Chapter Text
Friday mornings always seemed good.
You wake up, the first thought on your mind being how close the weekend is. One more day, and Saturday here we come!
It's basically the same every week.
But there he was, sprinting to the post office, still zipping up his jacket and gritting his teeth behind his mask. Aiden was, once again, late for work. It wasn't his fault, okay? His alarm had been broken for the last week.
If only I could properly run there instead, Aiden thought, running across a zebra crossing like his life depended on it.
For the past year or so, 17-year-old Aiden has been the one and only Postie Webs. He's faced some rather odd people, including idiot package thieves, the occasional attempted mugging and far too many angry dogs...
Surely his boss won't get too mad at him for being - he checks his watch - 15 minutes late?
Right?
...
Aiden finds himself in the back room of the post office, sorting through letters by size. Turns out, his manager was later than he was. Aiden finds himself scowling at a letter to Watermason Close.
How come I get berated for being late, when Charlotte can show up whenever she likes? Aiden huffs to himself. And yet somehow, she doesn't get any warnings at all, since she's the manager.
The letter to Watermason Close is slid to the back of the pile.
He sorts through the letters in an attempt to distract himself from his annoyance. By the time he has his post bag full of sorted piles, he feels a little calmer. With a deep groaning sigh, running a hand through his hair, he slides off the table he was sitting on.
Aiden stretches, his back popping. He grabs his hat from his bag and places it firmly on his head, stray curls poking from under the brim. He leaves the Post Office with a dozen bundles of a dozen letters, a mental list of addresses, and a smile hidden below his mask.
Despite everything, he loves his job.
...
He takes it back, he hates his job.
Barking and yowling down below are three uncomfortably large dogs. All three of them are missing leads, their owners nowhere to be found, and are running wild in a flat's fenced-in courtyard.
Aiden, of course, is perched on the wall five floors above. He's sweating, the small claws on his fingers digging into the cracks between the bricks like his life depends on it. With every vicious howl from these mutts, his head buzzes with the intense sense of danger. Nervously, he glances down at the dogs below.
"Holy shit," he breathes, "nope, not dealing with that."
Opening his post bag, he checks which letters he has to deliver. Floor eight, six, five and two... it shouldn't be too hard. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.
Postie Webs crawls up the wall, making his way to a small balcony to the side. He balances on the railing with ease, silently thanking the gymnastics lessons he had as a bairn, and looks around carefully.
He doesn't exactly want to step onto the concrete - that's basically intruding, and that ain't cool. Postie shivers as he thinks of the alternate option. Hesitantly, he pulls the sleeves of his jacket back, revealing a sweatband on his wrist which he pulls down as well. He tosses the letter at the balcony door and fires a web at it, firmly sticking it to the glass. He promptly gags, feeling the webbing stick to his wrist and palm.
Gross, gross, gross-
Postie shudders as he desperately wipes the organic webbing onto his shorts. It sticks to his skin and shorts until he manages to wedge a small claw between the sticky strands, slicing it off. He stands up on the railing and shakes the feeling from his hands.
Well... only 3 left to go.
Clambering down to the second floor with ease, another letter finds itself stuck to the glass door of the second floor balcony. The dogs start barking at Postie again, his senses buzzing now being much closer to their drooling, frothing maws. Postie leaps up from the railing, attempting to convince himself that these mutts aren't as scary as they seem.
As usual; he fails.
The fifth floor goes just as smoothly without much issue, besides almost knocking a potted plant over.
"Balcony-grown tomatoes? Nice use of the space.." He mutters to himself, launching up off the wall to the top of the building. All the way up to the eighth floor.
As he slices another web from his wrist (with probably more struggle than strictly necessary) Postie half-heartedly tosses his post bag across to his side. He pulls out his next stack of letters - the last in the bag, it seems.
Something buzzes in the back of his head.
"Postie Webs?!"
Postie whips around, now face-to-face with a middle aged man. They stare in silence for a solid moment before Postie chuckles.
"Sorry, mate, gotta dash!" He laughs, saluting the gentleman while tipping backwards.
He jumps off the railing, tucking and rolling out of his landing. The young postman darts away, weaving between lamp posts, pedestrians and buildings as he heads to his next address.
A sharp pang wracks through the right side of Postie's head.
Something coils around his waist, sticking firmly to his jacket and stopping him in his tracks. Aiden practically feels his blood slosh around his skull as he flies backwards through the air. He recognises this substance... Bile rises to his throat along with a panicked scream.
Next thing he knows, he's slowly and awkwardly lowered to the ground in front of a man in... red spandex? In his dizziness, Aiden shakes his head and stares up the the man with wide eyes.
He's bent over with his hands braced on his knees, breathing heavily and wheezing with exhaustion. His outfit is really weird - red and blue with metallic web-like patterns, as well as a fluffy pink dressing gown? A string of webbing is still connected to his wrist from Aiden's bindings. He feels ill just looking at it.
"You, kid," he huffs out, "are too fast."
By the way the man says this, Aiden assumes that this fact must be significant. But as of right now, he's a bit too nauseated to care much.
Aiden grits his teeth, tears the webbing with his small claws and leaps right back up to 2 stories above. He's about to brace his feet against the wall behind him to dart off again, but three more shots of webbing make him lose his momentum.
"Nope, I'm not chasing you again." His weird captor comments from down below - almost as if he's reprimanding him.
Aiden falls yet again. The weird man in the pink dressing gown lurches out to catch him, but he ends up toppling over. Well, at least his landing was cushioned by the man's back.
This time, both of them end up wheezing. With about as much grace as a beached whale, he rolls off his improvised human crash mat onto the pavement.
Oh my god there's webbing between my fingers and my arms I'm gonna puke-
The man gets up with a pained groan. "Alright, you just need to stay still for a minute, okay?"
Aiden audibly gags.
"Uh.. are you alright?" He asks in concern, leaning down to get a better look at him.
Aiden moans a few unintelligible swearwords.
".. Okay, listen to me, kid.You've been noticed by the Spider Society for your abilities, and you need to come with me."
"What.. the fuck." Aiden responds, glancing up at him with bewilderment.
"I'll explain it better when we get there, up you get."
Aiden is clumsily lifted up and tossed over the man's shoulder. His head spins - he feels even worse with being thrown around so much.
The man pulls his dressing gown sleeve down, revealing a complicated metal band on his wrist. He presses something on it. Immediately after, piercing pangs of danger ripple through Aiden's already frazzled head.
He watches over his shoulder with wide eyes as the wall warps in front of his strange captor. It swirls, crackling with energy. The wall splits into a purple and orange hexagonal swirling mess.
"It'll feel a bit weird at first, just hold your breath." The man chuckles.
"W-wait what-?!"
They step into the portal.
Aiden screams.