Chapter Text
Alright… let’s do this one last time.
My name is Peter Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider during a visit to Oscorp—though, technically, I wasn’t supposed to be there. Since then—and for almost eight years now, though who’s counting?—I’ve been New York’s one and only Amazing Spider-Man.
And… things could’ve been better.
My parents died in a plane crash when I was just a kid. Uncle Ben died because of me, no matter what Aunt May says. My girlfriend’s father died in a fight with a villain—another death that weighed on my conscience. And Gwen… Gwen died too, later on. Also because of me.
Wherever I go, bad luck follows like a stubborn shadow. But no matter how many times I’m thrown to the ground, punched, or nearly killed—I don’t give up. I’m supposed to be a hero. And even if I couldn’t save the ones I loved, I’ll fight for those who are still with me: Aunt May… and the people of New York. My people.
I didn’t start off great, I know. But after so many villains, I’ve gained more than just experience. I’ve learned how to rescue kittens from trees, help old ladies cross the street, and comfort lost kids in the middle of chaos. Okay, maybe it’s not the most exciting stuff—but for me, that became my comfort zone these past few months.
The city had been quiet. And that made me proud. All those years of sacrifice, pain, burns, loss… every second of that hellish road was worth it.
Without a doubt, Uncle Ben would be proud of who I’ve become. And Gwen…
She would too.
Did I miss her?
Of course. You don’t forget your girlfriend. Your one true love.
Peter thought of her as he activated his web-shooters and resumed his eternal journey, swinging gracefully between the towering buildings of a city that, deep down, would always be his. A city he would protect to his last breath.
But then—without warning—it happened.
While gliding between skyscrapers, his spider-sense flared. A subtle vibration, almost imperceptible, but unmistakable. He didn’t hear anything unusual. No smoke. No danger. No real threat.
Just… something.
Something that was there.
Watching him.
UP AHEAD.
"What the…?"
He didn’t have time to react. A floating sign, glowing with an ethereal blue light, suddenly appeared right in front of him. The surprise came so fast, he couldn’t maneuver in time—and crashed straight into it.
Everything blurred into white.
He crashed hard onto the rooftop of a nearby building. His head was spinning, and his spider-sense kept whispering at the nape of his neck—like a soft but persistent alarm. He pushed himself up, brushing dust off his suit. It was hard to stay focused.
Eventually, he stood... but the sign had vanished.
-What the hell was that?
There wasn’t a single trace of that strange glowing blue sign.
He seriously needed to cut back on patrol hours. So many sleepless nights were starting to take a toll. Then again, if he was being honest with himself, the strange part wasn’t that he might be hallucinating... the strange part was that it had taken this long to happen.
With a low grunt, Peter turned on his heel, scanning every corner of the rooftop. He looked up, down, into nearby alleys, even at the starry sky that now seemed to mock him. Nothing. No sign of the sign. Not a single thing out of place.
He tried to focus. His spider-sense—his foolproof instinct that had saved his life more times than he could count—was still buzzing at the back of his neck. Faint, like an annoying itch. It had never failed him… though if it could be a little more specific, he’d be eternally grateful. Five seconds earlier next time, maybe? Not asking for much, you know?
–Great – he muttered, trying to downplay it as he flexed his legs, readying himself for another leap on his nightly round.
And then—without warning, because, of course, nothing ever comes with a warning for Spider-Man—that mysterious blue thingy reappeared in the sky. It hovered in front of him as if time itself had paused for a moment. It blinked once, and then bright, white letters began to materialize across its surface.
–Hello, Peter.
Peter froze.
–What...?
His mind fired off in every direction. Alien? Villain with a flair for theatrics? Some new hero trying to be mysterious? Or, hopefully, he just hadn’t gotten out of bed that afternoon and this was all some weird dream.
He really hoped it was that last one. Truly. The night had been way too calm for disaster to come knocking again. But of course… he was Peter Parker. And he had the infamous Parker Luck.
Frowning beneath the mask, he raised his voice with no attempt to hide his suspicion.
–Who… or what exactly are you supposed to be?
The sign flickered. The letters faded briefly, as if processing the question. Peter didn’t take his eyes off the floating blue shape. His spider-sense kept buzzing, unwilling to shut up. It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t peace either. It was something else.
Something unknown.
And for him, that was already reason enough to stay on edge.
-You may not know me, Peter... but I know you very well.
Peter didn’t answer right away. He furrowed his brow beneath the mask, analyzing every word, every second. His spider-sense still hadn’t calmed. Everything inside him screamed that something was off.
–Well – he finally said, his voice laced with irony, –that’s… incredibly reassuring. And now maybe you could tell me who the hell you are and how you know my name?
–Some call me many things. You can call me System, if that gives you any sense of control over this.
–System? Sure, because glowy blue thing would’ve been too informal.”
–I am an entity that watches. That knows. I’ve traveled through entire universes, parallel timelines, realities you can’t even begin to fathom. And I’ve always been there. Watching everything.
As it spoke, the entity began to fracture, multiplying like reflections in a shattered mirror. Each figure projected a vision: distant memories, frozen moments in time, wounds still raw. He saw Gwen, Uncle Ben, his father, his mother. Himself… in versions that weren’t quite him.
And then… something else.
Other Spider-Men.
And apparently also spider women
Hundreds. Thousands. Some familiar. Others completely alien. But all of them carried the same burden, the same symbol. And all of them were looking at him—from worlds he had never imagined.
–Every one of those realities, every choice, every pain, I know them– the System said in a low, resonant voice. –Because I’ve been there since the beginning.
Peter took a deep breath. Something deep inside told him that nothing good ever came after a sentence like that.
–You still haven’t told me what you want – he said, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.
His spider-sense was buzzing louder now. No longer a whisper.
DANGER. ALERT. CAUTION.
–I need your help.
Peter didn’t hesitate.
–Sorry, hard pass. I’ve got enough on my plate keeping one city alive. I’m not interested in your ‘meaning of life’ lectures or whatever this is supposed to be.
Without wasting another second, he raised his wrist, aiming at a nearby building to swing away.
But then… something changed.
One click.
And the world began to slow.
The air thickened, like a heavy invisible blanket had dropped over everything. Everything around him moved in slow motion. The web shooting from his launcher dragged through the air like it was moving through jelly. He turned his head. Birds floated, nearly motionless, suspended mid-flight. Traffic crawled through the streets below in ghost-like movements. And his city—his beautiful city—began to lose its color.
The red faded. The blue dimmed. Everything turned gray. Then black and white. Then—silence.
He tried to move, to blink, to do something. But nothing responded.
He was trapped.
And for the first time in a very long time, Peter Parker felt fear.
Then—another click.
And his life came rushing back. Color. Motion. His breath hitched like fire in his chest. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, as if he’d been holding his breath for centuries.
The System hovered in front of him, unchanged.
–This is no accident, Peter– it said calmly as glowing letters reappeared on its surface.
–What the hell do you want from me?
Peter raised his voice, trying to shift into a defensive stance, but his movements felt heavy—clumsy. Everything around him remained frozen: the dimmed lights in the sky, the absent hum of the city, the colors drained of all life. He could barely believe what he was seeing.
–What… what did you just do?– he whispered, his face pale beneath the mask as he slowly turned in place, taking in the frozen world around him.
–I won’t harm your people, Peter. On the contrary. I want your help to save others.
Peter glared at it, rage and exhaustion swirling beneath his sarcasm. That mix of weariness and distrust—the kind only someone like him could know so intimately.
–You ever think there were less dramatic ways to get my attention?
The System said nothing for a moment… and then it began to expand.
Not physically. Not in any tangible way. Its presence grew. Its form stretched, multiplying into a glowing ring that surrounded Peter completely, like he was trapped inside a sphere made of blue light and living consciousness.
–A universe needs your help– the System declared –It doesn’t need another hero, it already has plenty. What it needs… is hope.
–Hope? Peter repeated, frowning beneath the mask.
–A family is on the verge of collapse. Held together by the last traces of affection they still share. But that love won’t last if things continue as they are. The darkness will consume them.
Peter crossed his arms, skeptical.
–And what do I have to do with that? I want to help—you know I do. But… another universe? I can barely keep this city together.
The System didn’t waver. Its voice grew deeper, more personal.
–You’ll travel to a universe not so different from yours. You will help heal souls marked by trauma, by loss, by guilt. This isn’t about fighting villains. It’s about teaching them how to move forward.
–And why me? – Peter asked, taking a step forward –You’re some all-powerful, glowy, floating entity. You could pick anyone.
–Because no matter what happens… you always get back up. Always. You’re constant. You’re human… and still, you choose to be more.
Peter didn’t reply.
He walked toward the edge of the rooftop, gazing out over his city from above. Silent. Motionless. A melancholic portrait of everything he loved. The lights were off, the colors fading into the distance. No noise. No movement. Just the echo of what once was.
–And what happens to them…?– he asked softly, more to himself than to the System.
–Everything will remain as it is until your return. Not a single second will pass in this reality. No one will know you left.
Peter closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. Every part of him hesitated… and yet he already knew the answer.
–So this is my mission? To save a family… from themselves?
The System pulsed slightly, as if that question had been exactly the right one.
–Yes, Peter. That is your mission.
The System floated in front of Peter like a living entity—a flickering sphere of blue light that began projecting images across its surface: unfamiliar cities, faces he had never seen, tragedies he was only beginning to grasp.
–The universe you’ll be sent to isn’t so different from your own– it explained in a deep, resonant voice –Same planet, same evolution… although less technologically advanced due to the absence of Oscorp and its allies.
The images shifted, revealing a city bathed in perpetual shadows, with gargoyles watching from atop ancient buildings and police sirens that never seemed to stop.
–But there’s something else. A place. A city called Gotham, located in your same country. Worse than New York. Worse than any other corner of the Earth. An urban hell drowning in crime and sorrow. A playground for villains… and a graveyard for innocence.
Peter watched, both fascinated and horrified. The screen danced with scenes of chaos: robberies, chases, a city at war. And at the center of it all, a towering figure shrouded in shadows and black armor.
–One family fights to protect that city. Vigilantes. Heroes trained to the brink. But they are not well. They’re strong, yes—but broken inside. Unfortunately, not all muscles can carry emotional weight.
–A family of vigilantes…?– Peter murmured, eyes fixed on the swirling images.
–It all began with a child who lost his parents in an alleyway—murdered by a petty thief. His name is Bruce Wayne. But when a symbol lights up the sky at dawn… he’s better known as Batman.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
–Wow. An orphaned kid who becomes a hero with an animal motif? Sounds kind of… familiar. Personally, I’m more of a spider guy. But I have to say, just a small critique: Batman without a hyphen? Sounds off. Shouldn’t it be Bat-man? Trust me, there’s a big difference between Spider-Man and Spiderman. I speak from experience.
–That’s not the point, Parker– the System replied, visibly irritated.
–Yeah, yeah, I know… sorry.
The images shifted again. Children in colorful costumes with hardened eyes appeared one by one.
–Over the years, Batman took several young people under his wing. Partners who shared in his fight known as Robin. Each with a history marked by loss, violence, and sacrifice. Kids who learned to wield pain before they could even hold a toy.
Peter stayed silent for a few moments.
–That… that’s not fair– he finally murmured. –Becoming a hero at that age… that’s not something anyone should romanticize.
–And yet they did. Because they had no choice. Just like you.
A final image filled the sphere: all of them together. Distant, yet connected. A family forged in fire.
–It all started with Bruce Wayne. Batman. Your mission is simple, yet critical: you will intervene at key moments in this family’s life. You’ll accompany, listen, and influence them so they don’t fall apart. Their collapse is closer than you think.
Peter swallowed hard.
–And what if I say no?
The System remained silent.
–…Hello?
–No.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
–Great. So I guess if I sa-
He didn’t even finish the sentence. In the blink of an eye, a portal yanked him in without warning, hurling him violently across the space between realities. His body spun, crashed, bounced—and finally landed flat on his back in an alley that reeked of grime, dried blood, and something unspeakable he didn’t want to investigate.
–Agh!– he groaned, clutching his back –Why does everything in my life have to start with physical pain? Ever heard of a warning before launching someone into another universe?
He stood up as best he could. The city lights were dimmer, more sinister. And the air… The air wasn’t like New York’s. Here, even the breeze felt afraid.
Gotham had spoken.
And Peter Parker had arrived.
The System reappeared before him—this time brighter, more eye-straining, as if to make it painfully clear that it wasn’t done yet. And then… floating letters began to write themselves in front of Peter. No permission, no explanation—just there, appearing with the kind of cosmic arrogance worthy of Tony Stark.
MISSION: HELP THE YOUNG WAYNE
-Console the child after the loss of his parents.
-Help him find love first. Then, justice.
REWARD: UPGRADES.
–Upgrades?– Peter repeated, raising an eyebrow under his mask –What am I, a console? Am I gonna level up? Get a new skin?
He checked his web-shooters, half-expecting laser beams or maybe a built-in meditation app. But nothing happened. No glow. No hum. Nothing.
Great. Not even a notification.
And just when he thought maybe the System would say something else… it vanished. Just like that. Poof. Silence.
–Perfect. They leave me alone in a whole new universe, no map, no GPS, not even a chatty AI. What could possibly go wrong?
He sighed, shot a web, and launched himself toward the nearest building. Gotham had style, sure—but the kind that made you think twice before stepping onto a sidewalk. It felt like the city was silently judging you. Even the air was heavier. Like breathing dust mixed with sorrow.
–Where am I supposed to find the kid? Has it already happened? Can I stop it? And if I do… do I ruin everything? Do I lose what I was meant to save?
No time for more questions.
BANG!
First, the smell. Gunpowder.
Then, the scream. Just one. Short. Crushing.
And then… blood. That smell. He knew it.
-Shit. I guess that answers everything.
He changed direction instantly. Shot forward with fury, not precision. The walls felt tighter, the shadows more alive. He knew what he was about to see. Everyone knew.
He turned the final corner, and there it was.
The scene that would echo for generations.
A boy. Alone. Frozen in the middle of the alley. And before him, the lifeless bodies of his parents. Motionless. Cold.
The thief was still there. Gun in hand. Shaking. Sweating.
And then… he saw him.
He raised the gun.
The boy, unaware of the strange new figure nearby, thought the shot was meant for him. He simply shut his eyes tight, bracing for the end.
Peter didn’t hesitate. Not even half a second. He fired his web.
Fwip.
Thud.
The guy hit the ground. Tied up. Silenced. Harmless.
But the boy hadn’t moved. He didn’t understand what had happened. His eyes were still locked on the barrel of the gun, now lying on the ground—like fear had chained him to the spot. He trembled, but couldn’t run.
Peter approached slowly—not like a hero. Not like some epic figure. More like a guy who didn’t want to scare a broken kid.
He stopped just a few steps away.
–Hey…– he said softly –It’s over. You’re safe now. Nothing else is gonna happen to you. I promise.
The boy said nothing. He couldn’t. He just sobbed quietly, his face streaked with tears, his gaze hollow. Even if he wanted to run to the far end of the alley, the pearls from his mother’s necklace lay scattered on the ground—a single step and he’d slip on them, staining himself with the same blood he felt he’d spilled.
Peter hesitated,
then moved a bit closer. He knelt to the boy’s level. Still masked. No epic lines. Just…
–It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.
And finally, the boy broke down.
Not with a scream. Not in dramatic agony.
He just… collapsed.
To his knees. With a cry that didn’t ask for help—just understanding.
Peter held him.
Not because he was a hero.
Not because he was sent.
But because no one else would.
In the rotten heart of Gotham, a child cried in the arms of a stranger… and for the first time, he wasn’t completely alone.
Peter didn’t say anything else. He just held him.
The boy trembled. Not like someone who was cold, but like someone who had just watched the world shatter in front of his eyes and didn’t know how to keep breathing.
And Peter… Peter understood that more than he ever wanted to admit.
He stayed there, kneeling in the middle of the filthy, dark alley, with that child curled up in his arms like human contact was the only thing keeping him conscious.
–I know– Peter whispered, so softly it sounded more like a thought than a word –I know what it’s like to lose everything all at once.
Bruce didn’t answer. He just buried his face into Peter’s chest, looking for warmth where there was none. He was stiff, like he was afraid that moving would make it real. That his parents wouldn’t ever hold his hand again. Wouldn’t carry him when he fell asleep in the car.
–You didn’t do anything wrong, you know?– Peter said gently, still holding him –No matter what grown-ups say, no matter what your own head tells you later… this wasn’t your fault.
The boy clenched his fists, and a shaky breath rocked his whole body.
It wasn’t just sadness. It was rage. Desperation. Fear.
Peter felt it.
Because he had been that kid, too.
–Some things go away… and they never come back –He swallowed hard –But that doesn’t mean you have to be alone. Not now.
He ran a hand softly over the back of Bruce’s neck, like the gesture alone could calm the storm inside him.
–You’re going to grow up, Bruce. You’re going to be strong. You’ll do amazing things. But tonight… just cry. It’s okay.
And the boy did.
He cried.
With every bit of pain inside him. No hiding. No holding back.
As if, deep down, he knew this would be the last time he could cry like this—before putting on a mask he would never take off.
Peter didn’t let go.
He didn’t rush the moment.
He just held him, until the boy’s body was too tired to fight.
–You know what someone I loved once told me?– Peter whispered, like it was a secret just between them –That when the world breaks in front of you… you can do two things: walk away, or try to fix it with what’s left.
Bruce said nothing.
But his tiny fingers gripped Peter’s suit tighter.
–One day, you’ll have to decide that –Peter continued –Not now. Not today. But the time will come. And when it does… I hope you remember this: even when it doesn’t feel fair, it’s still worth it to do what’s right.
A pause.
–It’s the only thing that can make any of this make sense.
The boy wasn’t crying anymore. But he wasn’t speaking either.
He just closed his eyes, clinging to the only human being who spoke to him like he actually understood what it meant to lose everything.
And for the first time in a long time, Peter remembered exactly why he knew what to say.
Because that…
That was what he had needed to hear when they gave him the news.
When the broken voice of an adult told him his parents weren’t coming back.
Not empty words. Not a cold “I’m sorry.”
Just someone to hold him.
To look him in the eye and say that, somehow… it was going to be okay.
Now, standing in the middle of a different universe, holding a boy who had just lost it all, he understood something cruel but true:
You didn’t have to be made of the same blood to share the same wound.
Because even if it was a different child…
A different body, a different world, a different fate…
The path was the same: justice.
Peter held him carefully, like someone holding something fragile, and began to walk.
He left the alley without looking back. He didn’t need to see the bodies. He didn’t need to see the thief tangled in his own web. He had seen enough tragic endings to know how they looked.
After a couple of blocks, he stopped. He gently set the boy down and adjusted the coat that no longer managed to warm his small body.
–Everything’s going to be okay… alright? –he murmured, voice tired but soft –I’ll call the police. They’ll take care of this. I promise they’ll do the right thing. Because injustice… shouldn’t be taken lightly. That’s why there are people who deal with it.
He let out a deep sigh.
He had comforted so many kids before. He had saved lives, stopped monsters, done everything a hero was supposed to do. But this… this felt different.
The child remained silent, staring at the ground as if he didn’t know where he was or why he was still breathing. That wasn’t a good sign. Peter knew that all too well.
He gave him one last look to make sure he was alright. Then, he spotted a payphone in the distance. Bingo. Just what he needed. Call the cops. Complete the mission. Go back.
But he hadn’t taken more than two steps when he felt a small hand grab his.
He turned. Bruce still had his head down, soft sobs still escaping in broken whispers. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask for anything. He just held on.
Peter didn’t pull away.
He didn’t say a word.
He just accepted it.
And without another word, they kept walking…
This time, with his small companion by his side.
They walked slowly, as if the world had slowed down just enough to let them breathe through the tragedy.
They finally reached the phone and—
Of course… no change.
–Great. Multiverse-ready but no spare coin for a call– he muttered.
But just as he was about to turn around, something landed on his head with a clink.
A small coin. It bounced off and rolled to his feet.
Peter looked up, but there was nothing there. Then he heard the familiar faint hum. The System appeared, floating next to him, smaller this time, almost like it was trying to go unnoticed.
–Well, thanks for the divine donation, blue-whatever– he said as he inserted the coin.
He dialed the emergency number, but when he heard the voice on the other end, he paused.
–911, what’s your emergency?
Peter looked around, the surroundings were unfamiliar to him.
There were no signs, no street names, no landmarks. He was about to bite his tongue out of stress when a floating projection appeared in front of his eyes, written in clear letters:
“Cinema located on Park Row"
–Yes…– he repeated in a low voice –There was a crime outside the Park Row cinema. Two adults died... they had an infant with them. The child is okay. The suspect is no longer a threat.
–Is the minor with you?
Peter looked beside him. The boy was still there. Head down. Silent. As if his soul had left with his parents.
–Yes. He’s with me.
–A patrol is on the way. Please stay with the minor until they arrive.
Peter hung up without responding. He didn’t even know why. Maybe because he had said what was necessary. Maybe because... everything else had already been said without words.
He slowly sank down to the base of the booth, his back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhausted. He didn’t let go of the small hand that accompanied him. Bruce, without asking, sat next to him. His body trembled, but he didn’t cry anymore. Maybe he had no tears left.
Peter looked at him for a second, not knowing what to say.
–Help will be here soon…
Bruce didn’t lift his head. He didn’t say a word. But he was listening. He knew.
A soft sigh escaped Peter’s lips.
–What’s your name, kid?
The boy didn’t answer. But his trembling hand tightened just a little around Peter’s.
–Bruce…
–So, Bruce, huh? I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, kid.
He said as he got up from the ground and, for barely a millisecond, saw how the corners of Bruce’s lips lifted just slightly. That was progress, however minimal it was. Definitely, it was progress. In the distance, the sirens of the patrol began to sound. Finally. He took Bruce’s hand, and they walked. He wouldn’t let the boy stay so close to the scene. He had seen too much... he didn’t want him to see it again.
The patrol cars approached quickly, and several police officers got out. Perfect. Now he could leave Bruce and...
–Don’t let them see you.
–What?
Peter turned to the side to see the system floating, this time in its tiny form.
–You’re here to help, remember? Not to be a hero. Don’t let them see you…
Damn. Just what he needed. He couldn’t leave Bruce alone in this. It was clear he wouldn’t. He turned to look at him, but Bruce was already looking straight at him.
–You… You’re not going to leave me alone too, right?
–I...
At that moment, he heard an officer approaching. He was going to say something, but his body moved on its own. His arm extended into the air, shooting his web-shooter, propelling him between a couple of buildings before coming to a stop. His body was moving by itself, against his will, and he already knew who was responsible.
–Why did you do it?
–I told you... Besides, we don’t want rumors about a fake hero, do we?
–Fake!?
–I mean no one will know about you for years. Gotham doesn’t need false hope just yet.
Peter clenched his fists. He turned abruptly to confront it face to… screen? Sign? That was a discussion for another time. From above, he could see the police closing off the area. He watched Bruce talking to one of them. He wasn’t trembling anymore. He wasn’t collapsing. Thank God.
He laid down on the roof, resting his back against the rough surface. He sighed deeply as he removed his mask and finally breathed fresh air—or at least, as fresh as Gotham could offer. He had done well... he supposed. He did what he could.
Still… that damn feeling wouldn’t leave him. He could’ve done more. He knew it.
He gritted his teeth.
But at least… at least the change had started, right? He had taken a first step. Maybe it wouldn’t be noticeable now, but one day… someday, Bruce would remember.
“Revenge is never good. It poisons the soul…” or something like that Aunt May used to say years ago. Funny how those words came back now, in another place, for another child, with another life ahead.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sudden glow in the sky. The System.
CONGRATULATIONS ON COMPLETING PHASE ONE
YOU HAVE RECEIVED THE REWARD: “WEB UPGRADE”
Click for details.
Peter tilted his head, unmotivated, and tapped the option with his finger. In an instant, a light vibration ran through his wrists. His web-shooters felt different. He looked at his gloves and noticed a subtle but present change: an additional cartridge shimmered faintly at the edge.
–Well, what a reward…– he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
Still, he couldn’t help but check the details.
UPDATED WEBS
-Faster release
-Improved range
-Fire resistance
-Additional cartridge with capsule for underwater maneuvers
He was speechless. Okay… maybe it was a good reward.
Even so, what he wanted most at that moment…
was a hug from Aunt May.
Everything had been quite confusing, as if the world had shattered in seconds. One moment he was with his parents—laughing, feeling, living… and the next, they were lying on the cold ground, lifeless. One moment he was frozen in fear, unable to move, and the next, a masked stranger had arrived to comfort him, to help him, to be there. To save him.
He had trusted a complete stranger when the world was falling apart. That stranger not only protected him, but tried—in the clumsiest yet most sincere way—to help him see that there was still something worth moving forward for. But now that same stranger was fleeing from the police.
He was sitting on a bench, wrapped in a heavy coat that an officer had placed over his shoulders. The man introduced himself as Gordon and was asking some questions, but Bruce wasn’t listening. His mind was elsewhere, going back again and again to a single figure… Spider-Man.
It was strange. Bruce had thought he was going to die too, when that man —thatidiot— pointed a gun at him. He thought it was the end. But a strange white cord saved him. It didn’t save his parents… but he didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault. From the moment they fell, Bruce had felt it was his fault—that he was the real killer for insisting on taking that path, for being stubborn. But he—that stranger—told him it wasn’t. That injustice happens every day, and there are people who deal with it.
He had always thought those people were politicians, detectives, the FBI… but now he understood.
Justice doesn’t always wear a badge.
Sometimes, it wears a mask, big white eyes, and speaks words that heal you better than an ambulance.
If it weren’t for him, he’d be dead.
If it weren’t for him, he’d be lost in his own guilt.
If it weren’t for him… justice wouldn’t have been served the way it should.
He looked up just in time to see the culprit, still covered in remnants of that white substance, being shoved into the back of a patrol car. His hero wasn’t there. And he never got to say thank you.
He’d been so trapped in his pain that he couldn’t thank him. His mother would’ve scolded him for that—for not being grateful. But he… he would find him. He’d say what he couldn’t before. Because that man didn’t just save his life.
He gave him something more.
He gave him purpose.
It wasn’t vengeance…
It was justice.
Justice with a firm hand—not one that kills,
but one that appears with hope when it’s needed the most. Just like he did.
His friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
The boy smiled, still with his head down. A few small tears escaped his eyes.
But this time… they weren’t tears of sadness.