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Putting the suit on is always the easiest part of the superhero shift. All Will has to do is find an alley with no cameras, quite an easy feat in his part of Queens, and throw the suit on with one eye on the street. Yes, maybe getting changed right next to the dumpsters isn’t the best idea and probably not very hygenic, but it works well enough. And most of the time, people don’t take his backpack because they don’t go looking around there.
Key phrase: most of the time.
Usually, after that, Will climbs up onto the nearest building and just scopes the area out. He likes to start off the evening with a quick swing for ten, twenty minutes, loosen up his limbs, and get rid of any lingering nerves. Even if he’s been doing this for a few months now, it’s still scary. The swinging helps a lot.
Not much happens as Will's running over buildings today. He has to web up some bike thief, put a note on the bike and hope to God no-one else tries to steal it, he grabs a cat from a tree for an old lady, then gives aforementioned old lady directions to the deli, and he also has to give a kid that got caught shoplifting a stern talking to. It didn’t seem to work, though; being told off doesn’t work when it sounds like you’re being told off by someone the same age as you.
When it’s starting to turn dusk, Will has some spare change in one of the inner pockets of his suit, so yeah, he indulges and grabs a sandwich from the deli. Number five with pickled, smashed down real flat. And honestly, when Will’s legs are swinging off the side of a fire escape, mask halfway up his face, and he takes that first bite into it, it feels like he’s ascending.
The times like this, when the cars look like ants below him and Will can people watch from above, is his favourite part, if he’s being honest. Yeah, sure, it’s good helping people, who doesn’t like helping people? But being able to sit away from everyone, still somewhat there but watching from the outside on his terms, it’s nice. Especially when he has a good sandwich.
His phone buzzes, and when Will pulls it out, a text from Jonathan pops up. His eyes flick towards the time at the top of the screen, and—
Shit. He should’ve been home an hour ago.
Will shoves his phone back into the pocket inside his suit, and finishes the last bite of his sandwich, before brushing off his hands and jumping off the building. He’s never going to get over the feel of free-falling; it feels like the first every single time.
Once Will gets close enough to the ground, his hand moves out — on instinct now — and a web attaches to the wall opposite. He gets flung up, swinging from the wall, and he lets go at the apex, letting himself dive. The air resistance at this speed makes him almost feel like he’s swimming through water.
It takes about ten minutes to get back to where Will left his bag. The only problem is that his bag is currently not there.
The webs are still there where he shot them at it, to keep it up on the wall. You can even see the faint outline of the bag, from where someone must’ve taken it. God knows why, the only things in there were his—
Clothes. Will’s clothes were in there.
He closes his eyes and inhales slowly as his mind races, thinking of what he’s going to do. Obviously, he can’t come through the front door, unless Will’s planning on airing out that he’s a crime-fighting superhero to his older brother who most definitely won’t take kindly to that.
Was his window open when he left? It might’ve been. It’s probably Will’s best chance now, and if it doesn’t work, he can just swing around to the thrift shop by his apartment and find some acceptable clothes. By that, he means the ones that don’t stink.
It takes around another ten minutes for Will to get back to his building, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t take his time. Nerves, and stuff.
Will lands at the bottom of the building, and he climbs up slowly, pausing beneath every window with a light, breathing in and out steadily, moving so that, hopefully, no-one sees him— sees Spider-Man climbing into some random window in Queens.
He can’t be a hundred percent sure that no-one’s seen him, but he’d give himself ninety-two percent odds. And that’s not even being arrogant.
Luck seems to be on his side by now, because the window to his room actually is open. One problem though: the door to his room is also open, and Will can see Jonathan outside in the kitchen. Not good.
Will scampers up to the top side of the window, cracking it open just a bit more, and he waits until Jonathan moves out of sight of the room. It’s a tight squeeze, but it works all the same; Will’s able to get in quickly to stick himself on the ceiling and push the window closed again with his foot. His hand finds the top of his mask, and he pulls it off to put in between his teeth as he crawls over the ceiling. It feels easy — too easy, to web the door and close it with a minimal squeak.
His feet hit the floor, and one hand stays braced against the wall as Will takes a step forward to close the door with a grimace on his face. Thankfully, the ever-present creak decides to not show up today.
Only once there’s a tiny sliver of light inching through the door, does Will allow himself to exhale heavily, releasing tension from his shoulders he didn’t even know was there. His hand reaches up to grab his mask from between his teeth, ready to turn around and throw it on the bed, even flop down on the bed himself. He might throw his earphones in, decompress for a bit.
A crash of Lego from behind him ruins all of Will’s hypothetical plans.
It hurts him, physically, to see the Millennium Falcon in pieces by Mike’s feet. The dishes upended, the minifigures thrown astray, the small technic pieces Will knows he’ll find in his room days later when he steps on them. Especially when he knows how excited Mike had been to build it, when he had ambushed Will at his locker to tell him he’d gotten it, when they’d made plans to build it—
“Everything okay in there?” Jonathan shouts, and fuck, if he comes in here now, Will might genuinely just jump out the window.
He whips around, yelling back a loud, “Uh— nothing,” before turning back to Mike, finally looking at him properly for the first time.
In any other situation, the way his mouth hangs agape would make Will burst out laughing.
“You’re— Will, oh my God—“
“I just— I can explain, okay?” Will blurts out, grabbing a shirt from the bed next to him as he grapples his way out of the suit, half-listening to Mike’s rambling, half-listening outside to the very real possibility that Jonathan could come in any second.
He’s doing all that whilst also trying to ignore the way Mike’s neck seems to have a slight tinge to it when Will takes his shirt off.
“Dude, you were on the ceiling!”
Will pulls the suit off his legs, nearly tripping over himself with how fast he does it, and shoves the suit under the bed. He turns back to Mike, and his mouth is still agape, somehow. It’s a feat, really, how he’s held it open this long.
Will’s mind is racing when he replies back to Mike, “No, I wasn’t— Mike, what are you doing in my room?”
“You said about the Millennium Falcon, I just wanted to surprise you—“
“You can’t just burst into my room—“
Their squabble is cut off by the door opening behind Will, and both their heads turn towards the door, only to see Jonathan standing there, looking at them with narrowed eyes. His gaze flicks down to Will’s legs, which he only now realises are bare, and his eyes seem to narrow further.
“I was just gonna say,” Jonathan starts up, glancing between Mike and Will, “I’m gonna make some meatloaf. You guys want any? Mike?”
Will can already see Mike’s mouth opening to answer, so he cuts in quickly, “No, he’s got a thing. Haven’t you, Mike?”
“Uh, have I?” Will elbows Mike in the side, glaring up at him, “yeah, I’ve got a thing. Y’know, with the stuff, and the… yeah,” he trails off, nodding slowly.
Jonathan looks between the two of them again, brow furrowing, before he sighs and shakes his head, mumbling out a quick, “Okay,” and turning around.
Will exhales, thinking he’s in the clear, but Jonathan decides to turn around, and say, eyes still narrowed, “Maybe put on some pants.”
Jonathan’s going to be dead by morning, and Will’s going to be sure of it.
The door closes with a click, and it’s quiet in Will’s room for a minute, before Mike hisses out, “He doesn’t know? What are you, crazy?”
Will grabs a pair of jeans from his chair, throwing one leg into them, also trying to ignore Mike’s gaze still on him, really, he’s doing way too much at the same time, “Mike, just— no-one knows, okay?”
“I’m the only one who knows,” Mike’s tone grows sharper somehow, and it doubles again when he repeats, “I’m the only one who knows?”
Will finally is able to button up his jeans, “Mike, can you please just calm down—“
“Calm down? Calm down? You’re Spider-Man, and you’re telling me to calm down?”
“Mike—“
“This is crazy, man, what the fuck—“
“Mike!” Will’s voice raises this time, and he regrets it a bit when Mike looks caught off guard, but also kinda not, because otherwise, he would’ve just kept going, “Just listen to me, okay? You can’t tell anyone, you gotta keep this a secret.”
“Why, what? I can’t do that,” Mike mumbles, shaking his head at Will.
Will sighs, running a hand over his face as he looks up at Mike, and takes a step closer, “You know what Jonathan’s like, if he finds out that people are trying to kill me every single night—“
“People are trying to kill you?”
“—then he won’t let me do this anymore. Come on, Mike, please,” Will finishes, and his hands have somehow ended up in prayer in front of Mike’s chest.
The silence is the longest Will’s ever experienced, especially under the scrutiny of Mike’s eyes searching his own, but the relief when Mike finally speaks is a feeling Will is never going to be able to replicate.
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
His shoulders, which he didn’t even realise were tense again after closing the door, relax once more, and Will feels like he can breathe fully for the first time since his sandwich.
“Just— are you sure you’re safe?”
When Will looks up at Mike, he nearly stumbles back at the pure softness in his eyes. It’s nothing new, Mike’s always been like that, ever since they were kids, but never on this level; his sharp features somehow finding a way to turn soft, eyes wide and vulnerable, lips pressed together tightly.
“Yeah,” Will’s voice comes out like a croak, and he has to clear his throat to keep going, “yeah, Mike, I’m fine. I promise.”
A beat passes in silence, and Mike shifts on his feet, eyes flicking between the floor and Will, like he doesn’t know where to settle them. It’s the most awkward he’s ever seen Mike, at least with him.
“This explains why you’re so ripped all of a sudden,” Mike blurts out.
Will can already feel the flush creeping up his neck as soon as the word ‘ripped’ is mentioned, and he cocks an eyebrow at Mike when he says it, but when the other boy doesn’t elaborate, Will just mumbles, “It just happened— I didn’t, like, start working out.”
Mike mumbles something under his breath that Will can’t quite hear.
“Mike, you need to speak up—“
“I said I can’t imagine you working out anyway.”
It’s stupid, really, how Mike can switch the mood of any conversation between them as easily as flicking a light switch. It’s stupid how he can say something like that, plaster on a shit-eating grin, and Will will always fall for it. Every time.
“Oh, come on,” Will shoves his shoulder lightly, furrowing his brow in fake-offense, but it only makes Mike’s grin grow wider.
He does, however, hold up his hands in mock surrender, shaking his head down at Will, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you can absolutely work out if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I could.”
“You wouldn’t want to, though.”
Will clenches his jaw as he looks up at Mike’s grin, still prevalent on his face, before sighing and mumbling, “Yeah, probably not.”