Chapter Text
“I mean, I just don’t get it. You know?”
A woman, somewhere along the lines of 20 years old, had a dainty little brown purse thrown across her right shoulder. She looked peaceful, one airpod stuck into her ear with slight vibrations of the music she was listening to travelling to his spot on the edge of a rooftop.
She strolled along the streets, pea coat on one hand battling the summer heat while her other was busy with her phone, typing busily away without seemingly one care in the world. Peter was fascinated with her, how could the woman be so organised and prepared amidst the chaos of New York, he doesn’t know.
What he does know is that a group of men, about the ages of late 20s to middle-aged (Peter couldn’t tell with all the sneering and folded wrinkles imprinted onto their faces) were currently tailing the woman. It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone not inspecting them with clear attention, but it was there.
Slow, planned.
Peter stood up ready, the rooftop not built too high up so that he had to suspend seconds until he reached the ground but elevated enough so that no passing citizens could reach him with ease. But he didn’t get the chance to pounce, and didn't have to act. Because before Peter could jump down to incorporate himself into the coming assault, the woman got there first.
She swung her small bag with precise practice. Foot pivoted onto the concrete ground to turn herself around and smack the man in front - presumably the ‘leader’ - with one smooth strike. Peter could hear a small crunch, could smell the metallic scent of familiar blood, could detect the surprise practically radiating off of the men. The rest backed down promptly.
Peter smiled faintly. Contentment rising in his stomach at the sight of the woman walking off without more than a disgusted glare at the group while they cowarded and whimpered. It was rare to see citizens be so strong, so persistent to not be weak. It’s been a few weeks since the invasion, and despite Peter's attempts on uplifting spirits, some didn’t become whole again.
He sat back down on the edge of the rooftop. Sighing offhandedly at the cool gush of winds blowing softly onto his masked face, the heat of the summer was blaringly obvious but with his inability to regulate body temperature, the cold became more apparent to Peter. He kicked his legs onto the aged wall beneath him, phone forgotten in the loose hold of his hand.
“Peter!”
A scream could be heard at the top of a rooftop somewhere along the busy streets. A scream erupted by Spider-Man, someone so usually fearless and unmovable, scorched through the crowds. Peter sheepishly raised a hand to signify his silent apology, no more than two people glared at him through annoyed eyes while others only carried on unbothered. Like it was normal.
Peter gently sat down again, plopping himself on the edge of the rooftop with the grace of someone treating delicate glass. He lifted his phone to his masked ear, the soft breaths from Harry reaching even through the digital barrier.
“Yes, my sweet?”
He heard a quiet sigh from the other line, “You’re so easily distracted for a supposed hero.”
“Hey, it comes with the job description. One benefit in exchange for another disadvantage. Being a hero comes with ups and downs.” Peter explained impatiently, another disadvantage, to Harry who sounded exasperated even if he couldn’t see his face.
“I don’t care.”
“What!-“
“Can we please go back to the subject at hand? Something that actually matters instead of… what? Your inability to focus?” Harry gritted out. Peter stayed stubbornly quiet at that, not because he’s inclined to listen, but because Harry actually sounds somewhat serious.
Peter smacked his lips once, twice, then responded finally, “Fine, whatever. But- why does she, why does MJ care. So much, I mean. I thought she was supposed to be cool with stuff like this. The first time we met, she laughed at me, almost torching my arm off and I think that’s really the only time she’s ever laughed at all honestly.”
There’s a beat of silence from Harry before he continued with insistence, “Peter… Do you mean why she cares about, well, you?”
It was Peter’s turn to be silent this time. His usual chatter filled mouth now quiet at Harry’s inquiry, “Uhm. Maybe. Probably. I guess.”
Peter picked up on a profused sigh, he nibbled on his lower lip to contain his nervousness. The only problem was that he doesn’t even know what he’s truly nervous for, was it Harry’s prominent disapproval, his disappointment perhaps? Or the scolding he knows is going to come his way? The telling that Peter isn’t doing something right.
“Peter, we’ve talked about this before. We, people, worry about you because they care about you. Not because they want to do you wrong or, I don’t know- do it for their own personal gain. We just do it because it’s something biological, structured, it’s built into us.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense-“
“It’s a stimuli-“
“It’s a liability!”
For a moment, they stopped arguing. Peter paused with his legs swinging back and forth, setting them in solid movement against the brick wall beneath him. Harry, on the other hand, groans like a mother repeating instructions that a persistent child won’t follow.
Even with his spidey sense, Peter found it impossible to resist the flinch when Harry spoke again. This time slower, quieter, like if he goes too fast he might lose Peter along the way, “Caring isn’t a set back. I don’t believe so anyway. We can’t control it at times, maybe even all the time, and it can be difficult to deal with.”
Peter doesn’t get the chance to cut in when Harry’s blunt refusal tone interrupts everything, “But it’s something that we all have to experience. It’s an emotion that escaped the grand scheme of evolution, we’re designed to feel, to love. I wish I could stop worrying about your ass hopping into fights without another thought, but I can’t. And I don’t want to ever stop.”
Peter’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, his voice contracting in the back of his throat and only allowing light breaths to flow through his airways. He wants to respond, to fight back, to debate with Harry on how there're too many loopholes, too many exceptions to that rule.
But something made him stop. Made him consider. Made him back down from a fight for the first time in a long time. Maybe it was Harry’s firm rebuttal, leaving no room for ‘but’s’. Or maybe it was just because he sounded so sincere, so confident in his answer even if he might be wrong, even if he might stop caring for Peter.
And wasn’t that admirable?
So Peter gives up. He sagged his defiant posture to a defeated slump, hanging his phone loosely between his fingers. Playing with the tiny and cracked phone with barely there consciousness until Harry took the silence as a sign that Peter had allowed his words to process and thus, be accepted.
“I know you never really wanted anyone to know, hell, I don’t even think being your best friend is worthy enough for the great Peter Parker to reveal his secret identity. But you know I’m never going to leave now, and maybe, the same could be said about MJ. To Ned as well.”
Harry’s tone was softer now, more open. Without the treading of predators to a baby deer, void of the past warnings. It’s familiar, like when Harry reminds Peter to eat not with anger, but with quiet obstinacy. Peter immediately shuts it down.
“No.”
“What-“
“I’ll do it when the time is right. When I’m ready.” He picked on his fingers under the thin fabric of his suit, the red crinkling with the contact and the black engravings bended along his palm. It’s a habit of his, small but effective courses of pain he inflicts on himself to ground him. To remind himself to stay in the present and not to drift too far.
“Peter, please. You have to stop resisting people’s attempts to understand you. They’re trying, I can tell. MJ’s clearly disfiguring you piece by piece whether you like it or not and Ned’s been incredibly generous to you. He doesn’t push like MJ does but it’s obvious he’s still worrying.”
“Harry. I do it because it stops them from experiencing the same pain I go through. If they know me, if they know this side of me, then it’s inevitable they’ll be in potential danger. It’s all a loop.”
“But at least don’t push them any further away. You don’t have to welcome them yet, I’m not forcing you to. But you also don’t have to be distant, you don’t have to hurt them to stop them from being hurt by someone else.”
Peter gulps, Harry carries on, “I know there’s the whole speech with ‘better do it yourself than anyone else’ thing, but this is real Peter. It's not just you getting hurt now, it hasn’t been since we’ve started noticing you being different. So please think about it, okay?”
He nods numbly even when knowing Harry couldn’t see the action through the phone. Because he knows it’s all true, Peter had realised it too. MJ’s text from last week had turned something inside of him, activated something he hadn’t dared to approach yet.
But it’s almost impossible to. Peter can’t bring himself to open up to anyone else, one was already too much. Too much but not enough. He doesn’t want to lose someone again - what if when he tells them, they reject him? They stop being there, they stop caring? Harry might’ve stayed but that can’t be certain with anyone else.
They could decide he’s a bother, that he’s too much to deal with. That he’s the one who’s the liability instead. Peter’s already lost too much, he can’t risk losing more again.
Becoming friends with Harry, Ned and MJ was already difficult. Peter had struggled to accept more people, more chances of grief, into his life, and now that he has, he won’t let them go again.
So maybe they’ll greet Peter with open arms or maybe they’ll leave without a goodbye, either way there’re too many possibilities. There’re too few ways to ensure the former and too many ways to see the latter.
Harry hums noncommittally, the slightest sound changing the course of the conversation, “Now that we got that out of the way, how are you doing? You know, with the whole,” Peter couldn’t see what Harry was doing, but he was sure he had just shivered, “Spider thing.”
Ah. That. That was one of the many things that Peter had stuffed in the back of his mind to prioritise other responsibilities first and foremost, but now that Harry brought it up again, unpleasant memories strained into his head bringing a grimace to his face. The “spider thing” was also one of the downs in the pretense of being a hero.
Not only did he feel territorial for what must’ve been a few weeks now, he’s been experiencing some other nasty developments. Peter was more protective over things that might not seem to matter to the people outside, however that didn’t add any interruptions or benefits in his life as Spider-Man. This new one though, definitely did.
Peter’s been doing some research. His eyesight had improved massively ever since the spider bite, but now, he could see immaculately well to an extent that’s inhuman. It was a slow process, so slow he didn’t even realise.
It started with being able to walk through dark environments without stressing about any obstacles invisible to the eye because Peter could distinguish objects clearly. Almost like a night vision. Then, the second time was when Peter was patrolling, only to then notice the streets didn’t seem so murky anymore.
It had taken a couple more additional days for Peter to realise that it was because of a start of another strange development.
His extensive research brought him to discover he could be similar to wolf spiders, their species were especially designed to operate and sense movement in the ground. It sounded increasingly more like Peter when he kept scrolling down and down.
Not to forget that one time coming back to his apartment after a long night of swinging, dragging himself across the tiles of his bathroom floor navigating with his phone torch, only to jump back onto his ceiling upon meeting his own gaze in the mirror. The gaze that happened to glow red when he flashed his light onto his eyes.
“Oh yeah, my eyes glow now.”
Harry scoffed incredulously, “There’s no need to lie.”
“Believe me if you want. But next time when you see me in the dark don’t get creeped out if you see two dots of bright red amidst the blackness.”
“Fine, whatever. I guess that’s kind of cool.”
Peter smiled at the easy banter between two friends, it’s cool like that with Harry, switching back and forth from seriousness to casual jokes. By now, they both stay silent again. Enjoying the other’s company with only their presence hidden halfway in phones.
The sky’s reaching a sea of vibrant orange, velvety red tainting the surface of the canvas to smooth down the tone of the warmest shades. At the horizon of the skyline however, you could see the gentle approach of night, the calm navy swimming along the crimson like purple. Peter wishes it could always stay like this.
Calm. Quiet.
But it was near the time when Peter had to patrol. The time when crime increases and the chances of someone being hurt skyrockets with only the help of Spider-Man there to assist anyone. So he bids a farewell to Harry, reluctantly pressing the end call button and shoving the phone into his inner pocket.
He stood, stretching his limbs left and right, up and down until his bones cracked unpleasantly loud while satisfaction dawned upon Peter’s muscles. He let a small sigh escape his lips before hopping down from the roof, landing ceremoniously on the concrete ground below him.
The streets were less crowded now, only a few passing by citizens crossing his way, barely gracing him more than a glance to only carry on without another care. Peter’s glad, it’s proof that he’s a constant, never fading, never disappearing until the next ‘big’ thing comes up.
Not like the Avengers. Never like the Avengers. They don’t care, not really. Harry’s whole debate about caring, how it’s something that only exists because you have at the very least, some amount of love towards something, someone - they could use a little bit of that.
There’s no label you can slap on a situation to scale how big or small it is. In the end, there’s always someone suffering. A child, a parent, a life. Whether it's an alien invasion spanning across New York or just someone threatened with their life in an alleyway, they’re the same. Someone’s bound to get hurt and they both deserve saving, attention, care.
Heroes don’t show up occasionally, don’t only come when they feel like it, when they think something is finally worthwhile. They show up despite the situation, they protect everyone, anyone they can. Peter never wants to stray from that ideal. He wants to be someone that’s there whenever, someone who people can rely on, depend on, he wants to be trusted.
Peter jumped from foot to foot before taking off. His webs launched across buildings to another, scanning this area of Queens thoroughly until he could confirm with full certainty that everyone was safe. He was careful to leave slowly, however a struck of lightning crawled along his spine, straightening his stature to full.
It was a quick tingle, Peter would more describe it as a full on flinch though. This warning was big, it snapped his attention from casual to restless, eyes darting from building to building to hopefully catch sight of the danger. His spidey senses naturally led his line of sight to the South, towards a small store, no, upon closer look, it’s a deli. His deli. Delmar’s.
Peter wasted no time hurrying to the shop, arms flailing to shoot out webs along leverages, his care for public cleanliness in which his webbing may pollute the environment for a short while was now gone. Completely forgotten. His heart thumped against his rib cage, a beat, two, it fastened to the point he couldn’t count them anymore.
Smoke began to erupt from the roof of the deli, upon closer inspection, Peter could spot a burnt through hole ingrained into the walls. The sides of the walls were destroyed to collapsed rubble, what was left of the deli couldn’t even start to be described as a once healthy and well-loved shop.
Peter then heard screams. Frantic, a cry for help.
-
The soles of his feet landed on the ground shakily. Red spandex matched the pools of dark, uncomfortable red ingrained onto the concrete. Blood. Peter sped up, his vision blurred at the sides, an incoming sign of tears swelling up his ability to see clearly. He blinked rapidly, he couldn’t risk being disadvantaged now.
Peter looked around the street of the deli, the road was blocked off with police guarding the area with uneventful attempts to prevent passers-by from peering into the hazard. Nosy citizens began to hold up their devices, some shouting his alias with a victorious and almost proud tone.
He didn’t hear much though, his ears were screeching with a flat, white line beep. A ring continued the longer Peter ran and still, no signs of life, of Mr Delmar. Some people, officers, blocked his way from entering the deli, or what was left of it, the smoke erupting in puffs of gray clouds more urgently now, more severe.
Peter shoved them out the way with too much strength necessary, muttering incomprehensible murmurs and pleas to no one in particular, to a deity praying for a miracle perhaps.
They don’t get answered.
The entrance is free of any blockages, he raced inside without more than a sideway thought.
He immediately started coughing. His throat rasped up useless breaths and the onslaught of gasps prevented him from catching any available air. There doesn’t seem to be any. The entire deli’s filled with flaming blazes of inferno reaching infinitely into the sky, fading into black smoke.
Crackles from the fires became the second thing Peter could hear along with the never ending ringing. Fog swam in his vision and his lenses became unhelpful in aiding him to a clear path, he tried calling out, to beg for anyone, someone to be alive.
Memories invaded his mind, past experiences Peter never thought he’d come to see again, to live in again. The building he’d entered when he was still freshly 15 came to be once more, the life he had lost for the first time flashed in his eyes, reminding him it could happen again, happen now.
He remembers how he thought he was going to die. How there seemed to be no hope left to salvage. But he kept going, kept pushing. But his efforts didn’t matter in the end anyway, did it? Peter couldn’t save Lilly, maybe he won’t be able to save Mr Delmar as well too.
Peter won’t give up though. He’d try and try again, and if he fails and fails each time, he’d get back up until he either fails himself, or comes out breathing. So he covered his head, crouched down to crawl, screamed until his throat became sore and vocals scratchy and unreadable.
“Mr- Is anyone, please, is anyone here!? Someone, anyone-“ Peter broke off mid-sentence when he heard someone shouting for help, for Spider-Man, “I’m here! Spider-Man’s here to help! Just-“
He tripped in his futile attempt to land beside a body, one hand thrown onto their heaving chest while their legs were covered by rubble, completely unable to function without coughing. Peter recognised the strands of dark brown now dusted over with gray soot, the usually warm and welcoming honey eyes hidden behind scrunched eyelids.
Peter’s breath caught.
“Sir, mister! Please be alive, please be alive, please-“ Peter’s fingers found the pulse point on Mr Delmar’s neck, he hesitated a split second before diving down to press his masked ear against his heart.
He listened. Breaths coming in small significant pants, heaving from the gray arising smoke he accidentally inhaled in. The deli once so full of life, of friendly jokes passed around between family, now burned down to igniting flames. Everything’s gone, Peter couldn’t salvage anything if he tried.
No, there’s one last thing left, one last person for him to save.
It wasn’t big, and wasn't prominent. Barely even noticeable if it wasn’t for Peter’s enhanced hearing, but it was there. It’s still beating and Mr Delmar’s alive. The gentle thump of a beat, of a heart still surviving somehow amidst the chaos and the fire. His prayers finally answered if this non-existent God was ever on his side.
Peter leapt into action. His arms bending underneath the limp body and his legs adjusting to position himself for the extra weight. It was barely necessary, Mr Delmar weighted like feathers in his arms, Peter wasn’t sure if that was due to his super strength or of pure adrenaline. He didn’t care either way.
All that matters right now is getting Mr Delmar out and alive, Peter will deal with himself later.
Peter threw him over his shoulders but not without delicacy and care for a newborn baby, making sure the man was safely secure before he ran. The exit wasn’t far out, not at all. It somehow felt closer now than it did when he first came in.
Flashes of images jumped into Peter’s mind. The past memories of the people he could save and the people he couldn’t - if only he had tried harder. If only his still inexperienced self had pushed further, had arrived quicker, saved the person who brought Spider-Man to be.
It didn’t take long for Peter to reach a safe gasp of air then, lifting his mask carelessly to rest on the bridge of his nose and inhaling through his desperate mouth. Professionals came to the scene, lifting Mr Delmar from his grip to look him over with proper medical treatment. Peter only hesitated briefly before passing Mr Delmar over.
He caught the attention of an officer ahead with a wave of his arm prompting the woman to jog slightly to join Peter. He was still bent over tiredly, the want to close and rest his eyes becoming stronger and yet whenever he gave in to his desires, memories of flames erupting taller, thoughts of someone slipping through his fingers danced before him.
Peter gulped, standing tall as a facade of confidence seeming fake even to his own eyes, “How did this happen? I swear to God if it was just a cooking incident I’ll kill him when he opens his eyes again-“ His voice wavered slightly.
The officer looked at him apprehensively, “We’re not entirely sure yet… However there were some eye witnesses saying how it was immediate, but it happened too quick. We’re looking at security and CCTV footage, we presume it wasn’t an accident.”
Peter’s throat tightened. There wasn’t much to get out of what the officer relayed back to him, he guessed that there was a limit to what they could disclose to the public and most of all, Spider-Man. But it was enough, Peter had a speculation anyway, it ghosted behind the depths of his mind that maybe, somehow, this was purposeful.
“Okay. Thank you,” Peter left it at that, nodding gratefully at the officer when she went to leave and regrouped with her colleagues, inspecting the fire department’s futile attempts on distinguishing the fire.
He saw out of the corner of his eye the back of an ambulance door closing behind a body laying motionlessly on a carrier. A mask was covered over the man’s mouth with small puffs of steady air fogging over the surface once in a while. Peter wanted to come with, to accompany Mr Delmar on his way to presumably surgery, but he couldn't.
Mr Delmar’s near-death experience wasn’t accidental. This didn’t happen because of a mistake, a man’s in the hospital and his biggest love’s burnt down to oblivion. Maybe not revenge, Peter doesn’t want it to come down to a back and forth duel, but what happened couldn’t be forgotten about. It needs justice.
So he succumbs. Peter closed his eyes, images flashing dangerously close to his breaking point, his fingers tightened to fists with the imagination of a body he once held dear. He chose for a point to focus on instead, his sole attention on only instinct, his senses completely dependent on finding evidence.
Peter felt a flicker of realisation somewhere inside him, his spidey senses flaring ever so slightly to something only a few paces to his left. His eyes flew open, but instead of facing towards the steady stream of water ceasing the burn of the fire, they landed on a piece of rubble hidden almost invisibly inside the remains of the deli.
He walked as a man possessed, legs moving automatically at the sight of the fragments, his own inferno burning quietly behind his dilated pupils.
Peter reached down silently, the action wasn’t hurried or rushed, it was still, balanced, calculated. His fingers brushed aside the pieces of rubble, setting them down onto the ground beside him.
Something shone near the bottom hidden underneath all the debris, a gleam of something precious, something dangerous that could’ve been left without intervention. But Peter spotted it anyway, picked up the piece of not trash - it wasn’t dispensable or forgotten about, but what he held was a weapon.
It’s advanced, turning it over his hands carefully, squinting knowingly at whatever it was that he now possessed. Peter’s own heart thumped increasingly faster, his breath hitching just as it did when he found Mr Delmar, his grip clenched around the object.
Because what he found wasn’t random, it wasn't only a coincidence, it was a piece of chitauri tech.