to get out and finds her head knocking harshly against the once again solid roof. 

Then, all she sees is black.

_____

When Hazel wakes up, her head is throbbing. She absentmindedly runs a hand down her still masked face with a groan. Her eyes open blearily, taking in her surroundings. Everything still looks the same. The interior of the freight truck hasn’t changed. 

“Where am I?” She asks no one in particular. Talking to herself was a habit she developed on patrol. Going solo could get a little lonely at times and this was the best solution next to forcing someone to join her. 

Hazel carefully stands up, glad to have not lost her backpack in all the commotion. But the fact that no one was here did little to comfort her. 

With a renewed sense of motivation, Hazel searches for a way out. All she can find is the back end of the truck. There is no choice but to break it using brute force. Everything here was already reinforced ten times more than any normal truck would be. 

Okay, She steels herself, Let’s do this. 

Hazel runs forward with all her strength as she slams the side of her body against it. Again and again and again before it finally pops off and comes flying out. 

She is quick to be back on her feet and holding her fists up for any threats that may have been waiting for her. But there is nothing. Nothing at all. 

She finds herself in some kind of warehouse, where dozens upon dozens of other freight trucks from the Department of Damage Control have been taken. On the wall in front of her, she sees the label DODC-V05: DEEP STORAGE VAULT. 

Well, that did not sound promising. 

With nothing much else to do, she tries exploring the rest of the warehouse, peeking inside some storage units that are already opened. It makes about an hour go by, maybe a little less before she decides she is bored out of her mind. 

She pokes around the inside of the unit she had come in from some more. All there is is boxes filled to the brim with technology from all round the world and beyond. Exactly what those thieves would want. At least her showing up deterred them from their goal. So far. 

As she combs through the containers, she finds some files hidden behind a particular box, she pulls them out, ignoring the big red letters that said CLASSIFIED and opening it to reveal papers upon papers that document every piece of technology in the truck. 

It’s not until Hazel’s eyes land on a picture of the power core that she realizes the gravity of the situation. 

“Activates near radiation…” Hazel reads out loud, eyebrows furrowed. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. “An explosive Chitauri energy core,” She swallows nervously, shutting the file. That thing was a literal ticking time bomb. And she left it in the hands of her two definitely not superhuman friends. 

Shit. 

She has to tell them before it’s too late, before they go to the festival. Except, when she tries calling either of them, she only goes to voicemail. No signal.

Hazel jumps to the top of one of the many, many trucks and sees how far this warehouse goes on. She needs to leave and she needs to leave now . She had no idea how long she had even been knocked out and no one was likely to come back in here until morning. Who knew what could happen if that power core decided to go off? All those people. Her people. 

Shaking her head, Hazel goes to every corner of the warehouse, trying and failing to find any weak points in the walls but it’s all too strong. Even with her enhanced abilities, she couldn’t bare knuckle punch her way through this stuff.

By some stroke of luck, she finds a time lock, set to go off in a few hours. Hours that she did not have the luxury to waste. But time locks are powered by electricity as most things are. If she could figure out the correct voltage sequence to override it, then maybe—just maybe she could force the doors to open. 

But that meant going through every sequence, with no other knowledge to go off of, she just had to guess. 

And so that is how the rest of her time flies by, spending every hour coming up with new sequences and using her school calculator she forgot to leave at home whenever there was some math she could not quite figure out on her own. 

By the grace of whatever or whoever might be listening, Hazel finds the right sequence. And the metal doors slide open, almost blinding her with the amount of natural light finally hitting her. If the sun has already been up then she was already running late. 

Hazel wastes no time in running out, backpack still clinging to her shoulders as she swings up and away. It takes a while longer before she can get service back on her phone but as soon as she does, she calls Josie.

Josie picks up on the first ring. 

“Oh, thank god. You’re alive!” Hazel exclaims, landing on a moving city bus.

“Dude!” Josie says, “You missed it. You missed everything!”

Hazel pushes down the shitty feeling that gives her, that sour taste in her mouth. “Josie, listen to me. I found out—”

“We’re at the Washington Monument. Taking an elevator all the way up,” Josie says, “The last part of the trip before going home. I have no idea how Mr. G was okay with believing you wandered off. But he was .”

“Look, just listen, okay? The—the glowy thing. The core—it’s—where is it? Where did you put it?”

“Don’t worry. It’s in my backpack. You know I wouldn’t leave that in the room for cleaning service to find.”

Hazel lets out a huff of frustration, “No, no, that’s not good. It’s dangerous. It’s—”

There is some shuffling on the other line and Hazel hears Isabel’s muffled voice over her phone speaker. 

“Josie, please just—”

“Hazel?”

“Oh, hey, Isabel,” Hazel breathes out, “Please put Josie back on the phone.”

“You jerk . You are so lucky that we won.”

Hazel feels her mouth go dry. She really did miss everything. “I have to talk to Josie. It’s important. Please put her back on the phone. There’s something in her backpack that can’t go through the x-ray. Please—”

“Miss,” Comes a distant male voice from Isabel’s line, “All items on the belt please.”

The phone cuts off their connection a second later. Hazel almost crushes her phone in her hand from pure frustration. She can hear the familiar sound of sirens in the distance, so she throws her backpack up into a tree and webs it there to come back later. And she jumps off the bus , into the direction of chaos. Business as usual. 

Standing proud at 555 feet, the Washington Monument is a structure to behold. Hazel can’t really do that when she sees debris beginning to fall from the top of the building. Which is never really a good sign. 

The power core must have activated detonating.

Most of the crew is waiting outside with their only other chaperone, Mrs. Connel. But she counts PJ, Josie, Brittany, Isabel, Annie and Sylvie missing. Meaning they were part of the group going inside, and they were most likely already in the elevator. The elevator is about to explode. 

Okay, deep breaths. She could fix this. It was totally possible. 

Hazel shoots a web on the side of the building, beginning to wall crawl as fast as possible up the whole thing. But the higher she gets, the more her heart feels like it might fall out of her chest. She is usually never this high up. It took her six months after gaining her powers to scale the Empire State building.

Forcing herself to only look up, Hazel finds the best point of entry is the Southwest window. Only a little bigger than an air vent but enough for her to break through it. Her first few kicks do little, making her realize it was made out of stronger glass than she thought. So she needs more force behind her kicks. 

With that in mind, she sticks a web above the window and tries not to puke as she temporarily leaps off the side of the building, only to come back and kick the window with the added strength. 

But it still is not enough. 

This is when she finally hears a buzzing sound behind her, loudly. Hazel turns her head slightly, terrified to slip and plummet to her death now. 

A police helicopter hovers behind her. One officer holds a megaphone, “Stand down! Return to the ground immediately or we will open fire!”

Hazel turns back to the window, keenly aware of the screams of terror from below and inside the building. Some of them are her friends. There was no way in hell the police would be able to get to them in time. 

“Stand down! This is your last chance.”

She takes a deep breath once more. And then, she jumps off the side of the building and toward the helicopter. With all the finesse possible, she wraps a web around the bottom rungs of the helicopter, swinging back and leaping forward—directly into the window. 

The glass breaks upon impact and she lands in a crumpled mess. In front of her is the elevator, she can see the top has been opened up, but just as she sees it, the entire thing seems to break from its hinges and drop down immediately. 

All of Hazel’s senses flare up and she runs to it, attaching a web to the roof of the elevator and pulling it back up, stopping it from falling anymore. She plants her feet firmly on solid ground, gritting her teeth as she puts her all into holding this massive box of metal with multiple people inside it. 

Just as quickly, the elevator escapes her grip and begins plummeting again, taking it down with her. 

Hazel makes a noise of surprise mixed with confusion as she falls through the hole at the top, landing on her back in the elevator. Dazed, she opens her eyes and sees her friends, Mr. G and what must be the tour guide/security guard assigned to show them the monument. 

In that same second, Hazel stands and shoots another web up to the top of the chute. Finally, finally , the elevator stops falling. Hazel grunts, doing a much better job at keeping her stance firm this time around. 

“Uh, Hello,” She greets everyone awkwardly, sounding strained because, well, she is holding an entire elevator up. 

“Fuck yes!” PJ yells, jumping around as she does a fist bump in the air. “I knew you’d make it!”

Hazel laughs nervously, feeling like the tendons in her biceps might snap any second now, “Miss, please don’t move.”

Josie steadies PJ, glaring at her. 

Suddenly, the doors to the elevator are being pried open, which terrifies Hazel for a second before seeing the officers and firefighters on the other side. They had made it to the next floor. 

“Looks like this is your stop,” She tells everyone, gesturing with her head for them to begin exiting. One by one, each person is able to cross the threshold and make it to relative safety. 

Isabel is last, carefully stepping over some broken glass. Her hand brushes the gloved one of the firefighters ready to help her. 

Hazel watches the interaction like it’s all in slow motion. Her arms are on fire.The webs snap. And for the second time that day, Hazel loses control of the elevator. Isabel’s scream of terror fills her ears as she shoots a web around the other girls’ wrist, a very delicate way of keeping her from becoming a splat at the bottom of the chute. 

As slowly and carefully as possible, Hazel pulls her up, finding it easier to use her other arm to support the weight of only the two of them.

“Hey, it’s okay,” She says, hoping it comes across as soothingly as she wants it to. “I got you. I got you.”

Isabel’s eyes are wide, breaths coming out in shaky puffs. 

“You can hold onto me,” Hazel says, “It’s okay. I promise.”

Isabel does just that as she’s pulled further up, clinging to Hazel’s shoulders in a weird sort of embrace. Hazel does her best to use her one free arm to keep her secure. She can feel the eyes of everyone on the other side of them, but she doesn’t want to move until Isabel calms down, and doesn't want to startle her even more. 

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Hazel jokes lightly.

“You…you remember me?” Isabel asks, turning her head slightly, enough for Hazel to think she might stop breathing if they don’t stop staring at each other. 

Hazel nods slowly, “Yeah, of course I do. You made fun of my height.”

Isabel huffs out a laugh, squeezing Hazel tighter. But the fear in her eyes dissipates just a little. “Well, it was true.”

Hazel grins beneath her mask, “Yeah, well. Do you think you can go with these guys now?” When Isabel gulps but nods once, Hazel gently swings them both forward, helping push her toward the firefighter this time. Hazel zips back up to the top, finding the window she had come in from and swinging down, feeling a little less nervous about the height this time around. 

She finds her backpack on the same tree and brings it down. Then, she sneakily goes into an outdoor restroom, something for anyone visiting the nearby park, but it also worked for superheroes with very little options to change clothes. 

In the stall, she quickly takes off the suit and mask, left in her sports bra and boxer shorts while she digs inside the backpack for some jeans and a t-shirt that stated Midtown High’s name, something that was supposed to represent their group if she had ever made it to the festival. When she finally exits the restroom, Hazel suddenly feels very, very tired. All the stress of trying to break out of that vault and missing the festival hits her like a truck.

The school bus that had brought the students to the monument is still there, with Mr. G and Mrs. Connel making sure everyone was okay and ready to go back to the school, where their parents and guardians would be waiting. 

Hazel smooths her mask hair down some more as she approaches the group. A few curious eyes land on her, internally asking the very sensible question of where the fuck has she been this entire time. She can only smile awkwardly, quietly saying hi to some of them, but her body sags in relief when she sees PJ and Josie. 

They hug her in an instant, probably an overkill of a reaction from an outside perspective, but Hazel was just glad she could lean on some people right now. 

Surprisingly, PJ is the first to ask if she’s okay. 

Hazel nods, hoping her expression does not betray her. “I’m okay, really. I just wanna go home now.”

“Look,” Josie says, “Just so you know, Brittany is pissed on Isabel’s behalf. So I’d be careful if I were you.”

“What about Isabel?” Hazel bites her lip, “Is she okay?”

PJ’s eyes flit over to said girl, “I’d ask her yourself. She hasn’t really…said anything.”

That did nothing to make her feel better, so Hazel sucks it up and does just that. It is almost as if her feet move on their own as she finds herself in front of the much taller girl.

She opens and closes her mouth, deciding on where it was best to start. “I, um, I heard we won. For the narrative category, that is.”

Isabel nods. She sets her lips into a thin line. “Yeah.”

Hazel had gone toe-to-toe with Metal Bird Guy—sorry Vulture—, gotten stuck in a deep government vault, stopped a bomb from killing her friends as well as rescued them from a plummeting elevator, and yet this moment right here was the one that made her feel like she was fighting for her life the most. 

“I…Isabel, I’m sorry. And that’s—that’s not enough I know. I know, but I just need you to know I am. Like, a lot. Like, more than I have ever been in my entire life.”

Isabel breathes in deeply, momentarily looking up at the blue sky, “It’s not—I don’t even think I’m mad. I’m just—worried.”

“Worried? Why—why would you be worried?”

“Because,” Isabel says like that should be enough, “You left for the entire night. You’re only here now. After this shitshow, which I’m actually glad you skipped out on, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering what could have possibly been more important than what we’ve been working for these past few months.”

“I’m okay,” Hazel says, “I swear. And one day I’ll explain everything but I can’t right now. I…I’m sorry.”

Isabel’s expression changes, as if she has had a realization. She shakes her head, as if pushing that thought away. "Look, Hazel. Whatever's going on with you, I hope you figure out." With that, she walks off toward Brittany, who is glaring daggers at Hazel.

All of the students cram into the bus, with Hazel sitting at the very front in a seat by herself. She plugs her headphones in, wanting to drown out everything else but her music. Josie and PJ had asked her if she was okay and she had only brushed them off. There was no going back from this. Another thing to add to the monumental list of fuck-ups she had made in her life. 

She wondered if Isabel would ever forgive her. 

_____

The bus arrives by the time it is night again. Everyone rushes out straight into the arms of their awaiting parents or guardians. Hazel can see her friends hug their parents in her peripheral vision, but all she can see is her mom waiting by their car. 

She rushes to hug her, sinking into the touch. A gentle hand rubs her back and a voice keeps repeating, “I’m so glad you’re okay,” in her ear. After the day she had, all she wanted was her mom. Everything Spider-Woman-related could wait. 

_____

The first day back at school is uneventful, which only makes Hazel want to get out even more. The thought of leaving technology that dangerous out in the open without doing anything about it was not comforting in the slightest. Everyone seemed to be buzzing with excitement over Spider-Woman’s big save over in Washington, even the school morning news takes a moment to thank the masked hero. It makes her feel odd, knowing she was so well-loved but not able to actually take credit for anything.

That does nothing to stop her from wanting to skip, though. 

After first period, Hazel finds PJ in the hallway. 

“Dude,” PJ whispers, “How does it feel being famous when nobody knows it’s you?”

“Weird,” Hazel admits, “Very, very weird.”

“Should we tell everyone?”

“No.”

“Should I tell everyone?”

Hazel shakes her head, bewildered, “What? Dude, no. Look, I was actually thinking of skipping today. Get a head start on where these weapons might head next, you know? Bird dude gets his shit from the DODC. It’s a start.”

PJ raises an eyebrow, “You know we both have a quiz in Spanish next, right?”

“But this is important. You know it is.”

“So you wanna be a high school dropout?”

Hazel scoffs, already backing away toward the doors outside. Most kids in the hallway have dissipated, in class already. “I am so far beyond high school right now.”

The second she turns the corner to get out of school, she almost runs into their principal. His hands are on his hips, giving her a level look. “Ms. Callahan. My office.”

_____

So, she got detention. Forced to sit in a classroom more cramped than usual at the end of the school day. But she is, surprisingly, able to sneak out of it by blatantly walking out. The teacher in charge of all the kids, some coach she thinks, doesn’t seem to care much about what any of them are doing. 

Hazel makes it home in record time, before her mom is back from work. She gets to work in her room, fishing out the notebook she keeps in her desk drawer. There were some designs she had been tweaking in it, specifically a web bomb. And she wanted to finally test it out. With the help of sneaking into the school lab after patrol some nights, she had created a prototype. 

With that ready, she opens up her laptop again. She remembered that night at the bridge again and realized there was a more than likely chance that there were cameras around them the whole time. And hacking into the CCTV footage was one of the easier things she could do. 

As she combs through the hours of footage, she finally finds the moment they had all been conversing. She sees a grainy version of herself trying to stop that man, Aaron, from getting shot. It’s a good reminder of his face, of the fact that he had fled the scene. Maybe he could point her in the right direction with a little interrogation help. 

Assuming he might also have a criminal record, if that Herman guy was anything to go off of. That was trickier. New York City only gave you the records of someone if you knew their full name and address, plus a fee was paid and they could still deny you the information. She just did not have the time or patience for that. 

So, she turns to the internet and finds a website that seems legit enough. All she has to do is enter his name and state before confirming or not confirming some other stuff before it starts searching through online records for anyone named Aaron. 

After a few minutes, the loading bar across her screen finishes. It states she can only get the information if she pays a subscription fee, so she does. The summer job she took as a lifeguard was coming in handy, now she could only hope to remember to cancel it later. 

Hazel scrolls through the long list of Aaron’s until she finds one who matches his face. Aaron Davis, who had an address in Queens. 

Bingo.

_____

She finds him just as he is walking to his car with a bag of groceries in a parking garage near his address. She webs his car door to get his attention. 

“What the f—”

“Hey, remember me?”

“I—”

“I’m the one asking the questions here.”

Aaron holds his hands up, “Alright, alright. Chill.”

Hazel tries to put on her sternest voice, “I need information and you’re going to give it to me now.”

“Why—how did you even find me?”

“That’s not important right now!” Hazel exclaims, almost whining. “Look, just tell me who is selling these weapons? I—I need to know. So give me names or else.”

Aaron puts the bag of groceries into the trunk of the car and slams it down, startling Hazel enough to back up a few steps. He chuckles at her reaction. “You’ve never done this before, huh?”

Hazel huffs, wanting to run a hand through her hair but not able to. “Look, these guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous and I’ve seen firsthand the damage they can do.”

Aaron looks unconvinced, “And you think you can stop them?”

Hazel clenches her jaw, turning around to walk away. “Whatever. I can find someone who will help me.”

“The other night,” Aaron calls out to her, “You told the dude ‘If you’re gonna shoot someone then shoot me.’ Pretty ballsy.”

Hazel says nothing and he continues, “Look, I don’t want those weapons in the neighborhood either, okay? I have a nephew who lives here.”

“Then who are these guys? Anything I should know about the one with metal wings?”

“Other than he’s a psycho dressed like a demon? Nothing. I dunno where or who he is,” He pauses, thinking, “But I do know where he’s gonna be.”

Hazel perks up, “Really?” 

Aaron nods, “Yeah, this crazy dude I used to run with is doing a deal with him later today.”

“Where?”

“Staten Island Ferry. 11:00 am.”

_____

Hazel drops by PJ’s house to debrief her and Josie on what she’s heard. She drops in from the fire escape, removing her mask in one swift move. 

“I thought you had detention?” Josie asks. 

“Uh, I did. And now I don’t.”

Josie shakes her head as she looks away, “Whatever. You said in your text that you found out where the weapons are moving?”

Hazel nods, “Yeah. A Staten Island ferry.”

PJ nudges Josie with her elbow, “Tell her what we made.”

Josie brightens up, diving under her bed to pull out a cardboard box, “Oh! Right. I ordered something online a while back. It was just supposed to be a fun toy, but I realized it could be used for so much more,” She opens the box, pulling out what looks to be a mini drone. Decked out in all kinds of Spider-Woman stickers and branding.

Hazel gasps, tossing her mask aside to take it into her hands. “Woah. How—how does it work?”

PJ holds up what looks like a game console controller, “With this. And it has a camera, so we can keep track of what it sees on our laptops.”

“Oh, this is perfect for the ferry,” Hazel says, “Do you think we could test it out when I go?”

Josie nods, “For sure. I worked a bit of magic on it and it should still respond even when it’s super far away.”

Hazel beams, “Alright. Then let’s go.”

_____

The ferry is obviously huge, which makes Hazel nervous. It’s a lot of ground to cover for just one person, coupled with the fact that multiple criminals were probably on it made her stomach twist into even more knots. 

She sticks to the side of it, peeking through a wide window that lets her see into the main seating area where hundreds of other passengers were, talking and walking around. It reminded her of an airport. But she can spot Herman and a man she does not recognize across from him. 

Hazel looks beside her at what they have dubbed the Spider-Drone. She had her non-wired earbuds in under her mask so she could communicate with her friends back at PJ’s place. 

Herman stands up and walks in the opposite direction.

“Hey, can you keep an eye on him? I’ll follow.”

“Yeah. We’re on it.”

Hazel crawls along the side of the ferry, going upwards until she finds a safe vantage point to watch Herman meet up with a few other men. The main guy, or who she guesses it is, leans against a pole that holds up the flag. As discreetly as possible, Herman seems to lean in and whisper something. 

“White pick-up truck,” Josie says in her ear.

“What?”

“White pick-up truck,” PJ butts in, sounding like she’s next to Josie, “It’s what he just said. I’m gonna try to find one in the parking lot on the ferry.”

Hazel can see the Spider-Drone disappear into the tunnel where the vehicles were parked. “Do you see anything?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s a dude already in it. I think he’s waiting. Plus a huge trunk in the back. Probably where the tech is stashed.

Hazel opens her mouth but stops as Siri’s voice infiltrates her ears. 

Incoming call from Isabel. 

“Shit,” Hazel mutters. 

“What? What is it?” Josie asks now. 

Hazel shakes her head even though they are not in person. Keeping an eye on the men, she pulls her phone out, “Just—gimme a sec. I’ll be right back.” She ends the call with them and answers Isabel. 

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Isabel’s voice crackles through her Airpods, “I was, um, just calling to check up on you. After…after everything. I know it was a lot and everyone was all over the place.”

Hazel licks her lips, careful to not squeeze the phone hard enough to break it. She was way too broke to afford another. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m doing good. Doing—doing better.”

“Okay. That’s good. 

“Listen,” Hazel tries to keep her tone stable so as to not worry Isabel, but the guys were still talking and could make a move any second now and she had to be ready. “I’m kind of busy right now. So can I just—could I call you later?”

“Oh,” Isabel says like she’s surprised. Hazel wonders if she was too blunt. “Yeah, okay. We can talk some other time.”

The sound of the ferry horn blowing interrupts anything Hazel is about to say. 

“What was that?”

“Uh, I’m at a concert,” Hazel blurts out, wincing at how stupid that sounds. “Sorry. Gotta go.” She hangs up before she can take the time to properly cringe at that entire interaction. 

Right on time, she sees the unknown man pull something out from his front pocket. A pair of keys. Hazel quickly gets back on call with Josie and snatches them away from her high vantage point. 

This time, PJ seems to be looking over the footage “Where the fuck did you go? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Hazel grunts, jumping down and finally making herself known to the group. “Hey, guys! The illegal weapons deal ferry was at 10:30. You missed it!”

That immediately pisses them all off and they charge. Which, yeah, she should have expected. One of them gets the jump on her and lands a direct hit to her jaw. It isn’t too hard to knock them down, though. She attaches a web to one of them and swings them out to the ocean before webbing them to the side of the ferry. 

Herman comes at her with his electric fist again, but she moves out of the way and he punches the railing behind her instead. She grabs him by the back of his shirt and throws him to the ground, webbing him up just in case.

“Uh, the guys with the tech are trying to escape behind you!” PJ exclaims. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast,” Hazel whips behind her, spotting a parked motorcycle and tossing it over to the last few guys. They all flail to the ground in a pile of limbs. Hazel grimaces, “Oops, sorry. That was a little rough. My bad. Are you guys okay?”

She hears another thud from deeper inside the tunnel, managing to catch a glimpse of a man slamming another guy against the white pick-up truck to knock him out. He looks over at Hazel, mouth twitching, almost like he’s amused. His face gives her that weird buzzing spidey-sense feeling that she has no idea what to make of. And just as she is about to take him down too, some doors from either side of her that lead into the ferry burst open.

A lot of men and women with guns pointed at her shout, “FBI! Get on the ground!”

Hazel raises her hands in what she hopes is a placating manner, “What—what do you mean ‘FBI’?”

PJ begins speaking, “It’s the Federal Bureau—”

“I know what it means!” Hazel exclaims, “I mean, what are they doing here ?”

Before she can get an answer, the man from before shows up again. This time, he’s flying out of the tunnel. 

He's Vulture. 

Hazel shoves the apparent FBI agents out of the way and shoots a web up to the man. He seems to be trying to fly away, but she won’t let him out of her sight. Not this time. She keeps her feet planted firmly on the ferry, using a nearby car to stick to with her other hand for more leverage.

He’s ready though, pulling some other piece of tech from what looks like thin air and wastes no time in shooting purple laser shots right at her. Hazel is quick to move out of the way of the barrage, but she can’t stay out of his way for long. So she reaches into her waistband, not for her phone but her new web bomb. It’s nothing crazy, just a small red sphere that opens up once it sticks to a surface. 

In this case, Vulture. 

He drops the laser weapon when the bomb explodes webs all over him and Hazel wastes no time in shooting all the webs she can onto the muzzle to stop it from causing any more damage. 

“You’re messing with things you don’t understand!” She hears him yell from his place in the sky. 

Hazel opens her mouth, another quip on the tip of her tongue when she suddenly sees a purple laser fly by her head. She turns around, finding the weapon beginning to malfunction. She tries shooting it some more but it’s too late, it fires randomly in every direction. 

And then, it seems to power up as one singular laser shoots out of it. The whole thing spasms, rotating it enough for it to start cutting through the metal of the ferry. It all happens so fast. 

Hazel realizes, too little too late, that the entire ferry is going to be halved. 

“Oh, shit,” She mutters, glancing back just as the Vulture flies away. She couldn’t go after him even if she wanted to, not in the middle of the fucking ocean. 

“Is that…” PJ trails off, probably watching it all unfold from the Spider-Drone with Josie. “Oh my god.”

Hazel hears the screeching sound of metal falling apart. “Fuck. What the fuck,” She swings further, toward the center of the ferry, following it as it all slowly comes apart. “Okay, okay. There’s—there’s gotta be a way to fix it. The—the fucking strong points.”

“Yes!” PJ exclaims, “The pillars, everything holding it together. Just—web them up as much as possible across the gap. It should hold. I—I think…” She’s quiet for a moment, “Yeah, the news is there. In a helicopter. Coast Guard should be showing up any second now.”

“Okay,” Hazel says, a little dazed as the sound of terrified screams from the passengers fills her ears. She blinks, shaking her head. There was no time. She had to do this and she had to do it fast. 

In the span of one minute, Hazel dashes to and from the front and back end of the crack in the ferry, growing bigger and bigger by the second. She finds every strong point and connects them in a zig-zag of webbing across the gap, making sure to double-web any cracks in infrastructure as well as tying everything up neatly in the middle. 

She stands on a somewhat safer vantage point away from the danger to assess her work. It all seems to hold up, keeping the sea vehicle afloat for a while longer. The Coast Guard does show up with many, many other boats that take in passengers to drop them off safely at the docks a couple of miles away. 

But the movement of people leaving the ferry must become overwhelming to it because just as the last dozens of people are making their way off, a web snaps in the middle of Hazel’s creation. It creates an immediate domino effect, with the rest starting to break and the familiar breaking of the ship begins anew. 

Hazel zips the center, attaching a web from each of her wrists to the sides of the ferry. She pulls her arms inward, almost as if she is trying to attach the pieces back together. 

It burns a million times more than how it felt holding up what was (in retrospect) just a measly elevator. 

“Go!” She yells at the passengers, keeping it together enough for everyone to exit. 

The second it’s safe, she redoes her webbing, hoping some things can still be salvaged from the ferry. These people had left mostly without their belongings, they didn’t deserve to lose that too. 

_____

Hazel ends up catching a ride back with that last group, unable to swing her way home because, again, they were in the fucking ocean. 

_____

The entire situation had gone on for much longer than she had anticipated, so she knew her mom would most definitely be home by now. There was no way she could sneak in through her fire escape and act like she had been in her room the entire time and with her backpack being back home, Hazel had to buy some new clothes. 

She stops at the first clothing shop she sees, buying a tourist shirt that says ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ and some sweatpants with Hello Kitty all over them. It was the best she could do given the circumstances. She uses the plastic bag to stuff her spidey clothes into. 

Exhausted, Hazel knocks on her apartment door. 

Her mom opens it quickly, like she had been waiting to hear that. 

Hazel lifts her hand in greeting, “Hi,” she says weakly. She’s let further in and shuts the door behind herself, tossing the plastic bag behind their couch and hoping her mom would not get the idea to check it out. 

Her mom has her back turned, rubbing her temple. She sounds like she’s been crying. “I’ve been calling you all day. You didn’t answer your phone. And you can’t—you can’t do that . Then this ferry thing happens,” She finally turns around. Her eyes are red. Hazel tries not to think about what she said, how she can’t just stop answering. Because that could mean she was gone. Dead and gone like Dad. Of course, Mom was worried. “I’ve called five police stations. I’ve called five of your friends. I called Josie and PJ’s mothers—”

“I’m fine, mom. I’m okay. Honestly, just relax.”

Her mom shakes her head, “Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room on your trip. I know you sneak out of the house every night. That’s not fine,” She takes a deep breath, almost laughing. In that nervous way people do when everything feels like it’s too much. Like they’re scared. She places a hand on her chin, “And these bruises? Hazel, you have to tell me what’s going on. Just—lay it out. It’s just me and you.”

Hazel glances at the plastic bag, bits of red and blue peeking out. She actually considers spilling it all for a moment. Just one. And then she looks back at her mom, lump in her throat. Her eyes sting and her voice cracks when she says, “I’m not in film club anymore.”

The words leave without her really meaning to. But she knows she means it. Isabel didn’t deserve her flakiness. No one else did either.

“What? What happened?”

“I just—I thought if I worked really hard then I could, you know. But…” Hazel swallows harshly, plopping herself down on a chair at their kitchen table, “I screwed it up.” She doesn’t know if she’s talking about film club anymore. Maybe the ferry almost killing everyone on it. Maybe the monument almost exploding. Or one of the many other fuck-ups she’s made. 

Her mom steps in front of her, hugging her. The side of Hazel’s head presses against her mom’s abdomen. She feels fingers running through her hair. It reminds her of what dad would do when she would have nightmares. She feels like a kid. 

“Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Her mom whispers soothingly. 

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Hazel mumbles.

Her mom laughs, but it also sounds like a scoff. “You know I’m not trying to ruin your life.”

“Yeah.” 

“Alright,” Her mom backs away, looking down at her now, “Go take a shower. You smell like garbage.” 

_____

Hazel goes back to school the next day, adhering to making up detention after meeting with the principal again. She doesn’t skip this time. She goes to class on time too. No more missing big tests and quizzes. Her suit stays in that plastic bag that says ‘Thanks for shopping with us!’ and she doesn’t look at it after stuffing it deep into her closet, hoping to forget about it. 

The ferry incident had been a wake-up call, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. Maybe she was too in over her head with this whole weapons thing. Maybe she should have given everything to the police when Josie had told her. Apparently, the FBI was even involved now. They obviously had more to go off of than she ever could. Plus, her mom was worried. Enough that she must have thought something terrible happened to Hazel. And she doesn’t—can’t do that to her. Not again. Not after Dad. 

So, she doesn’t patrol. Keeps her head down and focuses on school, tells Isabel she wants a break from the club to get on top of the flood of assignments she had deliberately been avoiding. She even finishes the Lego Death Star she, Josie, and PJ had been trying to build for months now. 

It’s normal. It’s right. She knows she needs to do this. Has to. Some stuff was just too much for one person to handle. Leave it to the professionals and all that. 

And yet her eyes always flit to the pile of jeans she left on top of that plastic bag whenever she needed to get ready for school every day. It’s like it’s taunting her which sounds stupid but feels true in a way that grates her. 

It’s on one of those normal school days that she sees Isabel in the halls as she exits the bathroom. 

Hazel smiles politely, still not quite sure of where their footing was. They hadn’t made much time to talk things through. “Hey, I thought you had calc during fifth period?”

Isabel smiles back, “I was just helping out with some homecoming stuff,” She holds up a hall pass, “Got a pass.”

Hazel makes an o shape with her mouth, “Right. I almost forgot about that,” She sucks her lip in between her teeth, backtracking, “Er, not that I forgot. I just—I, uh,” Her words fail her for a moment. But there was no moment like the present. “Do you still want to? Go, I mean. Do you still want to go?”

With me, are the unspoken words. 

Isabel tilts her head, not like she’s confused. More amused than anything else. Hazel doesn’t know how to feel about that. But she’s more than entitled to it, after Hazel bailed on her. 

“Yeah, Hazel. I still want to go.”

The way she says it though—it has Hazel thinking this was her last chance to make everything up to her.

_____

Hazel: wait so what color are you wearing? so we can coordinate and all that jazz  

Isabel: i was thinking dark blue? is that ok?

Hazel: you got it 🫡

Isabel loved ‘you got it 🫡’

Hazel looks up from her phone, cycling through her closet for anything remotely dark blue.“Mom?” She shouts toward her open bedroom door. 

“Yeah, hon?”

“I need your help.”

One trip to the mall later, Hazel has a dark blue suit that mostly fits her in her possession and a bouquet of flowers from a nice man by the entrance. She had chosen some Plumerias mostly because she thought they looked nice and didn’t want to be cliche with the roses. On a loan because that shit was way too expensive. She just had to make sure that she didn’t accidentally destroy it. Which, knowing her, was a possibility. 

While they were there, she had taken a trip to the jewelry store, buying a necklace to give to Isabel at the end of the night. It was silver, the shape of a butterfly putting it all together. A reminder of what they had talked about on that balcony not so long ago. 

On the day of the dance, she tries following a tutorial on YouTube for tying her tie, with her mom behind her for more moral support than anything else. 

“You know, your dad always did it on his own. His dad taught him, so he never needed my help,” Her mom reminisces and then, quieter, says, “I should’ve learned, though. Just in case.”

Hazel watches the man in the video intently. This felt harder than the physics quiz she had earlier in the day. “It’s okay, Mom,” She glances back at her, “I always thought he looked like such a businessman with his ties. I used to think he was the boss.”

Her mom laughs and it makes Hazel feel better as she does some loops with her hands to finish off the tying. “I’m sure he wanted to think that too.”

_____

Her mom drives her to Isabel’s house. As they come to a stop outside, she looks over to Hazel. “Do you remember everything I said?”

Hazel nods, “Open the door for her when we get there. Tell her she looks nice, but not too much because that’s just creepy. Oh, and don’t forget the flowers.”

Her mom smiles, “You’ll be alright. Now, come here.”

Hazel leans across the car to hug her mom, albeit a little cramped and awkward in such a small space. But it helps her relax and not feel so much like she might throw up. She gets out of the car and waves her mom goodbye before going up the steps to the house and ringing the doorbell. 

The door opens, revealing her dad. 

Hazel thinks she might end up still throwing up. 

Because this isn’t Isabel’s dad. It can’t be. 

Because then that would mean—

It would mean—

That he's—Vulture.

Her dad’s been terrorizing Hazel for the past few months. Because he’s fucking Vulture. Hazel could recognize that face anywhere, first seen when he tried to kill her at the Brooklyn Bridge and when he tried again at the ferry. 

It’s him. 

Her Spidey-sense is ringing off the hook, making her feel somewhat disoriented as she sees his lips moving and can’t hear anything he’s saying. She blinks hard. Once, twice. The bouquet is clutched tightly in her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” She manages to say, “What?”

Her dad—Vulture—grins, undeterred by her less-than-stellar first impression. “I said you must be Hazel.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m Isabel’s dad,” He reaches a hand out and Hazel shakes it firmly. He grins again. It makes her feel sick. “Hell of a grip. Come on in.”

The words I know, it’s a hell of a grip echo through her mind, replaying over and over as she walks inside the home she thought she knew already. But it feels foreign all of a sudden. Like she needed to be wary of every little thing now. The bouquet is all that grounds her, and she tries not to smother it in her grip. 

Isabel’s mom walks in from the living room, smiling as she sees her, “Hi, Hazel! You look so nice,” She walks up beside her husband in the kitchen, talking quietly but Hazel can hear it all clear as day, “You got her name, right?”

“What? Hailey?” Isabel’s dad teases. 

Isabel’s mom rolls her eyes fondly, “Hazel!”

Her dad chuckles, returning his focus to what he must have been doing before Hazel arrived. Cutting vegetables. “Oh, right.”

Isabel’s mom looks at Hazel, “I’ll go ahead and grab Isabel.”

Hazel nods slowly. Her mouth feels dry. “Okay.”

“You alright, Hazel?” Isabel’s dad asks, chopping a tomato. He finishes. Brandishing the knife, “ ‘Cause you look pale,” He gestures around with the knife and she follows it in a daze, trying to recall if she has ever been stabbed. “You want something to drink? Like a bourbon or scotch or something?”

“I’m not…” Hazel licks her lips, “I’m not old enough to drink.”

Isabel’s dad clicks his tongue, winking, “That’s the right answer,” His gaze moves away from her face and to something behind her. “Wow. You look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Hazel?”

Hazel turns around, grateful for a reason to not have to look him in the eye anymore. Isabel has emerged, in a dark blue dress. She looks gorgeous. 

“Please don’t embarrass me, dad.”

Hazel smiles for the first time since arriving, something soft she only shares with Isabel. “Yeah, you look really good.”

“Once again,” Isabel’s dad says, “That’s the right answer.”

Isabel glances down at the bouquet, “Are those for me?”

Hazel nods quickly, handing them over maybe a little too fast. Isabel’s dad speaks again, “Well, hey, I’m your chauffeur so we should get this show on the road.”

Isabel’s mom shakes her head, pulling her phone out. “No, no. We have to take some pictures, babe.”

Hazel settles beside Isabel for their pictures, smiling as best she can. But it’s all so awkward when all she can think about is the fact that Vulture stands less than a few feet in front of her, beside his wife as she takes a picture of their daughter that she was taking to homecoming. 

It’s a little surreal. 

So, she clears her throat and looks down when the pictures are done. “Sir, you don’t have to drive us—”

He holds a hand up to stop her, “Nonsense. It’s no big deal. I’m going out of town and it’s right out of my way.”

“He’s always coming and going,” Isabel’s mom says, as if trying to assure Hazel it’s okay. 

The three of them walk out of the house. Hazel sits in the back next to Isabel. She can only hope he doesn’t attempt to make more conversation with her as they drive to the school. It was already bad enough that they were going to be in an enclosed space together. 

Of course, after a few minutes of silence, he asks, “So, what are you planning on doing, Hazel?”

“What?”

“When you graduate.”

Isabel scoffs, “Don’t grill her, dad.”

He shrugs, “Well, you know all of you that go to that school pretty much have it all planned out, right?”

Hazel clenches her fists in her lap, “I—I’m just waiting on what colleges will get back to me.”

“I guess if film doesn’t work you could always try to sell photos of your buddy to The Bugle,” Isabel says, trying to save her from sinking the conversation but only making it worse. 

Isabel’s dad seems to perk up in interest, “Your buddy?”

“Oh, it’s not—”

“She’s always seeing Spider-Woman on her way to school,” Isabel explains. “I don’t think any of my friends have met her as much as she has.”

“Really? Spider-Woman?” He says, “What’s she like?”

Hazel realizes the question is again directed at her. “Uh, yeah. She’s a nice—nice lady. Solid person.”

He purses his lips, “Hm.”

Isabel leans into her side then, showing her a picture of some of their crew friends' Instagram posts for homecoming, “Look! Aren’t they so cute?”

Distracted, Hazel barely gives the picture a second glance as she keeps her eyes on Isabel’s dad. “Yeah…”

He seems to notice that and says, “I’ve seen you around. I mean, somewhere, right?”

“She did film club with me,” Isabel explains, “And she was there that day we filmed in Central Park. Remember you helped me get the permit?”

Hazel nods in agreement, “Yeah, it was a great day. Beautiful weather and…stuff.”

Isabel raises an eyebrow at that, “You were there for like two seconds.”

Hazel chuckles nervously, “I was there longer than two seconds.”

Isabel shakes her head, “You disappeared.”

“I did not disappear.”

“Yes, you did. Like you always disappear. Like you did in DC, too.”

The car comes to a stop at a red light. It illuminates Isabel’s dad’s face menacingly. His voice seems to drop even lower. She knows he’s been listening intently, taking in every word and coming to his own conclusions. “It was terrible what happened in DC. Were you scared? I bet you were glad when your pal Spider-Woman showed up in the elevator, though. Real lucky timing.”

“I actually didn’t go up. I saw it all from the ground,” Hazel admits to him because Isabel was here and Isabel knew what really happened. There was no lying her way out of this. 

He laughs and it doesn’t sound as jovial anymore, “Good ol’ Spider-Woman.” 

“Dad, the light.” Isabel reminds him. She shoots Hazel a smile which she can only hastily return.

They make it to school and park in front of the entrance to the gym where the dance is being held. He turns back to them, “Here we are. End of the line.”

Isabel unbuckles her seatbelt. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You go on in, sweetheart. I’m just gonna give Hazel here the dad talk.”

Isabel rolls her eyes, reaching over to squeeze Hazel’s hand. “Don’t let him intimidate you,” She leans forward in her seat to kiss her dad on the cheek, “Bye, dad. Have a safe flight.”

Silence stretches on once she leaves them, Hazel can hear her finding Brittany and gushing over their respective dresses as they walk inside. She’s finding it harder to look him in the eye now. 

“Does she know?”

Hazel looks up, feigning confusion. “Know what?”

The corner of Vulture’s lips twitch, “So she doesn’t. Good. That’s for the best. I admire that, actually,” He sighs wistfully, “Of all the reasons I didn’t want my daughter to date…” He looks at her again, “Hazel, there is nothing more important than family. You saved my daughter’s life and I could never forget something like that. So I’m going to give you one chance. Are you ready?”

She says nothing, mostly because she doesn’t even know what to say. What she does do is drop her phone as quietly as she can onto the floor of the car. That would come in handy later. 

“You walk through those doors. You forget any of this happened. And don’t you ever, ever interfere with my business again. Because if you do, I will kill you and everybody you love. That’s what I would do to protect my family. You understand?”

Again, nothing. 

“Hey, I just saved your life. Now what do you say?”

Hazel clenches her jaw, “Thank you.”

Vulture grins, “You’re welcome. Now, go in there. You show my daughter a good time, okay? Just not too good.”

Hazel nods once, opening the car door. She can hear the sound of the newest Taylor Swift single blasting from inside the gym. Other kids are arriving, walking up the steps in groups or just with their dates, laughing and smiling because this was a special day. At least, it should be. 

She puts one foot in front of the other. It’s all she can really force herself to do as she pushes the doors open. 

Josie and PJ are off by the refreshments, Josie raises a hand in greeting and PJ gives her the middle finger. Hazel smiles weakly, scanning the crowd until she finally spots Isabel saying something to Brittany and then walking away, toward her. 

“Hey, he wasn’t too harsh, was he?”

Hazel thinks her expression must betray her because Isabel only grows more concerned. “Hazel?”

“I…” Hazel rasps out, “I have to go.”

“What?”

She’s already backing away slowly, scared to get close. “I’m so sorry. You deserve better than this.”

Isabel grabs her by the shoulder then, “Hazel, what—what are you talking about? Did he do something? Did I do something?”

“No, of course not.” 

Isabel’s eyebrows furrow, “Hazel, talk to me. You look terrified.” 

“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry,” It’s all she can bring herself to say, finally turning away from her because if she looked at her any longer she might actually spill her guts and now was not the time for that. 

Hazel rushes out into the school hallway. She pulls at her tie, loosening it. She tries to find her phone before remembering she left it in the car. So she asks a girl texting somebody outside of the bathroom for her own, which she gives with a fair amount of apprehension. 

She dials PJ’s  number. 

“Hello? Who is this?”

“You need to track down where my phone is,” She blurts out, “Also this is Hazel.”

“Uh, okay? The fuck? Did you lose it?”

Hazel can see the double doors that lead to where the school buses park. Hopefully, she can swing by her room to grab the suit and change without wasting too much time. “I don’t have time to explain. Please just do it—use Find My Friends or whatever. Just tell me where it’s heading.”

“Okay, okay, I’m on it,” A pause, then, “Wait how do I show you?” 

“Come out to the hall.”

Hazel returns the phone, waiting more than impatiently for PJ. And when she finally shows up, she all but sprints to her. PJ shows her the phone’s screen, “Here. It’s moving fast. Is it in a car?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hazel breathes out, trying to commit the location to memory. 

“Just take it.”

“Huh?”

PJ rolls her eyes, all but shoving her phone into Hazel’s hands. “Take my phone. You’ll need it to stay updated.”

Hazel opens and closes her mouth, clasping her hand around the device. She nods. Then, she walks over to the lockers there and lifts them, pulling a lone, homemade Spider-Woman mask and web shooters out. The original idea she had when she first got her powers all those years ago. She decided to keep it at school, in case she was ever in a pinch to protect her identity and couldn’t get to her suit. 

She has never been more thankful for her past self as she slips it on and urges PJ to stay at the dance.

Bursting through the doors, wondering where she could try to jump up to so she could swing away. But she hardly gets more than a few seconds to look before she’s being knocked over by an invisible force. 

Jumping to her feet, she mourns the loss of being able to return this suit to the mall. 

“He gave you a choice. You chose wrong.”

It’s Herman, wielding the electric fist once again. Of course, Vulture would have a henchman waiting for her. She goes to shoot a web. Nothing happens. She looks to her left, where the discarded technology sits. It must have gotten knocked off of her from that push. 

“What’s with the fancy suit?”

Hazel brings her fists up, hoping she can get through this with pure strength. “Aw, come on. Is it so bad I wanted to dress up for our first one-on-one?”

He pushes one of the school buses in response, throwing it right to her. 

“Guess not,” She grunts as she dodges. It misses her by an inch, probably less. But with no web shooters, she can’t sling it back at him, so she just tries to create more distance between the two of them. 

Herman smirks, moving his fist as if he might punch her, but nothing hits her. Instead, a bolt of electricity shoots out, shoving her backward and through the back window of one of the buses. She lands in the aisle, sandwiched in between broken glass and seats. 

Hazel coughs, tasting metal. She blinks hard, looking up at the roof of the bus and coming face-to-face with years' worth of chewing gum stuck to it. 

She wrinkles her nose, “Gross.” She barely gets a second to try and stand before the entire bus is flipped over in one complete spin with her still inside. She tumbles around like she’s in a washing machine. 

Once it stops, it’s upside down. Hazel crawls toward the door, pushing them open as she flops out onto the hard concrete. Her entire body aches.

“Why did he send you here?”

Herman laughs, bringing the fist up again. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Hazel wheezes, feeling helpless for the first time in a very long time. Completely at the mercy of some asshole with a power fantasy. Just another Tuesday, really. 

And then, the most beautiful thing happens. 

A web shoots out and grabs hold of the fist. 

When Hazel looks back, it’s PJ with one of her web shooters. She just about cries from pure relief and happiness. PJ, albeit looking terrified, yanks the web shooter back and knocks the fist out of his hand. 

“Nice shot!”

Hazel catches the web shooter as it’s tossed at her, instincts three years in the making kicking in as she easily sticks him to the side of the nearest school bus. She runs to PJ, grabs her by the shoulders, and shakes her,  “The dude with the metal wings is Isabel’s dad!”

PJ’s eyes just about pop out of her face “What ?!”

“I have to stop him—whatever he’s planning. He was going somewhere, so I just—I needed your phone for that, so I have to go, okay? But thank you—thank you. You saved my ass.”

“Okay,” PJ nods fervently, “Please don’t die.”

Hazel laughs even though that isn’t really funny and she’s being completely serious. 

______

A quick detour home has her quietly but rapidly digging through her closet to grab her real suit. She leaves the destroyed suit on her bed and practically dives out of the window mid-swing. Every second counted and she was racing against the clock. 

Luckily, Vulture’s location finally reaches a stop. 

Hazel finds herself at some kind of abandoned warehouse. Everywhere she looks there are computers and other pieces of high-tech stuff that served a purpose at what must have been the headquarters of the whole operation. As she walks through it, on high alert, she thinks she can hear the sound of someone shuffling through metal. 

She enters an empty space with a workshop table at the far end. Behind it stands Vulture, head down and hammering away at something she can’t quite pick out in the darkness. 

“Hey,” Hazel grabs his attention, “Surprised?”

He looks up, “Oh, hey, Hazel. Didn’t hear you come in.” He stops his work, moving to the front of the table, leaning against it with his hands behind him. 

“It’s over. I got you.”

“I gotta tell you. I really, really, admire your grit. I see why Isabel likes you. I do. When you first came to the house, I wasn’t sure. I thought ‘Really?’ but I get it now.”

Hazel bristles at the mention of her name, “How could you do this to her?”

He tilts his head in mock confusion, “To her? I’m not doing anything to her, Hazel. I’m doing this for her.”

“Right…”

“Look, you’re young. You don’t understand how the real world works yet. It’s okay.”

“I understand that selling weapons to criminals is wrong!”

“You ever heard of kill or be killed? Survival of the fittest? I’m just doing my best at that. I’m making sure I stay ahead and keep myself afloat as best I can because, like I’ve said, family is the most important thing.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He smiles, “Because I want you to understand…and I needed a little time to get her airborne.”

Hazel’s Spider-sense flares up before he can even finish his sentence, jumping up in the air and sticking to the ceiling as she watches his pair of wings fly around on their own, knocking into some pillars that hold up the roof of the warehouse. Weird. She thought it might be programmed to go directly after her. 

Hazel jumps back down, trying to stick a web to it but failing over and over. It was just too strong and never stayed put for long. 

“I really am sorry, Hazel,” Vulture yells out to her. 

Hazel’s “What…?” dies on her lips as the wingsuit zips past her head and Vulture proceeds to strap it onto himself. The rest happens in what feels like slow motion. The pillars begin to crack, pieces of concrete crumble onto the floor in small piles. 

And then, when they collapse completely, the ceiling falls onto her. 

The pain is immeasurable. She thinks she actually passes out at one point before waking up in a jolt to blurred vision of the destroyed warehouse. Tons and tons of concrete crush her underneath all the rubble. She is in complete darkness for only a few seconds but it feels like a lifetime. Her arms shift, barely able to move more than a few centimeters at a time. She briefly wonders if anything is broken. And then realizes that doesn’t matter. 

But something has stabbed her, a shard of metal is stuck in her side. She might bleed out.

“Hello?” She shouts into the abyss in vain, “Is anybody out there? I’m—I’m stuck!” 

Her heart races and her breath comes out in short spurts. She thinks she might be on the verge of a panic attack. Everything hurts. Her lungs keep on accidentally inhaling dust from the rubble and making her cough. Her suit is ruined if the feeling of concrete scraping the exposed skin of her legs and arms means anything. 

There’s a puddle of water in front of her, some effect from the building collapsing she guesses. It reflects her face back to her. A mirror of sorts.

Her mask is torn, too. Part of her jaw, mouth, and right eye are revealed for anyone to see. 

Three years of doing this and this is when she would choose to give up? No. No way.  

Hazel grunts, moving her body upwards, giving her arms the space they need as they attempt to lift the concrete pillar that fell onto her back. 

“Come on,” She mutters under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Her arms burn with every movement, “Come on, Spider-Woman. Come on, Spider-Woman…”

Her arms push up, higher and higher until she can hardly feel them anymore. Debris falls all around her as she slowly moves from crouching to standing. Her grunts have turned to a singular scream of strength as she puts her all into shoving the pillar off of her.

The shard is pulled out, blood drips from the wound, pooling onto the floor. She webs it up, hoping that can be enough to stop the bleeding for now. Undeterred, Hazel knows she can’t waste any time as she zips out of the warehouse in time to see Vulture flying away, far enough away to be a small dot in her eye line, but it is enough to chase him. 

Hazel swings upwards, ready to end this once and for all. 

As soon as she is close enough, she sticks a web onto his wingsuit. She can hear his muffled voice, talking to someone else so he is too distracted to notice her catching a ride on him. 

As she scans wherever they might be heading, she spots a plane further up. And if she squints hard enough, she can make out the words on the side of it. 

Department of Damage Control. 

Another heist. Great. 

As they reach the plane, Hazel disconnects from the wingsuit and sticks to the bottom of the plane instead, watching him disappear inside of it as she tries to come up with a game plan. Something that would not fail. 

Knowing she needed to not draw attention to herself, she could not go in the same way he did. So she kicks the bottom of the plane as hard as she can, hoping to make a crack in it that would help her sneak in that way. 

After enough hard hits, the metal under the heel of her foot seems to break apart, electricity crackling off of it. Her heightened sense of hearing catches alarms blaring. Was that because of her? Did they think it was an intruder?

Shit. That would probably tip off Vulture. 

As if on cue, she watches him fly back out of the plane, searching wildly for whoever might be here. He spots her in five seconds, hands and feet firmly planted on the bottom of an airplane. 

Hazel freezes for two seconds, the wind hurling past her face is all she can hear as he zooms toward her. She shoots a web on instinct more than anything else. It connects with his chest, but it does little to stop him from picking her up from the plane and throwing her off to the side. 

For a second or two, Hazel is free-falling into the side of the plane, straight to the propeller that is keeping it in the air. She looks behind herself, locking onto the blades spinning at 500 miles per hour. She’d be shredded before she could even register it. 

So, she does what she always does, shoot webs. They come out in rapid succession. She doesn’t stop until she finally slams against the blades, no longer spinning as they have become stuck. Her head conks against one of the blades and her vision blurs for a few seconds. With one propeller down, she feels the plane begin to sway down. But she can’t focus on that for too long as Vulture flies up to her again. He brings a fist up to punch her and she moves her head to one side and jumps off the propeller and crawls to the top of the plane. His fist cuts through the metal, shreds ripping off, and sparks flying everywhere. 

And then, flames burst from it. 

They begin spreading to the rest of the wing beside the propeller. Vulture turns back to her, knocked over by the wing losing control. Hazel gasps, realizing the plane is going to crash and she has no clue if anyone was in it. 

So, she shoots a few webs to the undamaged web, feeling the heat of the fire behind her. The ground is getting dangerously close as she attempts to steer the plane with the web stuck to it away from the buildings of the city. It comes dangerously close to destroying some high-rise apartments, but she puts her everything into it. More than she ever thought she would have at this point in the fight. 

As she looks up, she sees that they are close to a beach, sandy shores the perfect place to force land this thing. 

Hazel grits her teeth and closes her eyes, turning her shoulders in one swift, gripping her webs like her life depended on it. Because it kind of does. 

When she opens her eyes, she’s face first in the sand. The plane is engulfed in fire behind her when she looks for it. Her heart drops as she stumbles to her feet, coughing up grains of sand that make her voice scratchy and dry as she yells, “Is there anyone here?”

Her eyes sting, not from the heat but from the fact that she might have just let somebody die.

“It was on auto-pilot. I saw when I was inside”

Hazel jumps, turning around with her hands ready to throw webs. It’s Vulture, back from getting knocked away. But his words soothe her, knowing no one was hurt. He wastes no time in knocking her down, though. And really, she should have seen it coming by now. 

Her back is planted onto the sand, with a knee on her chest as he finally gets in the hits he’s been meaning to give her. Punch after punch and then picked up by her neck. 

She struggles to speak, only gurgles escape her as he smacks her onto the sand repeatedly, 

“Look.”

Smack. 

“What.”

Smack. 

“You’re.”

Smack. 

“Making. 

Smack. 

“Me.”

Smack. 

“Do!”

“You can still—stop,” She chokes out what feels like a mixture of smoke, sand, and blood, her head feeling lighter by the second. “Let me save you.”

Vulture laughs and it sounds as empty as his eyes look, “There’s no saving me now, kid.” 

He picks her up again, maneuvering her in his grip, probably ready to go in for the killing blow when something behind her catches his eye and he lets her flop down to the ground once more. Hazel lays there, unmoving. Every breath feels like it might be her last.

A few seconds later, she sees something in the corner of her eye. Vulture is flying off, holding a container in his arms. The last remaining piece of tech the plane crash must have not destroyed. But in all the chaos, his wingsuit must have gotten damaged. 

It’s short-circuiting, she realizes. 

All at once, she sends a web flying to the container, trying to keep him from moving too far. He glances back at her, looking at Hazel like she’s a cockroach that just won't die. 

“Your wings!” She shouts at him, “Your wingsuit’s gonna explode!”

He shakes his head, “Time to go home, Hazel.” He rips off her single web line, flying even further up. 

“I’m trying to save you!” 

She tries for more webs, but there is nothing left in her web shooters. Only a burst of air puffs out. She looks between her wrist and Vulture, realizing it is too late as the sparks grow by the second. One second, he was in the air and the next Hazel was covering her face with her hands as the explosion rips through the air. 

When she uncovers her face, she sees his body in a pile of destroyed airplane parts, surrounded by the growing flames. 

Hazel clenches her fist, knowing what she has to do. Spider-Woman didn’t let anyone die, didn’t kill anyone. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

She sprints toward the fire, sidestepping it as best she can and trying to lift a part of the wing that had fallen on top of him. It burns her fingers and she grimaces through the pain, pushing it all the way up and throwing it off to the side. Then, she picks him up, that extra strength coming in handy as she slings him over her shoulder. 

Once they are a safe distance away from the fire, she drops him down to the ground. 

He blinks slowly, in between being conscious and not. They stare at each other. Hazel feels a million emotions at once. Anger and sadness are at the forefront of it all. This was supposed to be her and Isabel’s night. Maybe even give her the necklace at the end of it if all went according to plan. 

And now—

She swallows harshly, pushing down those thoughts as she hears the sound of sirens incoming. The yells of men and women for people to step back and not infiltrate what was now a crime scene. 

Hazel watches the somewhat steady rise and fall of Vulture’s chest. Still alive. Not something to eat away at her soul. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. She purses her lips to stop them from trembling. 

She walks away, limping, hand on her side because the webbing has begun to fall off the stab wound. She makes sure to take another route, away from the incoming authorities and crowd forming around the shore. 

She ends up in a mostly empty parking lot of a restaurant that looks like it hasn’t been open since she was born. She has no idea what to do. Her phone was still in Vulture’s car, wherever the hell that was at this point. 

Her eyes close for a second. Some of her ribs might be broken, at best bruised. She was stabbed in her side. Her hands are burnt and scraped. So are her legs. She doesn’t even want to imagine how her face must look beneath the mask. 

Still, she continues walking. It must be even later in the night by now. The dance was definitely over anyway. Even though it’s selfish, even though it’s the worst idea she could have, Hazel finds herself in front of Isabel’s balcony. She can hear muffled music from her bedroom, some talking too. Probably to Brittany over the phone. 

What am I even doing? She’s met Spider-Woman twice. There’s nothing there for me. Soon enough she and her mom will get the bad news anyway. The husband and father they thought they knew was a liar of the worst degree.

Just as Hazel is turning away, she hears it. That sweet, gentle voice beckoning her to come back.

“Spider-Woman? What are you doing here?” Isabel questions, quiet as it was so late. Her music’s volume has been lowered. 

“I just—I was in the neighborhood. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

“No!” Isabel all but shouts, “Wait, come back. Come—come inside. It’s okay.”

Hazel blinks, “Are you sure?”

Isabel nods fiercely. 

_____

Hazel crawls up the wall, hopping over the balcony to stand there. But she keeps her back turned, citing the previous fight for how her mask had exposed parts of her face. 

“Oh my god,” Isabel says as soon as she turns around, “Your back…”

Suddenly, fingers are brushing against the scrapes and cuts on her back, made known by the rips in the suit. Hazel tries not to shiver. And she tries not to mourn the loss of the touch when Isabel removes them as soon as she winces. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—that was inappropriate.”

Hazel shakes her head, “It’s okay. Um,” She clears her throat, “It was—It was pretty bad. I don’t mean to scare you, though.”

“I’m not scared,” Isabel says in a soft voice, “I invited you in, anyway.”

Hazel laughs, hiding the cough that gives her as excess sand exits her system, “Yeah. Why’d you do that? If you don’t mind me asking.” She shifts from clutching her side with her right hand to using her left instead. She thinks she might be becoming numb to the pain at this point. 

“I don’t know,” Isabel answers honestly, “I think…I just had a hunch. ”

“A hunch?”

“Mhm,” Isabel hums, sounding closer this time. A gentle hand lands on Hazel’s shoulder, “Could you please turn around?’

“I can’t. You’d—you’d see me.”

“Maybe I want to see you.”

“What?”

“I want to—”

“This was a bad idea,” Hazel blurts out, taking a step forward to get down again. “It wouldn’t be safe. This isn’t safe.”

“Hazel.”

She stops in her tracks, freezing up. She licks her chapped lips, tasting blood from the split one. “Who’s Hazel?”

“Stop,” Isabel pleads.

Hazel looks down, turning around. She looks at the blood that has dripped onto the nice floor of the balcony from her cut. She was ruining this like she did with everything. When did it all start falling apart so fast?

“Take off the mask,” Isabel’s shaky voice breaks through her thoughts

Hazel finally meets her eyes. She pulls the mask off. Isabel gasps quietly. She takes in the state of Hazel’s body. Her face. She was no longer in her Homecoming dress, opting for some sleep shorts and an oversized pink t-shirt. And yet, Hazel isn’t sure if she has ever looked so beautiful.

“How…how did you…?”

Her palms find their way to Hazel’s cheeks. “Because you’re Hazel. And you’re my friend," She adds, tearfully, "Honestly, I was only, like, 67% sure."

Hazel lets out a wet laugh at the oddly specific number, of course Isabel suspected. She was the smartest person Hazel knew. She bites her cheek to stop her from actually crying. She had no right to. After all this time spent lying. Three years of only Josie and PJ knowing. That weight settled in her chest, sinking and sinking every moment she let another little white lie slip until they weren’t so little anymore. Until they started breaking people’s hearts. 

There are cuts and bruises on her face that hurt, made worse by the touch Isabel is giving them. And yet Hazel couldn't care less. 

“I’m so sorry,” She chokes out, one second away from being a blubbering mess. “This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. I had this plan—this stupid plan—” Hazel digs in her pocket, beside PJ’s probably busted phone and pulls out the box with the necklace, “And I was going to give you this necklace when I dropped you off at your door and—I just—I’m sorry.”

Isabel looks down at her open palm, taking the box in her gentle hands. Always so gentle. Her eyes soften when she flips it open, “Oh, Hazel. A butterfly?”

Hazel sniffs, nodding, “I think I broke it during the fight.”

“That’s okay. I think I like it better broken.”

“You still want it?”

“Of course I do,” Isabel whispers so fiercely it makes her heart ache.

Hazel smiles, just barely. Because she knows she can’t accept all of this praise while still harboring one big secret. The elephant in the room. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“The—the person I was fighting. The man. He’d been terrorizing me as Spider-Woman for months. He called himself Vulture,” She begins, trying to keep her voice from shaking too much, “I found out who he was.”

Isabel nods in understanding, eyes wide and curious and Hazel cherishes the light she can still see in them. “Oh? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because—because he was your dad.”

“What? What do you—what do you mean?”

“Isabel,” Hazel says, slowly to make sure she doesn’t want to mince words here. “Your dad is Vulture.”

“No, he—he wouldn’t do that. He’s been on a lot of business trips, Hazel. I don’t think you understand. You couldn’t have fought him. I mean, he just took us to the dance and left to catch a flight!”

Hazel shakes her head, blinking away tears because she doesn’t think she deserves to be sad about this in front of his only daughter. “Does he work for a salvage company?”

Isabel’s expression crumples, nodding. “He—he owns one. It’s called BestMan.” And they don’t even have to explain it to each other, Isabel just knows from Hazel’s face that this is the final nail in the coffin. It must pin everything onto her dad. 

“He was obsessed with any advanced tech he could get his hands on. He…he wasn’t going to stop unless someone stepped in. I’m sorry. I’m—” Hazel’s knees buckle and she falls forward.

Isabel kneels down beside her, expression full of concern that Hazel doesn’t feel worthy of. She had just taken her own dad down for fuck's sake. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Hazel wheezes, breathing hard. Her palms are flat on the floor, steadying her body. “I just—I think it’s all hitting me at once. Sorry.”

“Stop that,” Isabel mutters under her breath, “We need to clean you up. You’re hurt.”

Hazel shakes her head, “I think—you should be with your mom. The police probably have your dad in custody and they’ll be here soon to tell you guys everything. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“I’m not letting you figure this out on your own anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve lied about, and what I did to your—”

“Hazel,” Isabel stops her, pain written all over her face. Hazel realizes she might need this more than her. “Let me do this.”

And really, when has Hazel ever been able to say no to Isabel? Not when she uses that tone of voice, not when she looks at her like that. She nods slowly, allowing herself the support as she stands up on shaky legs. There is nothing else she can do as she sits down on the edge of Isabel’s bed, patterned with pink hearts all throughout. It almost makes her smile. 

Almost. 

“I’m pretty sure we have a first-aid kit in our main bathroom. Just give me a second,” Isabel is halfway out the door when she pops back inside, adding, “You should probably take off your suit.”

Hazel’s face heats up, probably matching the shade of her suit now. But she does as she’s told, tugging the upper half of her suit down, revealing one of the many sports bras she wore under the suit. She’s not sure how long she sits there, waiting, trying to keep her breaths even and stable so as to not pass out on Isabel’s bed.

Isabel returns with the kit and a glass of water because she could just read minds like that. Hazel can tell she’s trying hard not to let the sight of her many wounds get to her, but she looks scared and it breaks her in a way she never thought she could be. 

“Were you…did he stab you?” Isabel asks quietly, eyeing the gash at her side. 

“No, a piece of metal hit me after…” Hazel trails off, not wanting to talk about the whole ordeal now. When it was all still so raw for Isabel. She sips her glass, relishing the coolness coating her throat.

“After…?” Isabel prompts her to go on. 

After he made a building fall on top of me.

Hazel sighs, feeling like a coward as she looks away with the excuse of setting the glass down. Not able to take it. She shakes her head. What a hypocrite she was, thinking they could get by on the truth now. Isabel seems to understand, if not still looking a little hurt that she can’t disclose every terrible thing her dad did. 

“Okay,” Isabel acquiesces, deciding to shift both their focus to the kit. She pulls out some packets of antiseptic cleansing wipes. She rips a few open and then gives Hazel one final look. “This might sting.”

Hazel nods, used to it. It hurts, but she doesn’t bat an eye. Maybe winces here and there as Isabel wipes the grit and blood off of her chest and abdomen. But her touch is gentle, tender like she thinks she might make it worse than the already broken bones and bruises littering her body. 

“Do you never go to a hospital?” 

“No. I, uh, have accelerated healing, so this should honestly be mostly cleared up by tomorrow.”

Isabel says nothing, only nods to show she’s listening. “So every time I’ve seen Spider-Woman on the news, all those battles, those close calls. They’ve been you?”

“Yeah…”

“I can’t even imagine. God, the—the festival and homecoming. You missed it all because of Spider-Woman and you just let me think you were an asshole. ”

Hazel frowns, breathing in sharply as Isabel dabs the wipe near the worst stab wound. She thinks if she tries hard enough she can blink and wake up in her bed. Do the morning of this day all over again and not fuck it up somehow. Choose to not leave Isabel hanging. 

(But it would not have been the right choice.)

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“After three years, you get used to it.”

“Three—you mean you’ve been doing this since you were fifteen?”

 Hazel says nothing which is as good as any confirmation.

Isabel breathes in, all shaky and still so, so scared. Hazel wishes one of her powers was to turn back time. Take it all back. Fuck returning to this morning. She needed to go back to that science field trip. Stop herself from stumbling over her words whenever she tried talking to Isabel. Stop herself from getting bit by that piece of shit spider. 

Then she’d be normal. No grown men in animal suits or just normal business suits to terrorize her and everyone she cared about. No more getting sliced open at least once a week. 

(She used to not know what it was like to get shot.)

“I don’t know what to say.”

Hazel says, “That’s okay,” and means it

Her hands continue their journey across Hazel’s stomach until she finally seems satisfied with her work. Hazel knows she wants to ask about each mark, every little blemish. But she knows she also won’t like the answer. So they decide to stay relatively quiet. 

“You should take a shower,” Isabel suggests, “Just to make sure you're clean before I help wrap the cut.”

Hazel nods, getting to her feet with a groan. Isabel is quickly by her side, holding her bicep to steady her as they walk to the bathroom in her room. 

“Will you be okay? Getting in and everything, I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine,” Hazel assures her, waving away the concern even though she’s never been less sure of anything. “I can shower.” 

Isabel leaves and returns with a pair of sweatpants that must be hers, “Um, I can give you a shirt after you’re bandaged up. So just…take this for now.”

Hazel smiles and thanks her. With that, Isabel leaves her. She turns the water on, keeping it cold so it can help her stay alert because she still feels like she might pass out any second now and she really does not want to freak Isabel out any more than she already is. 

She scrubs carefully, just using her hands instead of dirtying the cloths Isabel had, and does a quick wash of her hair. Everything hurts and she wonders if there will just be a permanent ache set deep into her bones after this. 

She dries herself with a spare towel left on the sink. Then she puts on the same pair of boxer shorts and the clean sweatpants. Her hair still sticks to her forehead when she exits, but she feels less gross and that must count for something.

“Here,” Isabel brings out the gauze, “We need to wrap it around you.”

Hazel stands up, letting the upper half of the suit droop down as she does. Isabel is so close to her now she can feel the warmth of her breath against her chest as she stretches out the gauze, trying to figure out how much is enough. She should probably help, maybe say ‘that’s good’ when it’s good but her lips aren’t working.

Once it’s securely on her, Isabel steps back and hands her a plain white t-shirt. “Hopefully it fits.”

Hazel gives her a tight-lipped smile. It does, just barely. Her muscles, courtesy of her powers, make it that much tighter. The bottom rides up if she so much as raises an arm. But it’s enough. 

They sit beside each other on the bed, basking in the silence for a moment. Hazel is the first to speak.

“Thank you for…everything. I didn’t—I don’t deserve it.”

Isabel takes her hand, absentmindedly rubbing the bruised knuckles. “I wish you would have told me.”

“I know, but I can’t—I can’t apologize. It’ll just be another lie.”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“I can’t,” Hazel whispers, new tears stinging her eyes. “I want to.”

Isabel purses her lips. She squeezes Hazel’s hand. It hurts but not as much as this conversation. “I know,” She sighs, “Go home. Your mom will probably start getting worried soon.”

Before Hazel stands though, she borrows Isabel’s phone and dials Josie. As expected, PJ is with her, both of them decide to stay together for any updates on what went down. Hazel tells PJ that her phone is more or less fine and was miraculously not destroyed during the fight. She promises to give it to her first thing in the morning before school.

When Hazel finally gets up, she grabs her suit from the bathroom, but she won’t be swinging home tonight. Her body could not handle it. So she decides to call an Uber instead. 

“And Hazel?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t…don’t just leave forever. Don’t think I need that because I don’t, okay?”

A beat, then, “Okay.”

Isabel watches her from the window. She waves and Hazel waves back. It feels like a start a year in the making.

_____

Graduation doesn’t feel very real. They prepare, buying their robes and making sure any extra cords are ready to be worn and show the audience that they did do something worthwhile these past four years. Hazel does everything she can to go back to normal, at least the normal she had been used to, even if that means throwing herself into regular patrols and the tail-end of her school work.

Isabel’s dad—Vulture—goes to prison. The Raft, to be exact. Where a couple of her other arch nemesis dwell. His case is pretty cut and dry, guilty of everything they charge him with. Isabel says that her mom wants them to both move to Oregon. With all the news people trying to hound them for answers as to why her dad would be so hellbent on destruction and power.

Isabel doesn’t move with her mom. Instead, she sticks to attending Empire State University. Which just so happens to be Hazel’s first choice and one of the universities that accepted her. Josie and PJ are in the same boat, already having devised a plan to be roommates in the same dorm. 

_____

When she receives her diploma, Hazel doesn’t cry. When the graduation caps fall to the grassy ground in unison, Hazel doesn’t cry. When she takes pictures with her friends and their families, Hazel doesn’t cry. 

When she goes home, shuts the door behind herself and follows her mom into the kitchen with leftover food they took from the big celebration they all had at Josie’s house, Hazel cries. 

She doesn’t notice it until she’s in the middle of saying, “I really missed him today.”

Her mom shuts the fridge, abandoning whatever she was about grab to embrace her daughter. 

Hazel wipes her nose, feeling like a child. Like she did when she twisted her ankle trying to do a trick on her newly bought Christmas scooter. She thinks she was seven. She remembers her dad wiping it for her then. Which had surprised her even then, he was always so strong, so tough, and wanted her to be the same. A businessman through and through.

But he looked scared then—at the thought of her being seriously hurt. Sometimes she wonders what he would think now. After everything.

She thinks about futures. Has the cliche thought about nothing being guaranteed. How graduation wasn’t guaranteed. Certainly not with Spider-Woman around. She tastes salt in her mouth, smells the perfume her mom always wore. Thinks about Dad again because he said it was his favorite. Everything is a reminder at this point. Of his presence and lack thereof. 

She sets the box down. Her mom squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’ll be okay.”

Hazel rubs a hand down her face, “I know.”

She thinks of Isabel, wonders if she is feeling the same. She wants to call, but it feels weird to try and comfort her when she was the reason that Isabel’s family fell apart. The solution is handed to her in the form of Isabel calling her first.

_____

With adulthood looming over their heads, Hazel knows she has to be honest now. Not just with herself but with the people around her. Isabel had asked her to come by in a hour, but she was feeling too jittery with emotions to wait, so she put on her suit and patrolled until it was time to knock on her window. She sets her backpack with her regular clothes down gently on the fire escape.

Isabel opens it with a tentative smile, as if prepared for her to have another gash bleeding out somewhere on her body. Her eyes are rimmed with red. Hazel doesn't ask if she's been crying. “Hey, Spidey.”

Hazel cocks her head to one side, pulling the mask off as soon as she’s inside. Her gazes flits down to the butterfly necklace. She hasn't seen Isabel wearing it in person yet. She can't remember if she had it on at graduation. It's all kind of a blur. “Is that really what you’re going with?”

“Other people call you that.”

“Yeah, but…you can just call me my name. When it’s just us.”

Isabel shakes her head, amused even if it wasn’t really supposed to be funny. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m—I’m fine. I mean, I think I have a bruise on my ribs because this one dude had a gun but—”

“A gun?”

Hazel flails her arms a little, trying to calm her, “My suit is bullet-proof. I added that in after my first few patrols years ago. So it’s okay.”

Not looking so convinced, Isabel crosses her arms. “Okay, then…what’s up?”

“We graduated.”

Isabel nods, that soft smile still on her face. “We did.”

Hazel looks at her, really looks at her. The twinkle in her eyes and the soft curls of her hair falling perfectly onto her shoulders. That shade of lipgloss she’s had since they were twelve. When Hazel would find herself staring too much and memorizing the small things because there was no way Isabel would ever know her enough to just tell her all of this herself. 

“We went to the same elementary school. Same middle school,” Hazel says, not sure where she’s even going with this. 

Patient as ever, Isabel’s smile only deepens. 

Hazel feels a little silly, a little stupid honestly. In her red and blue spandex like she’s some cosplayer who got turned around and ended up in a pretty girl’s room. She twists her mask around in her hands, eyeing the stitching she had added to fix the rips and holes from her fight with Vulture. The needle had pricked her fingertips a few times, gotten blood on the sheets of her bed. But the scars were long gone. 

She hasn’t had a scar in three years. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

“I wish you would’ve talked to me then,” And she tries not to sound so hurt, so sensitive about something that probably wasn’t as big of a deal as she was making it out to be.

“I’m sorry,” Isabel says, soft in that way that makes Hazel know she means it. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”

Hazel believes her. Different social circles, probably. Josie and PJ and her were sort of losers. Still are. Isabel and Brittany had been cheerleaders and popular and dated just as popular athletes. 

“It’s okay.”

“Hazel?”

“Yeah?”

“I…I really like you. A lot.”

Hazel’s eyes widen. Her mouth tries to form some kind of response but nothing comes out. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. Something she is very familiar with. 

“You—do?”

“Yes,” Isabel laughs like it was all so obvious. Hazel feels lightheaded in the best way possible.

“I, uh, really like you too.”

Isabel sniffles, blinking rapidly like she's trying not to cry, “But I—I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

She deflates, “Oh.”

Isabel waves her hands wildly, “I just—I think I need time. I know what happened wasn’t your fault, but I just—I don’t want to have any residual feelings about it that might hurt us if we…you know.”

Hazel nods, “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Just give me some time, okay?” Isabel says, “But if you want to try anything with anyone else then I won’t stop you or—”

“I won’t. I’m not—I don’t want anyone else.”

Isabel looks surprised, blinking owlishly. It makes Hazel wonder if she said the right thing. She was just being honest. She nervously runs a hand through her hair, taking in a deep breath.

“Do you think we could go somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Hazel answers too fast, then, “Uh, where exactly? I can get changed.”

Isabel shakes her head, “No, that’s okay. Could we, um, you know,” She gestures to the still open window. “Maybe the roof? I hardly ever see anyone up there.”

Hazel catches her dirft, “Oh. Oh. Yeah, of course. If you—if you really want to.”

“I do.”

They order Thai to-go from the place Hazel and her mom always go to and some burgers and ice cream that Isabel wants from a little shop further across the city, almost on a beach. Hazel does her best to swing it back to the rooftop without spilling anything.

They don’t talk about dads, or moms even. They just eat and scoop spoonfuls of ice cream into their mouths while talking about how excited and terrified they are for college. Their legs hang off the edge of the roof. It was something Hazel liked doing but it made her nervous to see Isabel mimicking it, so she paid extra attention to how her position would shift with every move she made. 

The sun is setting by the time they finish everything, cleaning up after themselves, placing their trash into some bags they brought up. Police sirens sound off from a few streets away, able to be heard even by those without enhanced hearing. Hazel shuts her eyes with a sigh. It feels like an omen. 

“Go. I can take this stuff inside.”

Hazel opens them. That feels like confirmation. Like she wants to try this, too. She hands her trash bag to Isabel, “I want to take you on a date when you’re ready. If that’s—if that’s okay.”

Isabel nods with a smile. Even with tearful eyes, she's the most beautiful girl in the world. “It’s more than okay.”

“Okay,” Hazel breathes out, not sure how she got this to happen. “Okay,” She repeats, mostly for herself as she pivots, about to leap off the roof.

“Hazel—wait.”

She turns back around.

“Be careful,” Isabel whispers.

Hazel grins crookedly, pulling her mask down over her face, “I always am.”