Chapter Text
New York had an uncanny sense of timing. The one afternoon Hanbon absolutely needed, unequivocally could not afford to be late was the afternoon the city decided it desperately needed it’s Spider-Woman.
Sure loosing several tonnes of highly powerful and dangerous weaponry material to the hands of a bunch of fully grown men wearing plastic animal masks was a serious matter that must be prevented, but so was missing Will’s birthday party.
"If I'm late for this cake pickup, I am actually going to kill myself," Hanbon muttered, the words vibrating inside the fabric of her mask. She wasn't thinking about the existential dread of mortality, but rather the very real possibility that Will would spend the next three years bringing up the fact that she missed his twenty-fifth birthday. She launched herself off the side of a brick tenement, the sudden tension of her webbing snapping her forward with a violent, satisfying jolt. Below her, a stolen armored truck was weaving through Midtown traffic with a reckless disregard for the laws of physics and the (lack of) sanity of New York taxi drivers.
The armored truck lurched violently to the left, clipping a fire hydrant that erupted in a geyser of rusty city water. Hanbon didn't mind the spray; she minded the timing. She fired a strand of webbing that anchored to a street lamp, using the centrifugal force to slingshot herself directly over the roof of the vehicle. For a split second, the world was just the gray asphalt of 5th Avenue and the panicked shouting of the driver through a reinforced glass windshield. She landed with a heavy thud on the metal plating, her boots skidding slightly on the slick surface.
Many reddit threads have questioned why New York’s current vigilante opts to wear a cropped jacket, jorts and boots over the skin tight Spider-Man costume, well unlike her predecessors Hanbon isn’t psychotic enough to swing around in one thin layer during the frozen month of december, the costume literally made from the same shit they sell in spirit halloween.
She makes her way up to the hatch and punches it open. “Hey, guys…”
Four men look up. Plastic rhino, plastic eagle, plastic wolf and plastic tiger.
“Really?”
They all immediately open fire.
Hanbon didn't have time for a choreographed fight, she had a cake window that was closing by the second. She could hear her phone buzzing in her pocket, she didnt even need to look at the screen to know who was calling.
“Hey you’ve reached Hanbon, please leave a message” The line beeped.
She really needed to stop wearing airpods while out on patrol.
She dove forward, the air whistling past her ears, and used the momentum of her leap to plant a double-footed kick into the chest of the Plastic Rhino, sending him sprawling backward into a pile of crates.
Anthony’s voice rang through the line “Bon where the hell are you?? You were supposed to be here an hour ago”
Another kick took down the eagle guy, the impact rattling through Hanbon’s leg and echoing in her ear as Anthony’s voice on the line continued. “I’m not kidding, Han. Everybody has already arrived, if you’re stuck in traffic just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
She took out the wolf mask with a precise, webbed-sling to the jaw that sent him spinning into the dashboard. “That’s three down…”
“Listen I’m not making threats, but if you don’t answer this phone in 15 minutes…”
“Hey Spider Lady! Fetch this!” The tiger masked man hollered as he chucked what looked like a grenade out the back of the truck. The grenade landed right underneath a batch of scaffolding.
“…i’m going to come out and find you”
“God fucking damn it”
The blast ripped through the base of the scaffolding with a metallic shriek, shearing through two primary supports and sending a shudder through the entire steel structure. Above, three construction workers, men who were just trying to finish a shift and go home, were suddenly suspended in a precarious, tilting angle, clutching onto crossbeams as the world shifted forty-five degrees beneath them.
The truck or the tiger masked man didn’t matter anymore, Hanbon instantly abandoned that ship to prioritise the three terrified souls currently dangling over a sidewalk of screaming pedestrians. She caught the first worker by the belt just as his grip failed, the sudden jerk of his weight nearly pulling her shoulder from its socket, but she didn't let go.
The second worker didn't have the luxury of a belt to grab; he was sliding down a wet steel beam like a fireman's pole made of ice. Bon fired a web-line to a nearby streetlight, using the tension to pivot over to the other worker. She snagged the man's forearm just as he cleared the edge of the platform, the force of the catch sending them both spinning in a dizzying circle.
For a heartbeat, they were suspended over the pavement, before she managed to kick off a brick wall and swing them both toward the safety of a nearby storefront awning. She deposited him gently, or as gently as one can be when plummeting from twenty feet, onto the canvas.
The final worker was the most precarious. He had managed to wedge himself into a crook of the remaining steel, but the structure was groaning, a slow-motion surrender to gravity that sounded like a dying giant. Han didn’t have time to play it safe. She launched herself upward, and caught the man by the collar of his neon vest just as the last support snapped with a sound like a gunshot. For three seconds, she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth, her muscles screaming as she absorbed the full momentum of his falling body, swinging them both in a wide, desperate arc toward the sidewalk.
The truck was long gone by then, the driver having seized the chaos of the collapsing scaffolding as his window for a clean getaway. Normally, Hanbon would have chased them into the sunset, but as she set the final worker down, she caught a glimpse of the time on his watch.
5:56
•
“Wow, 2 hours late, that’s a new record” Coy commented sarcastically as he greeted her at the bottom of the stairs.
The transition from vigilante to roommate required a level of franticness that would have made a hummingbird look sluggish. It worked everytime, even though the costume wasn’t really off it was just hidden under a bunch of layers of clothing, but it was still enough to fool the crowd.
“Aww were you waiting here for me?” Hanbon teased, though her lungs were still burning from the adrenaline of the collapse. She gave Coy a quick, playful nudge with her shoulder as he fell into step with her.
“I actually heroically offered to come and find you before Detective Potero declared you missing” Coy added, his tone lighthearted. He smelled faintly of ozone and expensive coffee, a sharp contrast to the lingering scent of burnt rubber and street soot clinging to Hanbon.
“Detective Potero? Is that what we’re calling him now?” Hanbon asked, a grin tugging at her lips as they reached the top floor that led to the rooftop.
“Well since the promotion he’s really been leaning into the role,” Coy replied, dramatically rolling his eyes.
They stepped out onto the rooftop which had been decorated with a surprising amount of effort for a group of people who spent most of their time arguing about which takeout place had the fastest delivery. String lights were draped haphazardly across the railing, flickering in the breeze, and a large folding table had been pushed to the center, laden with appetizers and a mountain of balloons that looked like they were barely surviving the wind.
Will was already there, practically vibrating with excitement, his tie loosened and his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The moment he spotted Hanbon through the crowds of partygoers, he launched himself at her, wrapping her in a hug that nearly knocked her backward, his chin resting on her shoulder.
“You’re alive!” Will exclaimed, squeezing her tight. “I genuinely thought you’d been kidnapped or maybe just got distracted by a really good sale at a bookstore. Tell me you have the cake.”
She held up the slightly battered cardboard box with a triumphant flourish, though the cake inside had definitely shifted an inch to the left during her final, frantic swing toward the apartment. "Behold!" she announced, her voice still a little raspy from shouting over the roar of collapsing steel. "And for the record, the bookstore sale was yesterday, so I'm officially off the hook for that."
Will pulled back, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the cake box. "Is it... leaning?" he asked, though he was already grinning, his expression one of pure, unadulterated affection. He didn't actually care if the frosting was sliding toward the cardboard; he was just happy she had arrived. He leaned in for a quick, impulsive peck on her cheek, a habit born from his constant need for tactile reassurance after a ten-hour day of staring at spreadsheets.
“Here let me put it on the table, thank you so much Bon!” Will squealed as he took the box off of her and disspeared into the crowd. Coy had also dissapeared, probably to try and fail at flirting with some random guy he had invited to the party.
The relief was a physical thing, a warm wave washing over her as she finally let her shoulders drop. For a few blissful minutes, Hanbon existed only as a roommate and a friend, not as the city's primary target for falling debris. She leaned against the brick ledge of the rooftop, watching the golden hour light hit the New York skyline, letting the hum of the party drown out the phantom ringing in her ears. She was just starting to imagine a night of minimal effort and maximum cake when an obnoxiously tall body blocked her path back into the festivities.
“Where have you been?!” Anthony questioned, or rather interrogated her. She knew this tone wasn’t serious, it was more of an irritated reprimand of someone that’s way too overprotective.
“All the trains were delayed” was the lie that had served Hanbon well for two years, but as she turned toward the drinks table, she found the exit blocked by a wall of charcoal-grey wool and an expression of disciplined disappointment.
“Then why didn’t you text me, I called you like a million times” He continued, it was clear that he wasn’t going to let go of this until he had a plausible answer. Anthony had this way of standing, feet planted, chest out, that felt less like a friend and more like a perimeter fence.
“There wasn’t any signal down there, you know that” Bon pushed, her voice slipping into that practiced, breezy pitch she used whenever she was concealing a secret. She looked up at him, blinking rapidly.
Anthony didn’t move. His gaze was a clinical sweep, the professional detective instincts momentarily overriding the roommate. He didn't see the costume hidden beneath her oversized cardigan, so maybe he wasn’t that great of a detective after all.
Bon tried to take the opportunity to shift past him, deeming the conversation over but not before Anthony grabbed her by the jaw, licking his thumb and tilting her face in his direction to swipe a streak of soot off of her cheek.
“Soot,” Anthony noted, his voice dropping an octave. He looked at his thumb, then back at her. “You were on the trains, but you’ve got industrial-grade carbon on your face. What happened? Did a transformer blow? Or did you decide to take a detour through a chimney?”
The last part was sarcastic, but the silence that followed was heavy. Hanbon felt a familiar prickle of anxiety beneath her ribs; Anthony’s brain worked like a series of interlocking gears, always searching for the inconsistency in a narrative. She could practically see him mentally mapping out the transit lines and comparing them to the specific chemical signature of the residue on his thumb.
“I don’t know just get off of me— i’ve been running around all day and I am so tired, and I just want to get drunk and relax!” Hanbon pivoted, using a sudden burst of energy to break his grip. She stepped around him with a huff and walked away, leaving him in the dust.
Sure she felt bad for pulling the broken boundary card on him but it was the only way to get him to back off. It was fine though, he’d probably crawl into her bed at the end of the night feeling bad for getting too carried away and upsetting her.
The victory of escaping Anthony’s scrutiny lasted exactly three minutes. It lasted until she sank into a plastic lawn chair, the sudden lack of movement allowing the delayed onset of lactic acid to hit her muscles like a freight train. Her thighs were trembling, and there was a dull, throbbing heat in her right shoulder where the construction worker's weight had nearly popped the joint. She let out a long, shaky exhale, leaning back and staring up at the purple-bruised New York sky.
“You lost the cargo truck”
She didn’t even need to look up to know that it was Berto sat beside her. She sighed in defeat, being reminded of her earlier failure. “I know.”
“I was preoccupied with the humans who were currently plummeting to their deaths. Priority shifted.” Hanbon muttered, leaning her head back against the plastic slats of the chair.
Berto didn’t offer a platitude or a "good job." He just handed her a plastic cup filled with something amber and smelling of cheap ginger ale. He was one of the few people in the city who knew her secret, mostly because she knew he wouldn’t tell anyone, and if anything ever happened to her, well there needed to be at least somebody to write her obituary.
“I’ll track them tomorrow” He added, his voice barely audible over the thump of a bass-heavy playlist Will had insisted on. He leaned back, his eyes scanning the rooftop. “But for tonight, you might want to check your shoulder. You’re favoring the left side so hard you’re practically leaning at a forty-five-degree angle.”
Hanbon let out a soft groan and finally let her shoulder slump, the sudden release of tension sending a sharp, electric spike of pain through her joint. "I'm fine," she lied, the words coming out as a strained whisper. "Just a little... tight."
Berto sighs and stands. “Go put some ice on it, maybe have a couple more drinks and just tell Anthony you slipped and fell whilst getting some water. I might turn in early for the night and get a headstart on these animal masked robbers”
Hanbon let out a small, appreciative huff, watching Berto disappear into the crowd. The party continued on as normal, Will was now enthusiastically telling stories from his days working in as a slave to the fast food industry to a captive audience, and Coy had successfully managed to lure someone into a deep conversation about minecraft roleplay lore.
It was this kind of domestic chaos that made the risk worth it.
•
Han’s phone buzzed on the nightstand with a violent, rhythmic persistence that felt less like a call and more like a demand. She groggily shifted her way through the cuddle pile that Will had insisted upon and reached her phone.
After the flashbang subsided she read the caller ID before standing and exiting the room, though she could’ve sworn that Will’s hand just barley graced her ankle, as if it had reached out to grab her.
Once far enough away she answered the phone. “Berto?”
“Hannah.”
Full name? Okay… “tell me you found the truck”
There was a beat of silence.
“Berto?”
“I found where it should’ve been”
“What do you mean?”
“It dissapeared”
“…”
“Also, I found someone else”
“What do you mean someone?” Han questioned, she tried not to let her volume wake up the others. Her phone buzzed and she turned the screen towards her face.
Berto had sent a picture, it was a blurry security image of a figure wearing some dark edgy armour standing on a rooftop near to where the truck had last been seen.
“He’s been at every single robbery this past month”
Bon looked to the ajar door, her friends all fast asleep, then back to the image.
“Looks like tomorrow is gonna be a busy day”