Chapter Text
It was a regular day, all things considered, for a superpowered teenage vigilante.
Not at all unusual or foreshadowing anything like: hey, a huge life-changing and future-defining event will happen today, be ready!
Peter would certainly appreciate a hint, but his Spidey-Sense was silent and nothing weird happened. No ominous crows flying around… No old people saying something cryptic and mysteriously disappearing when he looked away…
Not even a single suspiciously well-timed dream featuring a long-forgotten childhood memory!
Seriously, someone in the omen department messed up and forgot about the special effects for his big day. And Peter was blaming them.
Anyway.
Peter had been fighting crime as Spider-Man for some time already and knew it was exactly what he wanted to do, regardless of all the drawbacks. No – what he needed to do.
…Actually, both.
Nothing beat seeing somebody’s grateful smile; even just being there and preventing a tragedy with his presence was reward enough. He knew better than anyone that it only took a single moment to change the course of one’s life, and he was determined to never forget it. While he couldn’t change the past, he could shape the future. He had the means and the drive. That was all that he needed.
But sometimes crime happened right there and then, and it just wasn’t possible to involve his superhero alter ego.
It was a sunny, unassuming afternoon in the City of New York. Finished with school for the day, Peter was strolling back home. Enjoying the warmth on his face. And the pollution in the air. And the noise that made him want to plug his ears and start humming… And an occasional disturbingly weird sight on the corner of the street that weakened his hope in humanity…
Yes, life was good.
His biggest problem was a history essay due in two weeks. Why did they even have to do those in a school that was so clearly focused on science? Scratch that, he knew why history was useful, but the topic was so dreadfully boring! Why couldn’t they talk about something more fun? Something interesting must have happened since the dawn of the universe!
On the other side of the spectrum, his smaller problems included trying to balance patrolling as Spider-Man, hiding said patrolling from May, having a semi-normal sleeping schedule and remaining a top student in his class. So easy. Oh, and having to deal with Flash at school. Couldn’t forget that guy. He was even more annoying than the criminals. At least he could web those guys up and sic the police on them. And beat them up, whether he chose words or limbs as his medium. Too bad school was not as easy to navigate as the streets.
Speaking of navigating…
Peter’s sixth sense was buzzing.
He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like a car at a red light, almost making the person behind bump into him. They just continued walking, muttering a few swear words under their breath. Rude.
The buzzing didn’t stop. It remained just under his skin, like a stubborn itch. Not screaming at him to watch out, but whispering to pay attention. Nobody around Peter cared, still fully absorbed in whatever they were already doing. Nobody noticed that there was something wrong. The sun kept shining, and people kept walking.
Taking a deep breath, Peter scanned his surroundings and the crowd, listening in, trying to find a clue.
His focus sharpened as his ears picked something up.
“–Please don’t, I don’t have anything valuable…”
“Do you want me to stab you?!”
The buzzing got louder. That was it – the danger he sensed.
They were close. There was no time.
Peter took off sprinting.
He weaved through the crowd with the grace of a wild cat on the hunt, never once stopping. Unfamiliar faces passed him by, some barely sparing him a glance, some ignoring him. It was New York, after all.
At the corner, he took a turn to the left. Almost there.
In his focus, the only thing he could hear was the hushed conversation. He followed its sound.
But then…
A muffled shout of pain. A skipped heartbeat. And something else, disgusting and fleshy like–
Peter arrived at the entrance of the alleyway.
A man in a black hoodie was holding another man against the brick wall, one hand near the shoulder, another right next to the stomach. And in the second hand he was… holding a knife.
The knife was inside.
Blood froze in Peter’s veins.
“Hey!” he yelled, getting the guy’s attention.
The Black Hoodie Guy jumped away as if someone had dropped a pot of boiling water on him, and after a second of hesitation, started booking it down the alleyway. As Peter watched him run, the victim collapsed to the ground, hands pressed against his own stomach.
Peter didn’t waste any time and rushed to the injured man.
It would be really convenient to be Spider-Man right about now. He could web the Black Hoodie Guy up in seconds and leave him for the police to arrest. Instead, he had to settle for memorizing his appearance and hoping they could find him later.
“Are you okay, sir?” Peter asked the victim. His face was pale and twisted in pain. “I mean, I know you’re not, but I don’t really know what else to say. I’m sorry.” His hands were already moving while his eyes scanned the man. The Stabbed Guy was breathing heavily, making labored noises of pain, while a knife was sticking out of his body. “Please don’t pull out the knife. Here…” He grabbed the Stabbed Guy’s jacket, lying on the ground next to them. “Let’s use this. Carefully. Just… keep pressing.” He helped arrange the fabric around the handle, blood getting all over his fingers. “You’re doing great, man! You’re gonna get through this and laugh about this one day at a family dinner, you know?”
The Stabbed Guy stared at him. Half-conscious and with an unspoken request in his eyes.
Please shut up.
“Okay, valid,” Peter muttered and looked around.
A few other people were standing by, looking concerned. A timid-looking woman had a phone held up against her ear, talking quietly. Peter listened in for just a few seconds to make sure the call was indeed to 911, and when he did, he turned his attention back to the injured man.
“Don’t fret, help is on the way! That nice lady is calling 911 as we speak– Oh yeah, I was supposed to shut up. My bad.”
Peter fell silent again.
“Excuse me…” the woman asked, taking a few steps closer. Her hands trembled, and Peter felt for her. “He is breathing and conscious, right?”
“Yes, and yes.” Peter nodded, giving her a little smile of reassurance. “One stab wound in the stomach. Knife still in. We’re applying pressure.”
The woman swallowed and nodded. She took a step back, repeating the information to the operator in hushed tones. Good thing Peter was here – he didn’t even want to imagine how stressed out the poor lady would be if she had to give first aid to a bleeding out victim of a stabbing.
The jacket was slowly turning red with all the blood. Peter could feel the wetness seeping through and spreading onto his hands. The injured man was shaking but trying not to move, hissing through clenched teeth. If only Peter were faster… better…
But he wasn’t. Yikes.
The woman stepped closer again. “Help should be here within a few minutes…”
The Stabbed Guy nodded at her words. Barely, but he did. So, when Peter was reassuring him, he didn’t care, but now he was nodding?
Life was not fair. Still, Peter breathed in relief. “What about you, ma’am? Are you staying?”
“I’ll– Yes. I’m staying.” Her eyes flickered anxiously around the alley. “I’ll make sure they know where to stop.”
“Thank you, that’s a big help, ma’am!”
She shook her head. “No. You. You are a big help.”
As Peter gaped at her, eyes wide, she flashed him a hint of a smile and walked towards the end of the alley, positioning herself so she could watch for the ambulance without losing sight of the victim, phone still right next to her ear.
Getting praised outside of his home-made suit was such a foreign feeling.
He didn’t even manage to stop this poor guy from getting hurt.
But he did help him after.
Wow. Should he give this woman a nickname too? Or should he spare her from that ‘honor’?
…Who was he kidding? He was giving her a nickname.
Ripping his eyes away from the Nice Lady and taking a deep breath, he focused back on the man before him, pressing firmly against the flood of blood, trying not to disturb the plastic handle of the knife, watching for any alarming signs – other than a stab wound, of course.
The minutes stretched into eternity and Peter was just kneeling there, counting every breath, listening to every frantic heartbeat, ready to get up and fight at a moment’s notice if needed. To protect the man from any further threats.
A part of his mind must have started dissociating, because when he heard the familiar sound of an ambulance in the distance, it startled him like he was on the verge of falling asleep. His head snapped towards the Nice Lady, who was standing on her toes, waiting. When her posture changed and she began waving her hand, something deep inside of Peter’s chest relaxed.
A police car parked right next to the entrance to the alleyway first. Two police officers exited. Peter watched them come up to the Nice Lady and exchange a few words. The male police officer made his way into the alley and squatted next to Peter, checking on the victim.
“Good job, kid,” he said. “Just a little longer, okay?”
Peter merely nodded, hearing the sirens get louder and louder.
For now, they were all just anxiously waiting for help.
When the ambulance pulled up beside the police car, Peter could finally start breathing normally again. It all became a blur after that: quick movements of the paramedics, decisive actions and commands they exchanged, a growing crowd of people too curious for their own good. In no time, the paramedics placed the Stabbed Guy on a stretcher and loaded him inside the vehicle, ready to be transported to the hospital.
Peter was feeling dizzy.
Belatedly, he realized that the female police officer was questioning the Nice Lady. Just as he was wondering if they were going to do the same with him, the policeman beside him put a hand on his shoulder and patted it a few times. He had warm hazel eyes, a few days' stubble, and the vibe of a distant relative that you’d meet at a wedding and wish you talked to more often.
“Hey, kid. You were very brave.” His voice sounded genuinely encouraging. “Can you answer a few questions about what happened here?”
With a weak smile on his lips, Peter nodded. “Yeah, yeah, sure…”
As they walked towards the car, Peter rubbed his hands together. They were sticky. Sticky with drying blood. He looked down and saw the uneven red stains.
Another human being’s blood. Another human being’s… insides.
The policeman noticed where his attention shifted, pausing at the gruesome sight and sucking air through his teeth. “Shit…” Peter couldn’t have said it better himself. “I have some tissues and a water bottle. How about we try to clean your hands up a bit?”
There was no better option, so Peter went with it.
It wasn’t exactly easy to wash one’s hands of dried blood with raw water, but they tried their best. Honestly, Peter appreciated the thought either way. Actually, the blatant inefficiency was sort of cheering him up? Some traces of red remained – mostly right under his fingernails. He’d take care of it at home. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving bloody handprints everywhere. Life wasn’t a horror movie.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it.” The cop waved his hand. “Now, let’s start with the basics. I’m Officer Rollins. What’s your name?”
“Peter. Peter Parker. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Same. Why don’t you start by telling me what happened here today, Peter?”
Here it goes…
Peter took a deep breath and launched into an explanation.
He told Officer Rollins all about how he was going home and noticed the Black Hoodie Guy in a shady alleyway, being all stabby and shit. He made sure to describe his appearance to the best of his ability, but… it was quite generic.
He told him how the guy ran off, leaving Peter to press a jacket against the victim’s stomach.
And Peter wasn’t ashamed of helping the Stabbed Guy stop the bleeding, but… helping as his regular self made him realize just how helpless he was when he had to pretend to be a normal human. Also, it was so weird to give his statement instead of swinging away at the speed of light. He would never take the vigilante lifestyle for granted again.
“Did you touch the knife?” Officer Rollins asked at some point.
Uh oh. He definitely did. “Um… Yeah? I think so? I was trying to slow the bleeding; I’m so sorry, it was all in there…”
“Don’t apologize. You did well. It’s not a problem.” The policeman looked him in the eye. “But we’ll have to take your fingerprints just to rule them out. Is that okay?”
Being a witness was more complicated than Peter expected.
“I mean… yeah? Sure. If that helps, then of course.”
“Yes, it would.” The officer smiled at him. “Are you free right now, kid? We can drive you to the police station with us to take a formal statement and the prints.”
“Now?” He glanced at his watch. Aunt May was still at the hospital, so he wasn’t in a hurry. They’d have to do it sooner or later anyway, so best get it over with now. Not like he had anything better to do… Sure, maybe some afternoon patrolling, but there was more crime at night. Usually. Or maybe he’d just do his homework like a normal teenager. Boring. “Alright. I have time right now. How long would it take?”
Officer Rollins shrugged. “No longer than an hour in total.”
That sounded good. “Yeah, no problem, sir. I just want to be back home before dinner.”
“You’ll be back in no time. I’ll even drive you home if you want, kid.” Officer Rollins swung the car door open. “Get inside and I’ll check in with my partner, alright?”
Peter slid into the backseat and looked around the interior of the car. Gray seats, stuffy smell, some trash scattered around on the floor, some half-eaten food… And something that looked like a mini-computer built into the car’s dashboard. Now that was cool. He should somehow do the same for his Spider-Man suit. Sure, Ned was the guy in the chair looking at the screens, but what if Spider-Man himself had some screens as well? That would make the flow of information more fluid. Maybe data could be displayed in the lenses of his mask?
Outside, the female police officer finished talking to the Nice Lady. Both officers went further into the alley to check it together while the woman was apparently free to go. Wringing her hands together, she noticed Peter sitting inside the car, gave him one more nod and slowly left, eyes clouded – like her mind was still on today’s events.
Peter couldn’t blame her. He was in the unique position of having a lot of experience dealing with crime and even he was feeling overwhelmed thanks to this unusual deviation from the routine.
Instead, he relaxed into the seat and waited for the officers to come back, bouncing his leg and idly looking through social media on his phone to take his mind off the images of a jacket soaked in blood and a pale, sweat-covered face.
A few minutes later, the sound of car doors being opened snapped Peter out of his mindless scrolling.
“Hi kid.” The female officer took her place behind the steering wheel while Officer Rollins plopped down beside her with a grunt like an old man. “I’m Officer Graham. Everything fine back there?”
“Um, yeah?” Peter looked around. “I mean, it could be cleaner…”
Officer Graham scoffed, turning the engine on. Her short black ponytail swung violently with the movement of her head. “You hear that? You put your trash everywhere, and now everyone we let into this car is gonna see it. If you think I’m gonna take care of it for you, you've got another think coming.”
“I said I’ll do it, didn’t I?”
“I’ve asked you to take care of it like five times.”
“I need a moment, okay?”
The way Officer Graham breathed out suggested that procrastination was a recurring issue for her partner. Those two argued like a married couple, but Peter had a feeling they weren’t and would never be one. Unless they had one of those ‘we’ll marry each other if we’re both single at 40 years old’ agreements for tax benefits.
The car drove onto the road.
“Even this kid knows that this should be cleaned up right now.” Her piercing blue eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror and stared straight into his soul. “Don’t you, kid?”
His Spider-Sense must have been broken, because it didn’t buzz at all, even though he knew that there was a clear right and wrong answer with unspecified consequences should he fail.
“Oh, y-yeah! Definitely! This car needs a man’s touch, and by that I mean: throwing all the trash out. You shouldn’t have to repeat yourself, ma’am.”
“You,” she said, tone satisfied and eyes half-closed like a purring cat’s, “are a model citizen, kid. I might pull some strings so we can give you a medal.”
Peter giggled nervously. “Oh, I don’t need that. Please don’t give me a medal. That’d be so embarrassing, and I barely did anything.”
“Great. Less work for me.” A few seconds of silence. “Are the kid’s parents coming?”
“Oh.” Officer Rollins cleared his throat. “Are they, kid?”
“Did you not–”
“I was getting to that–”
“What did you two even talk about?! Football? Or did you give unsolicited love advice again? It’s not gonna work with this demographic.”
“That was one time and he clearly needed that–”
“My parents aren’t coming,” Peter chimed in before the conversation escalated any further. “My aunt is working right now, and I don’t want to bother her. We can do this alone, right?”
“That’s right,” Officer Rollins confirmed, relaxing into his seat again. “See? It didn’t matter anyway.”
There was a long moment of silence disturbed only by muffled city noises and the sound of the car engine running, before Officer Graham spoke up again.
“If this car does not get cleaned up by the end of the day, I’m taking a picture and sending it to your mother.”
The corners of Peter’s lips twitched into a smile as he remained blissfully unaware of what was about to come.