Sunflower Nights
Somehow, he'd managed to sling his way into Brooklyn when the sky was just beginning to drain itself of its daily blue canvas. Melding now into a fantastic display of golden hues sprinkled with pinks and oranges, he managed a perch amidst the dizzying skyscrapers, just as the sun began its lazy descent.
Trotting to a stop right off of a swing, Peter Parker approached the eastern side of the building he'd decided to make his evening roost, and dropped his backpack beside his spot of choice, and slightly tucked it under the roof's brick ledge, giving it a soft nudge of his booted toe, as if it would move beneath his prodding.
Retrieving a granola bar from the front pocket of the bag, he seated himself spryly over the ledge, and worked the mask up over his mouth, a kick of fresh air bursting fully through the suit.
Peter swung his legs back and forth while nibbling on his evening snack, watching the sun slowly slink into its evening rest. Senses already heightened to the max, he studies the streets below, watching people - this time of day, most were in a hurry to catch taxis or get home, which he found hilarious.
Peter hated being home. It wasn't that he didn't love Aunt May or anything, he just hated being cooped inside a much-to-small New York apartment when there was service to be fulfilled just outside his bedroom window. He'd much rather be out here, high up in the sky; alone with his thoughts.
Clapping his hands together to dispel the stray crumbs from his snack, he popped tall and stretched his arms high overhead, then bent at the waist to flatten the upper half of his body against his legs in an intense stretch. Feeling the pops of release in his lower back, he straightened to pull the mask fully into place, and cracked his knuckles; dropping into a low crouch as he switched on the suit's internal AI.
Karen greeted him immediately, "Good evening, Peter," her bright, accentuated voice was clear in his ears, always a welcomed part of his day.
He lowered more into his haunches, feeling the weight in his fingers. "Hey, Karen," he replied casually, then lifted his hands to begin situating the suit around his fingers.
Distracted, he hadn't even realized his voice had cracked until the AI giggled. Karen did this every time his voice cracked, but it wasn't in a bad way. She'd offered him information on his puberty more than once, insisting that the changes in his voice wouldn't last long, and were entirely normal.
It was the most embarrassing series of conversationsever, and she'd picked up on that too, commenting on the sudden blush of his cheeks turning a pitiful red.
She began to filter some images of the city as he adjusted the mask's visual accuity.
"What can I do for you, Peter?"
He blinked twice, which instantly kicked on the suit's visuals. Within seconds, he had readouts, was connected to the local EMS airwaves, and had a hit on the distance from him to the Avengers Building outside the city's perimeter.
Peter's eyes darted over to his phone contacts to his left, which he was want to do. Miniaturized to the point of almost illegibility, he noticed that his Aunt's name was highlighted in purple, meaning he had a text message - and, he had a missed call from Mr. Stark, as well as an email from Ned.
"Bring up the message from Aunt May," he hesitated, "please."
He still wasn't sure if he should use manners when talking to an AI; Stark hadn't made that quite clear when he'd handed off the suit.
The AI giggled again. "Sure thing."
Instantly, the message was displayed beneath Aunt May's name, asking what he wanted for dinner. Asking Karen to reply with his request for pasta, he cleared the message and focused his attention below, scanning the streets which were now blanketed with falling darkness.
He was drawn immediately to a street corner, where a bus stop littered with a variety of people was situated between two small trees which had been planted on either side. He spotted two figures that made something in his blood spark - his skin crawled at the back of his neck only slightly, and he felt a punching alarm hit his gut mildly, before swallowing thickly.
"Karen," he said quickly, "can you run facial recognition on two guys down there? The ones in the shredded army jackets?" he was speaking so quickly he could feel his heartbeat at the back of his throat, and said hurriedly, "something isn't right about them."
"Sure. Hold on," Karen interjected swiftly, and almost immediately, facial recognition for the Brooklyn Police popped up to his right, in a minimized window.
Immediately, the visuals zoomed in as if they were a pair of military-grade binoculars, though their backs were turned to him. The BPD records were filtering so quickly it would've made a normal person's head spin, but the two faces were patched over with scanning lines from Karen's AI system, and within a few breaths, two names popped up beside two headshots.
Peter's attention spiked, and he perked up as Karen opened the windows further.
She scrolled through the report for him, narrating its contents, "They're convicted felons," she said confidently, "wanted for attempted murder, grand theft auto, assault, and possession of illegal substances. The Brooklyn Police are currently looking for them," was all she concluded.
They looked like ugly characters - the one looked like he hadn't showered in a month, and the other guy's teeth were rotting and green, probably from drug use. It made him squirm just a little, until he nodded once in affirmation of everything he'd just been presented. Extending an arm out, he released webbing, and dove off the ledge of the building, but not before firmly webbing his backpack to its place.
He followed the two guys for eleven blocks as they rode the bus, finally exciting at a quiet intersection in residential. Perfectly lined along the block, each of the houses were brick and slightly dilapidated, which told Peter the area was not necessarily a friendly neighborhood, but would probably be sorely in need of a friendly, neighborhood spider presence.
Keeping low on the rooftops despite his assumption that neither con could see him, Peter stopped at the house marked 3574, where the number four was canted slightly due to need of attention, and all the shrubbery in the front yard was grown up around the property.
The house itself was sagging into the northern corner, and he would bet anything that the floor sloped inside. When he scanned the address at against the PD database, he found the house was not occupied, and had been repossessed by a mortgage company out of Virginia, though there was electricity running to the property, as well as active water records.
He dropped carefully onto the roof of 3574, and carefully stepped across the peak of the house, Karen silent with him inside the headspace of the suit. Once he reached the overhang above the front door, he stopped, and exhaled a slow breath, totally still.
"Karen," he whispered quietly, "see if you can tap into any devices inside the house," he paused, "there's electricity running in there. What about wireless?"
It took her a fraction of a second to confirm his thought. "Yes, there's a wireless router presence inside the home," she brought up the window confirming the different networks within range, "Would you like me to try to connect?"
He nodded, as if the AI could tell. "Mhm,"
With a quiet ping, they were connected, and she had an active cam in the house through the router. How and what Tony used to make such sophisticated equipment Peter didn't know, but he was beyond thankful as he peered inside the house, finding the immediate family room empty, just off the foyer.
He heard voices, though. "Turn up the volume," Peter whispered.
"It's as loud as it goes," Karen countered a bit defensively. He nodded his understanding.
He could hear the mumbling voices mixed in with some type of heavy metal music, which was giving him the beginning throes of a migraine. There was a visible haze of smoke, even through the poor-quality front lens, and Peter assumed it was either cigarettes, or some other drug. He was patient, though, waiting to see if anything else surfaced that wasn't immediately present on their police record.
For what, he didn't know.
That's when he heard the gunshot, outside of the camera. He flinched into action, almost tumbling off the peak of the house before he popped up, and bolted across the roof, heart hammering in panic. He felt sick, sweaty, and could taste the vomit beginning to bubble up into his throat.
He was shouting at Karen, "What was that!?"
She was frantically running a scan. "I'm working on it," she sounded oddly calm, "I've isolated the blast to the western corner of the house. I'm reading three heat signatures, though the one is smaller than the others."
Smaller? That didn't make any sense. He must've said it out loud, because Karen replied, "All the signatures are too close to determine," she confirmed.
Dropping off the back of the house, he threw webbing out to his left, which connected to a tree across the yard, just a stone's throw from the house. Swinging his legs forward for momentum, his feet crashed through the upstairs window of the house, and he tucked into a roll as he soared through the open space, his shoulder colliding with the floor solidly.
"Call the police," Peter said, his tone on the verge of panic, "and see if you can determine vitals!"
She was ringing the cops already, "I can't tell from here - get closer," was all the AI responded with.
The perps must not have heard him drop into their home, because no one was coming after him in the corridor. Determining swiftly that his entrance had been masked beneath the head-banging music, Peter rushed down the corridor, pumping his arms. The balls of his feet were practically bouncing off the floor as he rang, and he threw himself around the railing's corner, and leapt down the stairs.
The heat signatures were coming from the kitchen, so he headed that direction. Web-slingers at the ready, he burst through the front door without thinking, stumbling upon the scene so stupidly that it rendered him speechless for a moment. His mouth dropped open behind the mask at the sight.
Both guys were bent over what he assumed was a stray dog, which was now laying in a limp position on the floor before the home's stove. The one guy was stuffing a gun into the back of his pants beneath a jacket, and the other man was busy lighting up what he assumed was a joint, though he'd never seen one in person before.
Both of the men whipped about to face him so quickly he thought they'd both fall over.
"The dog is alive," Karen sounded delightfully present, which set his nerves a little more at ease. "Police are three minutes out, Peter."
Relieved that the dog was still alive, Peter gestured between the two guys. He was fumbling around his brain for anything to say - what do you say in front of two guys who are trying to kill a harmless dog? - until his brain finally locked a procession of words.
"Looks like a party," he said with a quirk, "if you call abusing animals any kind of party, anyway." He slowly lowered into a defensive crouch, shrugging a shoulder slightly.
Both men looked at him, stupefied that he'd materialized in their haven. "Who are you?" the one was definitely high, because he had that glazed, droopy haze in his eyes, and the slow tone to his voice. He was grinning stupidly, as if amused by Peter's presence.
He catapulted into another verbal barrage. "Shooting dogs is definitely illegal, you know," Peter chimed in suddenly, ignoring his question. His head canted to the side, as if he himself were imitating a dog. "I'm pretty sure whatever you're smoking isn't legal either."
The one guy rolled his eyes. "Who are you? Spider Police?" he asked, his voice venomous with hatred and disgust.
If they would've seen his face, they'd have seen the wrinkle of confusion dot his features, as well as the mildly offended scoff that was currently creeping up his throat. Karen flashed an incoming call at him, which was from Mr. Stark, and he offset it by visually sending the call to voicemail with a blink of his eye.
"'Spider Police'?" He mimicked, "Now that is lame, even for you guys." He paused, but continued, "Look, the cops are on their way, and I don't really want to hurt you. So why don't you come nice and quiet and get arrested, and we'll all go home. Well, I'll go home with the dog, anyway."
The two men exchanged looks, and when Peter counted off three seconds in his head, they sprang in his direction.
The one went for his gun but fumbled, the weapon catching between his jacket and back. Peter was already on top of him, knocking him to the floor and pinning him in place by bracing his legs on either side of his shoulder. Immediately, he shot a round of webbing at the one hand, pinning the man effectively to the floor.
Guy two fell back into the fridge as Peter turned, while still on top of his friend, to intercept him. The man fell to the floor, and scrambled as if he were in an army crawl toward the gun across the floor, around the dog's body. The poor animal was whimpering when Peter shot another round of webbing in the direction of the firearm, sending it flying across the floor to stick firmly to the wall beside the bathroom door.
Looking down to the guy beneath him, Peter's head canted to the side again and he chuckled, "That wasn't that hard."
If looks could kill, the man's stare would've vaporized him out of thin air.
His tone was no better, "Is this stuff coming out of you?"
He sighed, exasperated; Peter had heard the question lots of times already. The science behind the webbing was far too complicated for even Mr. Stark to understand, and he'd actually cared to know. He assumed, on the streets, that many people wouldn't care either, so he didn't even attempt to explain what it was anymore - a lesson learned the hard way in the beginning of the Spider fighting.
He shrugged a shoulder, shaking his head. "Too complicated to explain," he sighed.
Peter then stood, fired another shot of webbing at the guy's other hand, and approached the other guy on the floor, who was trying to push himself up on the floor, which was sticky and filthy. The man was trembling, muttering, and whimpering, as if Peter had been something out of a nightmare - he assumed it was the drugs setting in on his brain.
Finishing the other guy off with another round of sticky solution, he placed a note on the one's shirt, signing it with 'Spider-Man' at the end. After they were both secured, Peter approached the dog carefully, who was whining and whimpering sorrowfully.
Karen quickly ran a scan and determined the wound wouldn't be fatal, but that the dog would need medical attention. The little guy was filthy, a little skinny, and was bleeding from the hole in its shoulder.
He swiftly found out it wasn't a "little guy" - she was a beautiful beagle, complete with brown eyes with gold flecks. Beneath the mud and grime would be a pretty coat of brown, black, and white, and she had three white socks on her feet, the one complete with brown and black patterns.
He had everything he could do not to cry.
"It's okay, puppy," he said soothingly, "I'm gonna make sure you're ok. These bad guys are all done hurting you."
Karen interjected softly, "Police are on scene, Peter," she left the statement hanging, waiting for his response.
He nodded, again as if the AI could see him, and carefully placed his hands beneath the dog. She whimpered loudly, and lifted her head slightly to look at him. Peter canted his head to the side, and gently picked her up across his arms, still on his knees.
The guys behind him were making a fuss, and he had half a mind to tell them off as he stood, pressing the pup against his chest. Hearing the footsteps coming up the front walk, Peter looked towards the back of the house, hanging by one hinge.
Looking to the front door, he didn't waste time, and sprinted for the back door, dropping to slide beneath it as if he'd been playing baseball and had made a rush for home. Popping tall on the back stoop, Karen informed him they were circling around the back, and he looked around swiftly, finding the security fence securely stood around the perimeter of the properly like a fortress barricade.
Opting for the tree again, he slung another web to the roof, and made a running start for the wall, the pup still in the crook of his one arm. Managing to swiftly scale the wall, he flipped onto the roof, pausing to look at the dog in his arms, who was bleeding plenteously, now.
He needed applied pressure. And to find it, he needed to be anywhere but here.
Peter arrived back at his backpack as quickly as possible, Karen keeping him informed of the dog's progress. She was ok, holding steadily with her vitals, though he didn't like the blood loss. He'd rested her on the rooftop when he'd come back to his backpack, and fought away the webbing to root around inside his supplies.
Managing to find some gauze, Peter secured a bandage around the dog's shoulder, his balled-up tank-top serving as the pressure needed to absorb some of the bleeding. He'd already decided he'd had enough crimefighting for the night, and that he needed to find medical attention for the animal, and that meant going home. He'd need to ditch the suit as soon as he got home to tell Aunt May a convincing story.
"It's ok, sweetie," he whispered to the dog, who continued to whimper steadily beside him, "you're going to be just fine. I'll take you home and Aunt May will -"
Suddenly, he heard the desperate, faint cry, "Get away from me, leave me alone!"
The cry for help bolted him upright, and Peter sprang to his feet, signaling Karen to begin running a sweet for any kind of crime-in-progress within three blocks of their current position. Sure enough, Karen used cellular towers to pick up on a 911 call in-progress, coming from a set of towers a block north of the building.
"The number belongs to a girl, Peter," Karen informed him calmly, "you may know her. She's a senior at Midtown."
Peter staggered backwards. "What?" he demanded, "Who? Who is the number registered to?"
Karen pulled up the record. "It's registered to a Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Peters," her voice was steady and calm in his frantic ear, "their daughter's name is -"
Peter's heart was thrumming wildly. "I know who she is," he inserted sharply, already situating his backpack, "If the call hasn't connected, get the police on the line, and an ambulance," he continued rapidly, "give me coordinates. Cross reference the streets in the direction of the cell tower and find the fastest route."
In a snap, it was done, "Go up Forty-Seventh Street and cut across on Laker," Karen instructed swiftly, "She's at the corner of Baker and Carls."
He knew the bakery; had stopped there before when he'd been on a field trip with Ned and the science decathlon team. Good food; not-so-hot neighborhood. Pushing his clothes down on top of his homework, Peter looked back to the dog, who was watching him with careful, painful eyes.
The choice was hard - risk the dog dying alone on the roof, or take her with in the fight. He opted for the latter, and managed to situate the dog in the backpack, making sure she was stabilized in-between his shirt and gym shoes, so she wouldn't jostle. Zipping the backup up, he left her head hanging out, and tied the two zippers together with a shoestring, so she wouldn't fall out if they unzipped.
Slinging on the backpack carefully, he glanced over his shoulder. "Sorry, puppy," he said sorrowfully, "this should only take a minute, and I'll be able to get you some help."
Swinging off the roof, he followed Karen's directions, and watched the pinging cell towers on his visual.
He arrived on the scene just in time. Breathing steadily with sweat racing down his spine, he'd lifted the mask over his mouth to suck in breaths of air, watching the scene unfold. So far, the dog was fine behind him, though he worried she'd stopped whimpering so frequently.
Focus, Peter; focus, was all he could keep thinking. "Zoom in, Karen."
"Done," was the reply.
And it was. The distress call was coming from a young student in her car, which just so happened to be a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle, in the early-2000s body. Two guys were on either side, both hammering away at the windows with what appeared to be ice picks. The vehicle's alarm was going off in an otherwise dead parking ramp, save for a few other cars with now owners or drivers anywhere nearby.
Karen had scanned the area and found most of the security cameras weren't functional; the ramp was small and free, which meant it didn't get much city - or owner - attention. Littered with graffiti, garbage, and broken chunks of concrete, Peter wondered why anyone would park there, much less why it was actually standing.
He was only getting the three heat signatures, which meant they were the only three people in the lot. Peter could hear the girl's screaming, even from within the car at this distance, which was across the alley from the ramp. He didn't waste any time, and rocketed a web overhead, and jumped off the adjoining building, falling into darkness before the web pulled taut against his palm.
Swinging forward, he somersaulted mid-air before reaching the ramp's overhang. Looking around, he found the overhang to be sturdy enough to support him, so he managed to sling off the backpack slowly and rest it against a supporting beam, the dog looking at him longingly as he did so. Her ear lifted slightly, and he was thankful that she was at least alert. The bullet must have missed her organs, and the gauze should've helped control the bleeding.
He webbed the backpack with the dog still inside, so it wouldn't fall from its perch. Then, turning on his heel, he dropped onto the same floor of the ramp as the Beetle, and came upon the scene with nothing more than a graceful drop.
"Whatchya up to, guys?" was his question, asked with a quirky positivity that belied his knowledge of the situation.
His presence alerted the two men, who shared a look over the roof of the car, and dropped their picks. They hesitated a moment, both of them wearing masks to cover their faces, and mumbled something to one another before gesturing. Both turned to face him, before the one came around his side of the vehicle.
Peter began to walk toward them, determined to get them away from the car, unknowing if they were armed in other ways or not. It worked, because they took off in the direction of the entrance, and Peter followed, pumping his arms and slinging webs high into the ceiling of the parking ramp, swinging his way to the entrance.
He beat them there, just seconds before they left.
"Listen, whatever you were doing wasn't good, but I'm not here to hurt you," he held up his hands to stop their rapid approach in his direction, and he continued with a pleading tone, "Please, let's talk about this -"
"They're not talking," Karen stated matter-of-factly.
He was about to reply when the one bolted toward him suddenly, arriving so quickly that Peter barely dodged his right-hook. Ducking low to punch his kidney, Peter jabbed his elbow into the man's lower back and rendered him to the floor as he imagined the pain spiking up his back. He countered the other in a brief and sloppy hand-to-hand that was more slapping than anything, and finally twisted the man's arm behind his back.
He howled, and there was a break crackle, and Peter realized he'd busted the man's arm. He dropped to a knee, and gave in, tucking his sore arm across this chest. Peter hadn't meant to break it, but he sometimes forgot his own strength - and, he didn't feel too sorry for guys who were trying to break into a young girl's car.
He cuffed them with zipties, and webbed their feet. They sat looking ridiculous as Karen informed him the police were a few minutes away still, but that things were clear otherwise. Thankful for the time to check on the girl, he raced back to the Beetle, coming up on the driver's side, which he hadn't seen previously.
Surprisingly, there was a trashed motorcycle resting near the driver's side front fender, which was smashed fully in over the tire, ultimately tilting the tire the wrong direction. The car sagged slightly down into the crushed spot, as the tire was flat, and Peter found that the driver's door was crunched inward, the girl still inside.
He could see, even from his position a few feet away, that she was trembling and crying hysterically, hammering at the door with a fist in an attempt to dislodge it.
"Ambulance status?" he managed to ask the AI.
She responded with a four-minute reply which Peter barely heard as he approached the car, his gut churning with hot anxiety. He hadn't approached anyone from school as Spider-Man since the incident with Liz's dad, and Ned was really the only one at Midtown who knew he was Spider-Man, so this entire experience was very surreal, very quickly.
Uncertain of what to do, Karen's voice popped into this thoughts, "Peter, her leg is crushed between the door and seat."
His immediate thought was that her leg would've been broken, but he hoped it wouldn't be as he approached the car slowly. As his reflection fell across the driver's side window of the front door, the girl's attention snapped up to him so quickly he feared her neck would dislocate.
He expected the stereotypical scream, or looks of horror that usually followed the revelation of his presence. However, the girl just stared up at him, unmoving, as if she were in muted awe of his presence. He stood there for just a moment, staring through the spidered glass from each jarring stab of the icepicks, waiting for something bad to happen.
When nothing did, she motioned for him to come around to the other side, where the passenger's window was as equally bad. Realizing she'd meant for him to open the door, Peter popped the Beetle's door handle, and opened it slowly, crouching to peer inside beside the passenger's seat.
He assessed the situation quickly. Her leg was lodged between the top of the dash and the door, near the emergency break. There was blood slowly dripping onto the floorboards of the car, and the girl was trying desperately not to move, but was breathing laboredly through her nose. Keys swung back and forth in the ignition, evidence of her attempts to try and start the vehicle to getaway, though it was obvious the Beetle would never drive again.
He recognized her, though. She was a senior, 17 years old, and was only a part-time student. She took chemistry and advanced science at Midtown, though he understood she completed most of her schooling at home, from an online academy. He'd chatted with her a few times in class (they had the same end-of-day homeroom), and she'd been nice to him, and approachable.
He'd known her to usually in jeans and t-shirts, and today she was dressed in her usual attire; a white v-neck with a small pocket, and bootcut jeans with what appeared to be cowboy boots, though she had a sunflower perched behind her left ear, which was slightly drooping and strange.
He continued to stare at her, and she glanced up at him.
"Ah...hey," was all he said at first. Anxiety overcoming him, "You, ah, you don't have to be afraid of me." It was his go-to response when making contact with general people who weren't bad guys.
All at once, she snorted and rolled her eyes at him, painfully reaching for her leg, "I'm not afraid of you," she said through mildly gritted teeth, "There's guys at school who talk about you all the time."
That was him, and presumably Ned. Though, if he were honest, Spider-Man was nothing short of a celebrity at Midtown, after saving the decathlon team in Washington, at the monument. He had to be extra careful at the school grounds, because one wrong move would convey his identity, and he'd never be normal again.
She jarred him from his thoughts with a painful moan. "Do you think you can get me outta here?"
Peter looked over the situation again, and Karen instantly conveyed her disapproval, "The leg might be severed, Peter. If you move her, the bone might tear her femoral artery," she said matter-of-factly, "I would advise waiting for EMS."
He immediately decided he couldn't wait. Standing, he nodded his understanding. "Yeah...sure," he shrugged a shoulder, "I think I can dislodge the door from the fender."
She nodded her appreciation, squirming slightly. "Okay," she said with sharp breaths, "I've already called the police, they should be coming soon."
Peter didn't have the heart to tell her her call hadn't connected, but he already knew the cops were coming. Instead, he positioned himself in front of the damaged fender, and wondered how he was going to pull the door out. Then, he looked to the window, and raised his voice a little, so she could hear him from the opposite door.
"I'll have to break this window," he said, his voice a bit squeaky.
She nodded, "Okay, the car's trashed anyway," was what she called back.
Nodding his understanding, with one swift punch he knocked the glass inward, and managed to pull the rest out of his way. It danced over his classmate, who had squirmed as far away from the door as possible. Peter noticed she had begun to sweat, and her face was turning paler than he remembered he being.
Slipping his arm through the whole in the window, and grabbing at the gap between the fender and door, he used his enhanced strength to try and pull the door out the other direction. The metal of the vehicle moaned and popped at his efforts, until finally the indent gave way.
She screamed loudly, a piercing scream that send bumps down his spine and arms. The dent having given way fullen, he had managed to dislodge the door enough to open it. With another snap and pop, there was enough room for him to slip inside and help her out of the driver's seat.
Stumbling out of the car, she leaned heavily on him as he tried to help her stand. She couldn't, though - her leg was bleeding even worse now, and she was getting weak - Peter knew he'd never be able to carry her and the dog in the backpack together, though he didn't feel the immediate need to leave her.
She looked up at him and offered a weak, quirky smile.
She sighed, "Thanks," and took a deep breath, "I appreciate it."
He nodded, "Of course,"
She brushed aside a fallen curl from her face, knocking the sunflower out of her hair. It hit the concrete silently with grace, and she looked down at it, chuckling softly, "Oh, my flower," her tone was light and dreamy, as if she'd fall asleep at any moment, "I should really get it -"
She faltered for a moment, almost falling, until Peter slipped his arm beneath her good leg, and caught her upper back in his other. Slung across his arms, she called out in pain as her injured leg began to swing freely, and Peter staggered forward to get his balance, before standing erect and counter-correcting.
He shook his head at her, "I don't think it's a good idea," he stood there, holding her, thinking how light she was for him, but remember that she never looked this light at school.
Her eyes were at half-mast, and a red hue popped onto her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or flush he wasn't quite sure. However, she looked at him, a small grin playing on her lips, and she lifted an arm to wrap around his neck gently.
She hesitated a moment, before sighing, "Peter was right," she tipped her head to the side slowly, "you're not a monster at all..." her eyes fluttered closed, and all at once, her body went fully slack in his arms, and her head fell back - suddenly, she was unconscious in his arms, and he was dumbfounded that she'd remembered his name.
Karen was alive immediately in his ears. "She's fainted," she informed, "EMS is rounding the corner."
He nodded and swallowed a breath, "Right," he breathed, and looked around the ramp.
He didn't feel comfortable just leaving her, but then again, he didn't want to get involved in a dance with the authorities either - that was a mess he didn't want Mr. Stark to have to clean up. Deciding he couldn't stay, he walked to the car and crouched to rest her against the passenger's door on the driver's side.
Removing the belt from around her waist, he applied a tourniquet above the wound on her leg, and shuffled back from her. Peter sat there for a moment, looking at her, realizing how close to home this encounter hit him - he hadn't rescued anyone from school since D.C., and that had stirred him up with anxiety for weeks.
He removed the mask, though he knew he shouldn't have when the outside was so close. However, he needed the air, and sucked in some heavy breaths while he stared at her. He realized how suddenly pretty she was, something he hadn't noticed before when he'd been so head-over-heels for Liz.
She had her hair cut to her shoulders, and it was brow and curly. She had inherently pale skin, like his, and blue eyes - usually she wore glasses, up must've opted for contacts today. She wasn't thin and willowy, but she was fit and broad in the shoulders, and was at least a few inches taller than him, with traces of scarring on her cheeks from what he assumed was typical acne.
You're not a monster... she'd been listening to him, which gave him hope that many people at school had listened, and believed the same, despite the media. Enhanced people had a bad rap across the globe, something he didn't appreciate, but understood. Ignorance bred conflict, lots of times, and conflict bred...trouble.
Peter rested his head in his hands, elbows balanced on knees as he collected his thoughts. Then, he raked his hands through his hair. He could heard the EMS sirens getting closer and closer, and he realized he needed to go before he was spotted, because his canine friend needed help, too.
Looking around the scene, he found her sunflower a few feet from him, and stretched to pick it up. Holding it delicately in his suited hands, he lifted it to give the flower a sniff. Immediately overwhelmed with its light scent, the corner of his mouth lifted into a light grin, before he shuffled forward toward his classmate.
"Here," he said softly, resting the sunflower on her lap, "you forgot this," he dipped his suited finger beneath her chin, and tilted her head slightly face him, now looking down into her simple features, "I'll see you around school," was all he said, his tone reverently calm.
Seeing the emergency sirens approach the ramp's entrance, be fired a web, and swung out of sight, making his way to his backpack. Finding the dog was otherwise unharmed, he cut away the webbing, slipped the backpack on, and waited just long enough to see the girl lifted into the ambulance and hauled away under beaming sirens.
Then, determining that things were clear, he made his way back to the apartment, dog in tow.
"You're Peter, right?"
It was two days after the night he'd found her in her yellow Volkswagen, and he'd been happy to see in her school today, wearing a bandage. She'd came into homeroom her usual, smiling self, and had seated herself right next to him during their study hour, her hair pulled back into two small braids.
He nodded at her, sitting back in his desk chair. "Yeah," he pointed the eraser end of his pencil at her, "I...heard what happened," he paused, "He said you were going to be okay."
Playing to the fact the news had reported her savior as Spider-Man, she nodded her understanding of his pronoun game. Peter was thrilled she'd thrown his name around in a good way, and half the school had been talking about the daring rescue. If he hadn't been wearing a mask and could be so brave to announce his identity, he'd be beaming with pride.
She smiled, and looked away, mildly embarrassed. "Thank you. The doctor said it isn't broken, and I was otherwise okay. More shaken up than anything."
He nodded and shrugged a shoulder, "I get that."
She looked back at him, brushing aside one of the babyhairs that had fallen out of her braid. Hauling her backpack onto her lap, she began rummaging through the front zipper, and retrieved a canary-yellow envelope, complete with a sunflower sticker holding down the flap. He caught the calligraphy immediately, and it was addressed to him.
Well, to Spider-Man, anyway - it was basically the same thing.
She looked up at him, setting her backpack down. "I was wondering something, Peter."
He knew almost immediately what she would ask, but nodded and closed his eyes anyway, draping one arm over the back of his chair. "What's that?"
She smiled softly at him, and gestured for him to lean in. She did the same, and extended the envelope to him in a small way, glancing towards the front of the classroom to find their homeroom teacher busy working on his laptop, not paying the least amount of attention to them. Satisfied, she looked back at him, and wrinkled her nose only slightly.
"You're always talking about hanging out with that Spider-Man guy," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "I was wondering if you could give something to him?"
He nodded, "Well, sure - what it is?"
"This," she looked to the envelope, "and something else."
He accepted the envelope and slipped it into the front of his backpack, determined to read it at the first opportunity. Looking quickly to their teacher to be sure he hadn't witnessed the exchange of notes, he was about to look back at her, when suddenly she took his face in her hands gently, and pressed her lips softly against the corner of his mouth.
Stunned, he fell back in his chair, her still consuming the gap between them. She lingered for half a second before pulling back slowly, her eyes fluttering open to connect with his own.
There were no words to say between them in that moment, and Peter realized that his heart was hitting against his ribs so hard, that he thought his bones would shatter. Unable to think, unable to breathe, and unable to comprehend, he just sat there, staring at her, as she seated herself again.
Smiling softly at him, she mouthed the words, "Thanks," before opening her subject notebook to begin studying her notes.
She didn't say anything more to him the rest of the hour, but she hadn't needed to - instead, he stupidly attempted homework, but couldn't solve more than two problems before his body was consumed with heat, and his mouth was tingling with the remaining affects of her kiss.
It was only after school on his way to his afternoon patrol that he dared to open the envelope, which was lightly scented with what smelled like roses. Ripping open the envelop, Peter flipped open the card with his thumb, immediately noticing the pressed and dried yellow petals of what he assumed, of course, had been a sunflower.
Peter scanned the penmenship quickly, and the corner of his mouth lifted with a grin. It said simply:
One sunflower for another. I hope to see you again soon; in the sunshine and the rain. - G.P.
Feeling the tingling sensation return to his lips, Peter brushed his fingers over the place where she'd kissed him, and felt his heart kick into an overdrive rhythm. He grinned, slipped the card back into its envelope, and placed it in the breast pocket of his army-green jacket.
If anyone would've seen him behind the mask that afternoon, they'd have seen the unmistakable, stupid grin of a teenage boy who'd just received his first kiss.