Chapter Text
AN ARGUMENT AGAINST SPIDER-MAN: LIFE UNDER A POLICE SURVEILLANCE STATE
by Henry Fox
Over the past year, a new and particularly flashy public figure has gained popularity. Dressed in the US flag colours — red and blue with a touch of white —, he roams New York City looking for crimes to solve. Since his first official appearance in September of last year, in which he stopped an armed robbery in Brooklyn, Spider-Man has successfully made himself a symbol of security in modern day America.
A seemingly anti-establishment, pro-community warrior, ‘friendly neighbourhood’ Spider-Man uses his god-given powers, and occasionally works with the police, to control violence. Many have presented their controversies about Spider-Man — does he do more damage than good? — but many still treasure the sight of the humanoid arachnid. After all, he is contributing to the dramatic drop in crime rates, something clearly seen when he last disappeared — or taken a vacation? — in mid July. But what does Spider-Man have to say about the state of chronic societal struggles?
He himself, nothing, since he refuses to speak to the press and never talks to reporters, unless he wants them to retreat or feels the need to crack a sour, untimely — but still funny — joke.
Nonetheless, his mere presence is able to speak for him. Spider-Man is a reflection of a country that has ultimately failed its people. Failed in ensuring a decent life, free of job and food insecurity; failed in promoting health and education for all; failed in acknowledging the structures that breed discrimination and segregation. In a world like this, we need a grown man in a ridiculously tight tracksuit charming the audience and breaking the bones of the unworthy, the enemies, like a cop on steroids — always watching, and merciless.
As any other man, Spider-Man doesn’t work to make himself useless. He doesn’t target the roots of criminality, nor does he seem to advocate for it. Therefore, he will always be needed — and probably plagued with the weight of constantly trying to remedy a systemic travesty. As long as we need a costumed man swinging through the city, no matter how many lives he saves that day: we won’t be safe.
And, while swimming against the current, the vigilante may feel like the work he put in will never truly pay off. Show more…
[...]
Henry didn’t expect to be received by a standing ovation at work, but he also hadn’t anticipated so many stinging looks from his colleagues. Fixing his glasses, he tried hard not to sound too awkward as he greeted June, sitting opposite her in the magazine’s office. They had the advantage of not having partitions, which was great for unionizing, but so very bad when you want to secretly cringe at something your embarrassing friend has made.
“So?” Henry asked, seeing June’s face turn a dangerous shade of concern.
“Aren’t you, like… scared ?”
Henry adjusted his posture uncomfortably, taking in June’s words. “Scared of what?”
“Of publishing an article bad-mouthing a superhero. Or a mutant, whatever they call it. What if he goes after you?”
“Well, if he has any shame, he’ll let a poor journalist do his poor journalist work.”
“What if he’s, like, a fascist?”
“Then I’m probably very much screwed.”
“Be careful in the streets today.” June was joking, but Henry could see a flash of truth fly through her words.
“Also, I didn’t bad-mouth him. I said the truth. Superheroes, or mutants, whatever they call it, won’t solve chronic poverty and marginalization. Nor all the other five thousand factors that lead to high crime rates. We could do better.”
“I don’t think you’re necessarily wrong, but it is a very radical take.”
“You think so?”
She squinted, looking at her computer screen for a second, thinking. “What’s that saying again? Shoot the game, not the player. Don’t hate the messenger.”
Henry laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s something like that.”
“By the way, are you still on for dinner tonight? You, me, my brother and girlfriend? That is, if Spider-Man doesn’t kill you until then.”
“Sure. I’m eager to meet your family.”
Henry took the subway home without an ounce of a thought in his head. He wasn’t an inattentive person, but that particular day had been so draining that there was no attention left on him to pay. That — and the music playing so loud in his headphones — was probably the reason why he couldn’t pick up on the red and blue figure, swimming in the air, watching his every move from the very moment he left the underground until he picked up the keys in front of his apartment building.
He got inside with no trouble, mentally preparing for his encounter with June and her persons later. She never shut up about any of them; Henry felt like he could name every single unique character trait her brother or girlfriend ever exhibited. It was nice to finally be able to meet them, but it was a bit disquieting to feel like he had nothing to offer them back. He had to plan some conversation topics beforehand so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.
Before he could take his clothes off, he heard a thud on a window near the kitchen. Thinking it was the wind again, he walked mindlessly to where he thought the trouble was, only to be surprised by a bigger, more colorful, and spidery problem.
“WHAT?” Henry yelped, after screaming from the top of his lungs like a heavy metal singer for a hot second. The gloved hands of the vigilante made a clear motion, signaling him to shut the fuck up , but it was fruitless. So, naturally, the man shot a web directly into Henry's mouth in order to shut him up.
Henry was motionless, eyes wide in fear, hands out ready to grasp anything and brace for impact, mouth completely sealed by the spiderweb.
A punch? Maybe a bullet? He expected everything from Spider-Man, the guy he famously said was not cool earlier. Henry clearly remembers the joy he got from writing the cop line; maybe he should’ve watched his mouth. Well, that sounds eerily ironic now, doesn’t it?
But, against all odds, what Spider-Man said was:
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to shoot you, I kind of panicked…”
Henry stood still. He tried to touch the web, but the feeling of that thing on his body gave him chills; like what you feel after hearing a spoon scratch a metal pan. He then tried to vocalize a cry for his life, no dignity left in him — unsuccessful. He was usually a guy that stood for what he said, but honestly, he couldn't care less about his Very Important Opinions at that moment. He wanted to live so bad .
“I won’t kill you, I won’t kill you!” Spider-Man repeated as Henry continued to cry and produce unintelligible, desperate verge-of-death noises. It was embarrassing for both. “I just came here to talk, but now doesn’t seem like the best time… since I webbed you.” Henry vocalized some more, but the vigilante didn’t understand shit. “It takes two hours to dissolve.” A high-pitched scream. Spider-Man felt his senses overwhelmed with distress. “Okay, okay, I’ll dissolve it! But you have to stay still and you can’t ingest any of it.”
After what seemed like forever, Henry was finally free to speak his mind. An opportunity he wisely used to say: “Are you absolutely mental?”
“You’re British? ” was the hero’s response. “The way you spoke in the article, I thought you were the most American person alive. Oh, our Nation has problems, Spidey no likey .”
“I’m sorry you didn’t read it until the end to understand the full scope of my argument,” Henry retorted. In hindsight, he was kinda playing with his life there. “Are you going to kill me to silence the press like a fucking fascist?”
“What? No! I thought Brits knew English; I’ve been saying for, like, forever , that I am not here to kill you. Just to ask you one thing.”
Henry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “What question?”
“ How dare you ?”
“I spoke my mind and that’s my right!”
“You white people and your rights . You don’t know me, my story, or my values. You don’t know what I stand for!”
“I don’t need to know what you stand for. I know what you symbolize. There’s enough americanism devoid of any practical purpose in this country. You’re just a co—”
“If you say the cop thing again I will literally explode,” the vigilante hissed. “You’re so entitled. I can’t solve all the problems in the country by myself! While the government is neglectful, someone has to go out and take care of the people for once, for fuck’s sake! And the cops surely are not doing that.”
“I never said you shouldn’t do what you do. I just said it’s pointless.”
“I’m sorry?! How is that any better?!”
“It’s the truth! You said it yourself; you can’t change the country alone. Individual action cannot transform systems as big as a whole society. You’re treading water.”
“I’m saving people. Every day, someone suffers the consequences of violence, and every day I have the opportunity to at least ease their pain, make it lighter. You think that’s pointless?”
“It’s beautiful to save people and be the hero, I’m sure, but don’t you feel like shit when you lay to sleep at night and know it will never stop? Don’t you feel impotent at the fact that you can’t save everyone?” Henry paused. The superhero remained quiet. “Do you know why that is?”
Spider-Man didn’t answer the question. Henry thought he could break it down to him, but maybe that was pointless. He figured he had already done major damage on the beloved hero. Henry couldn’t see his face, but he could sense the shift in his posture as he shoved his right hand at the window, opening it and announcing his departure. “Fuck off. I have places to be.”
So did Henry — and he was late.
The bar was far from Henry’s humble residence. The night was exceptionally cold — even more now that he had experienced the most stressful event in his life so far — and Henry was sensible. He wrapped himself up in the biggest coat he owned and left, paranoidly looking at his surroundings just to make sure he wasn’t being persecuted by his political enemy, a.k.a. the guy in the spider costume.
When he arrived, June and her girlfriend were already there. He greeted them with a kind smile. Nora was nice, and also a bit unhinged; Henry picked that up from the first five seconds of interaction. The stories did start to make a lot more sense then.
“My brother’s late… again.” June sighed. “He’s never been the punctual type, but when we lived together I could still force him to get ready on time.”
“How old is he again?” Henry asked, taking a lazy sip of his drink. “Nineteen?”
“What? No!” June laughed. “We’re not that far apart, he’s twenty-four. He works at a tech company designing textiles or something.”
“Textiles?” Henry frowned. “I wasn’t aware he was a full fledged human. Wait, now it makes sense, because the drinking age here is twenty-one… I don’t know why I didn’t piece that together sooner.”
“Yeah.” Nora chuckled. “His work is weird though. You’ll have to ask Alex directly what any of it means.”
“Ask me what?”
Henry had just heard the voice from behind him. The sound traveled from his ears to his brain and immediately provoked a physiological response; his muscles tensed and his palms started to sweat. In that millisecond, he lived a thousand lives — and he was terrified in all of them. For that moment, he was the one with the enhanced senses, hearing a sound pierce space and time to totally paralyze him.
Where did he hear that voice before?
“Alex!” June exclaimed at the sight of her brother. “Finally! Here, meet my work best friend Henry.”
When their eyes locked, the atmosphere felt a lot heavier. They both knew. None of them liked it.
“Hello,” Henry was the first to pretend it was alright. Maybe if he faked it well enough, Alex could think he was oblivious to his secret identity. “It’s such an honor to wear the badge of ‘ work best friend’. That’s a title I never had.”
June and Nora laughed.
“Well, I’ll cling to my ‘ brother ’ badge then. I’m Alex.”
“I know.” Henry smiled, but Alex wasn’t amused. The journalist could feel the hint of annoyance in his eyes, and he tried to conceal his fear as well as he could. He didn’t stop to think that, maybe, Alex could hear his heart beat like crazy inside his chest.
“Alex’s the biggest Spider-Mand fan out there,” June added, sitting down again. Henry gulped and Alex chuckled. “He was pissed when he read your article.”
“I mean, I didn’t really waste my time reading it,” retorted Alex. Nora said ‘ouch!’ and June regretted letting her brother survive his early years.
“I could tell,” Henry fought back. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I just write my heart out. Besides, I think Spider-Man can take some honest criticism.”
“ Honest, ” Alex mocked. June cut in with another subject, trying to bring the mood up again, since the first encounter of her brother and her closest work friend had obviously expired on the spot.
Henry felt his insides crumble the whole conversation, because even when he was not looking at him, he could feel Alex staring. He felt so dumb for being passive aggressive earlier, because that surely would earn him a very slow paced death. If not that, maybe the other two pieces he was planning on writing about Spider-Man.
When Henry got his article approved, he felt like he could make something great. Like he was gaining the trust of his superiors, like he was capable of pulling something unimaginable off. He pictured himself, ten years in the future, being referenced as Spider-Man’s number one rival; he thought their parallelism would go down in history, like those two boring historical figures you learned about in middle school that disagreed about everything and even hated each other a little — but with more pizzazz. Now, he just feels like he’s going to end up in a grave earlier than expected.
He couldn’t have predicted that he would meet the guy the same day the article dropped — and twice , for that matter.
“I’ll go to the bathroom,” said June, looking at Nora and lazily taking her hand. Nora didn’t need to respond; she just went with June, as if she’d do anything her girlfriend asked her to with no hesitation. “Please don’t kill yourselves.”
Alex snorted. Henry occupied his lips with the drink, avoiding the other man’s eyes like the plague. He didn’t plan on saying anything, but Alex couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“Are you scared of me?”
“Depends. Are you going to kill me?”
“I already said I won’t. Unless you piss me off too much.”
“I’ll have a hard time trying not to.” Henry finally looked at Alex. Wow, so brave. He had the biggest eyelashes the journalist had ever seen; he never thought Spider-Man would be, of all people, a pretty tech boy related to his work friend.
“Have you read what they said about your article on Twitter?” Alex asked, not even blinking — which was a shame.
“I’m not on Twitter.”
“That makes sense. You look like you watch old TikToks on Instagram reels.”
Henry frowned, more confused than offended. “I beg your pardon?” After a long pause, which Alex used to grin and finish his drink in two seconds, Henry gathered the courage to ask: “What are they saying about my article on Twitter?”
“Just that it sucks.”
“It seems as though your algorithm is perfectly tailored to your liking, then.”
“Do you talk like this regularly or is it just to annoy me?”
“Mostly the second option.”
“Well.” Alex put his glass down with a loud noise. Henry felt the wood vibrate under his arms, anxiety building up. As a journalist, that was the most exciting moment of his life; he’d get to meet Spider-Man and witness his behavior firsthand. As an ex-psychology student, a major he tried to tolerate for a whole year but couldn’t, he felt like he had access to privileged information. As a very cowardly, fight-inexperienced man, though, he was scared shitless. “As a matter of fact,” Alex continued, “there are people siding with you. They just happen to be a very small number, and mostly super annoying. Like yourself.”
“Thank you very much.”
“From what I read, the most commonly shared opinion is that you’re an entitled brat that read so many academic papers that you lost contact with reality.”
“That may be accurate, yes. And what does Spider-Man think of my article? I see he is a man of science himself. Just from another field.”
Alex opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a thing. He wasn’t going to tell a journalist what went on his mind, much less a journalist that liked putting out articles about how he was a disservice — or, in Henry’s own words, “a reflection of a country that has failed its people”. Ouch .
Before he could dodge that bullet, June and Nora came back from their trip to the bathroom. They told them how packed it was there, but also, how it magically emptied and they managed to even use it. Probably a miracle.
“Hey, Alex, we were telling Henry about your job earlier, but we couldn’t explain it if we tried.” Nora said as she filled her cup with more beer.
“We didn’t really try, though,” added June.
Alex sighed. “It’s not a big deal. I work at a tech company.”
“That much we were able to transmit, thank you. We’re not that dumb,” Nora told him.
“Yeah, explain it to him,” June encouraged. Alex rolled his eyes, but figured it’d be less painful to get it over with than to fight it.
“I work for Alchemax, but I’m not a chemist, I’m a programmer,” he said.
“That doesn’t sound too complicated,” Henry answered, and Alex looked at him like he was about to murder him.
“Anyway,” continued Alex. “The last project I was in was a research project in the properties of the Alchemax textile filament; the labs were working on it for ages . They wanted to see if it was resistant to radiation, so it could be employed in toxic waste disposal in big hospitals and whatever.”
“And was it?” Asked Henry, wondering if that was how he got his suit made. Alex shook his head no.
“Didn’t work out very well. I mean, it was very good at isolating the radiation, but it was impossible to work with, so they dropped it. Now I’m helping out with the development of their own statistical analysis program. You know, like SPSS, but specifically for them.”
“I don’t know what that is,” said Nora, the graphic designer.
“It’s like a very big and scary calculator,” explained June, already too tipsy to speak fast, “but for nerds.”
“Shut up,” Henry poked June with his elbow playfully. “I have worked with SPSS before, since I come from the social sciences. I graduated in Journalism, but I suffered through a whole semester of a Psychology major back when I was eighteen.”
“Wow.” Alex pretended to be shocked. “Did they kick you out or did you realize halfway through that you related too much to the subject matter?”
“I quit because I hated the math. And didn’t have any friends. But actually, did you know that psychology studies every person, not only those with psychopathologies?” Henry was surprisingly condescendent. “I know, right? Crazy concept.”
Alex shrugged. “You sound like a foreign language to me.”
“Yeah, it’s usually hard for tech nerds to understand subjectivity in human experience. I don’t blame you.”
Alex shot the angriest look of the night at Henry, and June and Nora realized it couldn’t go on like that forever.
“How about we go dancing?” Nora suggested with a strained smile as she grabbed Henry’s arm, and June grabbed Alex’s. “In opposite directions. Very far away from each other. Hm?”
And then they parted ways.
Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz, the name Henry got from June, was a great choice for a superhero. Scanning through the pages of research Henry had done in the subsequent weeks — which, yes, he acknowledges the weirdness of it all —, he concluded that June’s little brother had privileged access to a lot of resources that would facilitate his role as Spider-Man.
First, he worked in a very modern company that did a little bit of everything — like expensive fabrics that can take a lot of wear and tear, which he probably used for the suit. Then, being a programmer with a certain fondness for engineering, he could work on intricate systems that would help him in his quests, like the web shooters.
There wasn't a lot of information on how, exactly, Spider-Man worked. Some said he was produced by the government, some said his webs were biologically his — which… gross —, some even said he was just a rich guy and not even a mutant. Henry, though, had reasons to believe his abilities were half a consequence of a mutation and half a consequence of him being a major nerd.
“Listen, a normal person wouldn’t be able to survive a fall like this,” said Percy Okonjo, Henry’s best friend, as they played another Spider-Man video a random person had uploaded on the internet. Percy, unlike Henry, had managed to finish Psych school, but they never got to study together, unfortunately. He was loaded, so he managed to study all of his niche areas of interest in college, not having to worry about finding a job afterwards. “I don’t think he’s fully normal. Besides, the guy is shot one day and in the other he’s already back at it? If we’re still thinking under the One Guy paradigm, he has to be a mutant.”
Henry muttered an unintelligible response. He never showed Percy his notes on Alex, nor had he told him he knew who Spider-Man was — let alone that he had met him twice . It’s not that he didn’t trust Percy, but that he would never forgive himself if he gave away someone’s secret identity. He’d never out someone without their consent in regular situations, much less in Powerful Individual That Fights Crime situations.
“I’m also on the One Guy Theory side,” said Henry. “He’s very consistent in the types of crimes he deals with, and in the way he behaves, I think. It wouldn’t be so neat if there was more than one guy doing it.”
“I think I read enough on the webs to seriously consider it is not naturally his. I’m not a biologist, but I’m 100% with the one who made a thread on Twitter about this. Also, do you have anything on the suit?”
“No,” Henry lied. He had a very good theory of where Alex got his special fabric from, but he couldn’t disclose that without Percy knowing his sources were probably rigged.
“He had to have someone else do it. That’s not manually crafted, is it? You need to know how to sew with a machine.”
“Who knows? Maybe the guy is a fancy designer of clothes and particularly odd tracksuits.”
“Or maybe he is a genderless alien.”
“Could be both.”
“Could be.”
The two old friends laughed together. Percy looked at the watch on his wrist with a pout, getting up from Henry’s sofa. “ It’s always a pleasure to discuss silly superhero theories with you, but I really have to go now. I wish we could do this more often. Are you free tomorrow?”
“Probably. I’ll send you my schedule later.”
When Percy left, Henry rushed to his room and opened the drawer where he stored top secret information. Next to his old high school notebooks in which he ranked every Backstreet Boy in terms of looks, charisma and talent, were the forbidden files on Alexander Diaz’s life. Pages and pages of scribbles and, in the last one, a painful question that still haunted him. How did he get his powers?
Was it intentional? Was it an accident? What were the ethical consequences of making yourself a hero — and the ones of investigating a friend’s brother? Henry couldn’t stop thinking.
He made tea to calm his thoughts, then sat on the sofa again, looking at the computer screen. It was late in the day, and the last time he checked the news was in the morning — it was Saturday , he was supposed to be relaxing, not thinking about work.
He opened his favorite news channel site, and his eyes doubled in size as he read the main headline from three hours ago.
US Government proposes ‘partnership’ with friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. The measure would officially make the superhero a public employee.
Henry froze for a second. What ? He clicked on the report and read it immediately: the White House had put out a public statement, opening their doors to negotiation, since they couldn’t track Spider-Man down to speak to him in person. The proposal was to discuss the terms of a contract and run it through congress in an attempt to friendly take control over the hero. They didn’t want to seem invasive, though, because an important part of Spider-Man’s appeal to the public was his anti-establishment posture. The authorities wanted to capitalize on that, as ironic as it may seem. That wasn’t going to end up well.
Henry fished his forgotten phone from in between the grooves of the sofa. He dialed June’s number with apprehension, but tried to put on a calm tone in order to not transpire how absolutely crazy he had gone over that piece of information.
“Hey, H,” greeted June. “How’s it going?”
“Hello, June. Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Great. Just spent the whole day sleeping.”
He chuckled. “Very good. I just called to know if you read the news?”
“What news?”
“The Spider-Man one.”
“Oh, I haven’t, but Nora told me more or less what they were saying on TV.” Television! , Henry thought as he grabbed the remote and turned it on. Television exists! “I’m not necessarily a superhero expert, so I didn’t bother to examine it. But I see this is like a big thing for you.” She laughed. “How are you feeling?”
“Extremely desperate and confused,” Henry confessed. “Not really that surprised, just a bit taken aback. Does your brother have any opinions on the matter?”
He could hear June’s smile through the line. “You get the biggest update on one of your top interests and the first thing you do is ask me what my little brother has to say about it? Awn…” She cracks up, and Henry rolls his eyes. He wishes he could answer with the truth, so June wouldn’t be having ideas about him and her straight-as-a-door brother. It wasn’t helping his situation. “I didn’t speak to him, but I can ask, if you want. I would give you his phone number, but that was the number one thing he said I shouldn’t do.”
“He what?” Henry got positively offended with that. “ Why? ”
“He says you annoy him, which: cute.”
“That’s not cute . He actively asked you to not give me his number?” Henry then snorted, his ego damaged. “Like I would ask for it.”
“Well, you sound like it really hit home. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be able to convince him to give you his number if you two speak in person. I highly doubt he’d have the courage to tell you no on the spot like that.”
“Okay,” Henry said in agreement.
“Okay what? Do you want me to set you guys up?”
Henry knew he would never hear the end of it from June after that, but it was extremely necessary for him to speak with Alex. “Yes.”
June made an unbelievably loud noise of excitement. “Oh my God!! I knew this day would come! I’ll call him and ask if you two could grab lunch together tomorrow, okay? He has nothing to do, he’ll have to go. Though I should warn you: he is very bad with appointments. He may never show up and then text you some ridiculous apology about how he slept in for fifteen hours. But I think this will be great for you two!”
Henry acquiesced as he agreed to everything June proposed. It made sense that Alex couldn’t meet his sister’s hangout expectations, since crime doesn’t necessarily have business hours, but he hoped Alex would make it to their meeting. June called it a date, but Henry would rather die than acknowledge it as that .
He’d have to cancel his plans with Percy. He had bigger fish — or spiders — to fry.
At 11am the next day, Henry was sitting by his coffee table with his computer, working on a brand new article he’d have to beg his superiors to release. He wasn’t exactly a reputed writer (yet), but he wanted to become one some day, so producing a piece like that — a state-of-the-art text with strong opinions about the newest unfoldings of a relevant public figure’s life — could maybe signal that he was dedicated and witty. That he had goals and priorities. That he was prepared for everything.
He was also prepared for Alexander to not show up to their “date”, so, though he was ready to go since 8am, he didn’t leave the house when he was supposed to, and waited a few more minutes. He didn’t mind giving June permission to share his address with Alex — it’s not like he didn’t know it before, since he had already ‘swung by’ for a visit.
Henry was waiting by the window, so he could spot him on the street before taking the elevator; he wasn’t going to risk spending an hour under the scalding sun. He was much smarter than that.
Twenty minutes past their appointed time, Alexander still hadn’t shown up. Henry thought that, maybe, he did that on purpose just to mess with Henry, but a part of him wanted to believe that Alex was willing to, at least, speak to him. Time kept going, and the sun started drifting, and he still wasn’t there. Henry was getting progressively angrier.
June messaged him to ask how the “date” was going, and Henry promptly lied, saying it was ok. He then finally looked at his TV — that was playing on mute the whole morning — and saw the familiar shape of the nation’s superhero flying around a building in flames.
“Asshole.”
That cemented the fact that he was not seeing Alex’s face that day.
He had to find another way; the fire had been controlled ten minutes ago, he read the reporter say in the captions, so Alex was technically free to be bothered. But how was he going to achieve that?
A very ill-thought idea came to Henry’s mind as the news played images of Spider-Man’s past good deeds. He had a dark feeling as he watched the hero talk down a man from the top of a bridge, and suddenly, Henry — who owned the weakest stomach, worst cerebellum and most scared ass in the whole world — climbed to the last floor of his building, prepared to put on a fucking scene.
He wasn’t sure how to do this. Just standing at the top of a building, looking at the horizon and feeling sick wasn’t going to get him any super-attention. Should he scream? He wasn’t convinced it would suffice, though. He didn’t know the exact mechanism through which Spider-Man detected trouble; Pez argued that he had super-hearing, and that his attention worked in a bottleneck-like fashion — like everyone else’s — but that his should be specifically biased towards risk-related stimuli. So Henry would have to produce noise.
Yeah, he would have to scream.
He tried it once, but it sounded more like a dying pig than a struggling person. But maybe Spider-Man is an advocate for animals’ rights? Nothing happened, though, so either Spider-Man didn’t give a flying fuck to pigs or he knew it was Henry and thought it’d be best to just let him kill himself. Asshole .
Maybe he should feel a bit more like in danger. He stepped forward, and though he was still far from the edge, he felt his body turn cold. God, he hated heights so much .
Still nothing.
There was another theory about Spider-Man’s recognition of danger. Maybe he had a spiritual-like connection to the city and was just able to feel danger — true danger, not tantrums thrown by grown men that wanted to get his attention — and, this particular theory, Percy wasn’t as fond of. Nevertheless, if it was true, then Henry was positively fucked.
He wondered how many people attempted to do exactly what he’s doing just to have a feel of Spider-Man’s arms around their waist. He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts — he was doing that for bigger purposes than a silly infatuation, and Alexander Diaz wasn’t even that handsome to warrant this type of behavior. Henry had slept with much hotter men.
And while he recalled his past situationships, his present situation got more complicated as he approached the edge. He felt something tingle inside him. He was looking at it; right at the face of the abyss. The street seemed so far away. That would make a pretty bad fall.
His senses wavered; it was like watching Vertigo once again, but in an ultra realistic, dangerous way. For a split second, one of his feet disconnected from the edge, and the lack of physical support sent him into panic. Ironically, his brain made the connection between that and Icarus (and his fucking wax wings) immediately after Henry lost control of his body. He felt the concrete rub on his leg over his clothes and was hit by the greatest pain he’d ever experienced. It occurred to him that he was going to die in the most stupid way possible as he hanged from the edge, ugly crying and weeping.
The world stopped for a second. He lost all strength in his muscles in that second, and in the next, the wind wrapped itself around him like a blanket of death — he was free falling. As his tears fluctuated through space, he momentarily blacked out.
When he opened his eyes again, he was flying.
“AAAAAAAAH!” He screamed in terror, his stomach turning and his brain bouncing around in his cranium. Was that hell?
“Shut up! Get your hands out of my face while I’m driving!” Henry heard a voice speak. When he focused his eyes on the person that was with him — holding him by the waist as they swung through New York — he wanted to be able to throw up on command.
“Alexander!”
“Shhhhh! Don’t say that out loud!”
“You bailed on me!”
“I was going! But someone had to try and kill himself!”
Henry would answer immediately, had he not felt his breakfast climbing up his esophagus, ready to shoot. Alex — dressed in his ridiculous costume — seemed to notice something about Henry was off, so he took a sharp left and landed in an alley not too far from Henry’s apartment.
As soon as they landed, the journalist threw up on the ground.
“Ew,” Spider-Man said, “that’s disgusting.” He had his hands on Henry’s shoulders, as if making sure he wasn’t dead or permanently traumatized. “What were you thinking? You could’ve died.” Henry didn’t answer, too busy cringing from the taste of bile in his mouth to say anything. “Hang on, I’m gonna bring you water.”
“Wait, no!”
Henry sighed as Spider-Man vanished, leaving behind only the traces of his presence. Henry flinched when one of the webs swung his way, but his curiosity was greater than himself. He approached it — totally devastated by the turn of events — and touched it, trying to comprehend what it was made of. It was sticky, as he remembered from the time Alex shut him up with that. The memory made him want to throw up again, so he did.
“Easy, easy.” Spider-Man came swinging, then handed Henry an opened water bottle that Henry finished in three seconds. He washed his mouth first and then drank it, the cold sweat he broke from all the stress making him dehydrated. “Are you going to explain yourself now? What’s up with your behavior these past days? Why did you call June asking for my number?”
“I didn’t ask for your fucking number. I wanted to speak to you.”
“Yeah, same thing. Speak to me about what?”
Henry didn’t answer, but shot a knowing glance at the hero’s direction. It was weird to look at him with the mask on.
“Listen, I don’t know what you want, but I’m not discussing anything with you in the middle of the street. Let’s go to my apartment.”
“No!” Henry shouted immediately. “I’m not doing that again,” he said, referring to the pleasant and calm web trip they had taken earlier.
“We’re not speaking, then,” Alex said, shooting up and preparing to jump. Henry panicked and grabbed the hero’s arm before he could, though, so Spider-Man had to stay there, hanging awkwardly, with an arm up like he had a question.
“It’s about the proposal.”
“Oh, really?” Spider-Man scoffed. “You’re desperate for me to take it, aren’t you?”
“What? No! I don’t want you to take it! In fact, I wanted to advise you…”
“Like I need your advice.”
“You need me.”
“ You need me.” Alex dropped the web and took his arm back angrily from Henry’s hand, leaving him to hold on to nothing. “Or did you forget who just saved who?”
Alex watched the journalist for a second — his hair pointing in all directions, his glasses crooked, his clothes scratched. He was a major mess, but his eyes held a determination that Alex envied. He knew for a fact that Henry would do anything to defend his ideals, and that was kinda hot. Not that Henry needed to resort to personality traits to be hot — Alex wasn’t blind to that — but from all his undesirable traits, Alex felt like he could at least respect that one.
“You could’ve let me die, I don’t care, Alexander.”
“Don’t call me that, goddamnit…” Alex put one of his hands over Henry’s mouth, warranting a slap from the journalist. “Ouch! You’re so irresponsible. You didn’t want to kill yourself, did you?”
“I didn’t then, but I’m reconsidering.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“You.” Henry answered without thinking. Alex would respond to that, but the implications made him hesitate. “Listen, you were the one to break into my apartment when you read what I wrote about you, okay? You can’t say you don’t care about what I have to say. So, are you going to listen to me or what?”
Henry watched as Spider-Man carefully thought out all his options, then when he suddenly turned his head to the side like he had just heard something.
“I’m so sorry” was the last thing Henry remembers hearing before Alex grabbed him again.
They got in through Alex’s window, like what you’d expect Spider-Man to do. Henry quickly dropped to the floor and Alex promptly closed the windows and shut the blinds. It was dark for a millisecond before Alex shot a web to the switch to turn the light on.
He grabbed Henry by the arm and sat him down on a chair. He fed and watered him like a pet, then made sure he had a trashcan near him at all times, in case he wanted to throw up again. Then he turned on the TV, with the volume on mute, just like Henry liked to do. Alex didn’t take off his mask while doing any of that.
“So, do you have a recorder on you or something?” asked Spider-Man. Henry shook his head no, chewing on the sandwich Alex put together in two seconds for him. “Are you sure? If you want to give me a lecture, we have to both trust each other.” Silence. “Give me your phone.” Henry sighed, then gently took his phone out of his pocket, checking to see if it wasn’t broken before handing it to the vigilante. Spider-Man promptly asked for him to insert his password in order to turn the device off. “Now give me your audio recorder.”
“I have no audio recorder,” said the journalist in a small voice, smothered by his eating.
“Please don’t make me inspect your pockets.”
Henry grunted and handed over his audio recorder. It wasn’t old, but it felt old fashioned inside Alex’s hands. “Is it too expensive?” Spider-Man wanted to know. Henry shook his head no, then watched as his audio recorder got smashed against the hero’s palm.
“If you didn’t know how to turn it off you could’ve asked for help.”
“I prefer to do things on my own.” Alex, then, finally took the mask off, revealing his sweaty and red face. Henry almost choked with the sight of his curved eyelashes and wavy hair. Asshole . He sat down in front of Henry at the table, surrounded by his small and barely furnished apartment.
“I picked up on that,” the journalist retorted. “You do everything on your own, and that’s why you’ll never succeed.”
“Oof.” Alex pretended it hurt. “Your words are sharp. What is it that you think I’ll fail on doing?”
“Stopping crime.”
“I’m not failing on that. I stop crime everyday.”
Henry smiled, but the smile rapidly faded. He put the half-eaten sandwich to the side to speak more eloquently. “That’s precisely it. You have to ‘stop crime’ every day. That means it’s not stopping, you’re just covering the wound with a gauze. If you take your hand off, the blood will start gushing out again.”
“There’s not really a magic word that I can say to stop all crime from even starting, though. We live in a violent world.”
“Yes, and no.” Henry pointed a finger at the man. “You really can’t do much better with what you’ve got, but it’s not right to assume that this is a natural condition of society. It is not normal. It’s a symptom.”
“So if you admit I can’t do that, why do you hate me?!”
“You.. I…” Henry laughed. “I don’t think you — or anyone, really — understood what I meant, Alexander. I’m not against you. I’m on your side.”
Alex leaned on the chair and took a deep breath. “Yeah, that was not very clear from the beginning. Or the middle. Not even like, five seconds ago.” He got closer, carefully examining Henry’s face again. “Eat your sandwich, then we’ll talk.”
Though Henry said he was not to sleep in Alex’s apartment, Alex made him a bed anyway. It was an uncomfortable amount of three or four thick blankets on the ground, barely resembling a mattress, and a single pillow. “If you think you can walk to your house at this time in the night…” Alex muttered, changing into his normal person clothes. “Go for it.”
Henry looked away to the window — the dark and cold night telling him Spider-Man was right —, red in the face for catching a glimpse of Alex’s body when he got out of the shower. They had opened the window after the first hour of deep talk and discussions, since Alex said it was probable that no one was after him anymore. Turns out he had abruptly grabbed Henry from the ground on the alley earlier because he heard a journalist approaching.
Henry got scared his little tantrum was televised, but luckily, Alex guaranteed that that was seen by no one. Maybe his powers also included tech detection.
“I wasn’t going to let you know, but I think it’s fair, since you were willing to talk to me today…”
“Willing is not the best word. Maybe coerced .” Alex unfolded the sofa into a small, but comfortable enough bed, and lay on it.
“Well, whatever. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll have another essay about you published this week.”
Alex looked at him with curiosity and terror. Henry liked to be a sort of villain to that specific hero. “About what?”
“About how you shouldn’t sell yourself to the government.”
Alex rolled his eyes and Henry smiled, enjoying the view. “Whatever.” Alex shrugged. “Just maybe don’t endanger your own life again just to get my attention.” He then got up, searching for his phone. “I’ll give you my number. Or, better, you give me yours.”
“That would be very much appreciated.” Henry nodded as he took Alex’s phone in hand and quickly punched his number. “I wouldn’t like to do that ever again, though I will if you never message me.”
“Note taken. By the way, the improvised bed is for me. You can sleep on the sofa if you want.”
“What? No! It’s your house, and I’ve coerced you into taking me here. It’s not fair.”
“I’m not gonna have a guest sleep on the floor.” Alex insisted, already laying down. “What will people think of me? That I’m a bad host? Never .”
Henry frowned, guilty. “Thank you.”
Henry woke up to the sound of Dancing Queen blasting from Alex’s phone. It wasn’t the ABBA song, but a 2012 remake of Duffy’s Mercy by Girls’ Generation. Henry didn’t know that on the spot, though; he had to research it later. It was the sound of June calling.
“Fuck,” he heard Alex curse as he went to pick it up. “What do you want?”
“ What did you do to my friend? Why is Henry not answering the phone? ” Henry could hear June talking on the other side of the line.
“I don’t know,” Alex lied, “I haven’t seen him since, like… fifteen hours ago.”
“ There was an accident on his street yesterday, even the vigilante guy had to show up. I can’t reach him. Are you sure you don’t have any news from him? ”
Alex approached Henry as he listened to June’s concerned voice. He poked him on the side continuously, then signaled to him to pick up his phone — that was still off — and answer her calls. Henry got to doing it, and he was already unlocking the screen when he heard:
“ Also, I’m coming in. I hope you’re not naked or worse. ”
“You’re coming in ?” Alex repeated, desperate.
“ I’m already on the elevator .”
“Shit,” he said, terminating the call. He then looked at Henry, who had the biggest scared eyes behind his glasses. “She has the keys, you have to hide fast . She can’t see you here!”
“Hide?”
“Unless you want to jump out the window.”
Without complaining, Henry allowed Alex to push him to the bathroom.
“And lock the door!”
Henry did as he was told. He didn’t touch anything; the bathroom was small, but clean and organized, unlike the rest of the apartment, which looked like it was inhabited by… well, by a twenty-something tech bro. Which are horrible monsters.
Henry glued his ears to the door when he heard the front door close. The voices weren’t too clear, until he felt a body getting closer to him. “...here.” He was able to hear the end of a phrase, but then June stopped.
“Alex, ¿tienes una chica en el baño?” June whispered. Henry could only make out the work bathroom , which was probably the reason why she spoke in Spanish in the first place. “¿Después de la cita con Henry ayer?” Was that his name ? His heart raced. “¿No tienes vergüenza? ¡Pensé que eras una mejor persona!”
“¡No fue una cita!” argued Alex. “Y no hay nadie en el baño. Puedes irte.”
“Pinche Alex… Voy a llamar a Henry otra vez. Si él no me responde, te voy a golpear tanto… ”
“¿Qué tal piensas de llamarlo afuera? I really have to work.”
The sentence in English peaked Henry’s interest so much he almost squealed, but he couldn’t blow the cover. Work. It was Monday, he had to work! That’s why June was so worried about him; he had missed the first three hours of work . God, he was so screwed…
“Ok, I’ll go,” June decided. “But please, let me know if…” The sound stopped. “Is that his audio recorder?!”
Oh no oh no oh no oh no… Henry put his hands over his face and under his glasses, wanting a big hole to open up under him so he could be consumed by hell rather than by shame as the siblings fought in Spanish on the other side of the door. ¡No hay nadie aquí! Yo no he visto a Henry desde hace como quince horas…!!
Then, Henry heard his phone ringing. He tried to reach it, but it fell off his hand like soap. When he finally declined June’s call, it was too late: she was already banging on the bathroom door.
“OPEN THE DOOR!”