Crimson Hand
A Xenocide Production
Enjoy and review…………please?
Summary: More often than not, a hero's most epic battle is the one you never see. It's the battle that goes on within him or herself. Not all of these battles are won. But neither are they all lost.
Disclaimer: I own neither Marvel nor Naruto. I would sell my first born child to any who give me either one. Any takers?
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Chapter Two: A Walk in the Park
Snickt!
"All right, old man." A leather clad youth, with sallow skin, greasy black hair, and a knowing sneer on his face lazily held a three inch switchblade against the throat of a portly older gentleman who happened to have the misfortune of being one of New York's faceless mugging statistics. "You know the drill. Gimme your wallet and maybe I'll let you go without adding a few extra holes in your head."
A few snickers burst from his three buddies, all of which were standing at the mouth of the dank alley, preventing escape and deterring the odd passerby from getting too curious. Not that there were that many. This was New York, after all.
The old man, pale and sweating profusely, said not a word as he fished out his wallet with shaking hands and offered it to the thug, who snatched it from his fingers with a laugh. It was better to stay silent and give them what they want. That's what the pamphlets said, at any rate.
The man allowed himself a sigh of relief as the switchblade was detracted and lowered from his throat as the thug perused his wallet.
With no warning at all, the youth's face went from openly pleased to dark with rage. He withdrew a five and a couple of ones from the confines of the wallet. It was this week's grocery money, and all that the old man had left from his meager paycheck. Bills and debts had come first. The racetracks next.
"What….the fuck…..IS THIS!?!" He shook the money in front of the old man's face, who was now wheezing in terror and trying to formulate words that would get him home alive. "Eight lousy bucks!? I should have known an old fucker like you wouldn't be carrying some decent cash." He threw the wallet on the ground and tucked the money in his pocket. He fished the blade back out of his pocket and flicked it open, the cold steel gleaming faintly in the streetlight. "And to think, I was going to let you go."
The boys at the mouth of the alley were hooting and cheering, urging the gangbanger on.
"But you wasted my time. Time is money around here, and my time is very expensive." He advanced slowly on the old man, a light in his eyes and a primal snarl on his face.
The old man gasped and sputtered voicelessly, throat tight with fear. He held his hands out in a warding gesture, as if that would save him from the youth's wrath.
The youth drew his arm back, fully intending to lash out and carve a pez dispenser in the old man's throat.
FWPT!
His arm stopped in midswing. The old man was looking above the boy with wide eyes and a trembling lip. He jerked on whatever it was that was holding his arm in one place, but it was no use.
"Now what I have I told you boys about respecting your elders?" A cheerful voice rang from the shadows.
The gangbanger gritted his teeth. Of course that damn wall-crawler would show up on his turf. With a roar, he spun around quickly, hoping to tear the webbing out of the freak's grip and gut the bastard before he could do any of that acrobatic bullshit he was so despised for.
FWPT! FWPT!
A curse that would have burnt the ears off of those with fainter hearts ripped out of the lad's mouth as he fell face first in the small stream of filth that trickled out of the alley way. He raised his head, both hands and feet bound by a mysterious strong, white, and sticky substance, his switchblade lost in the tumble. He glared upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the masked menace.
"You useless idiots! Don't just stand there! Kick his ass!" He yelled out to his friends. "You can take him!"
"What the hell? Are you kidding me!?"
"That's Spiderman, Tommy! I ain't gonna mess with that freak!"
"My mom's gonna kill me! I'm outta here!"
And just like that, they were gone. Though judging from the screams, they didn't get very far. He snorted in contempt.
Morons.
He tried desperately to wrangle himself out of the sticky concoction, ignoring the old man, who had located his wallet and was edging for the street, hoping to leave before the wall crawler returned. With a last fearful glance over his shoulder, the old man took off without a backwards glance or a care for his grocery money. Eight bucks was a fair trade for his life, he reckoned.
A few minutes passed in silence, only punctuated by grunts of effort and curses, as the youth frantically tried to get his feet in some kind of working order.
"That stuff doesn't dissolve for about an hour, you know."
The boy's head darted up, and immediately spotted New York's resident web head crouching nonchalantly on the brick wall of the alley. He didn't stop struggling though, despite Spiderman's assurance that he wasn't going anywhere.
"What the hell are you doing here, you bastard!? Don't you got better things to do than go after the small fry?" The boy made an effort at bravado, but staring down one of the world's greatest heroes, who had taken on guys like the Hulk, Venom, and the freakin' Lizard and actually won for fuck's sake, was no easy task for a mere mortal.
"It's been a slow day." Spiderman shrugged lazily. "I was bored. Had nothing better to do. Besides," he added, leaning forwards to whisper conspiratorially, "I hear the Punisher's back in town. He feels a bit miffed at the crime rate."
The boy paled, and stopped struggling, except for the occasional twitch. The Punisher didn't give a rat's ass if you were small fry or the fuckin' Kingpin himself. He'd blow a hole in you just as fast as if he had a crime boss in front of him instead of a mere mugger.
Spiderman hopped down from the wall with a flip, landing crouched in front of boy, who was still as pale as a sheet.
"So you'd better thank your lucky stars that I ran across you first." He reached down and picked the boy up with one hand, easily slinging the unresisting weight over his shoulder. "Let's go and find your friends, ok buddy? It's not nice to leave them hanging."
Five minutes later, the youth was scowling mightily as he swung from a streetlight, completely bound in a web's tight confine and squished together horribly with all three of his friends. One of whom he suspected was gay.
"Goddammit, Jake! That had better be your knife I'm feeling! Otherwise I'm going to slit your throat when we get down!" All four swung gently in the evening breeze. Jake shifted uncomfortably.
Unfortunately for them, and probably most fortunate for Jake, a cop car just happened to come across the trussed youths on their regular patrol and parked directly beneath them. The officers were leaning lazily against the side of the car, waiting patiently for the webbing to dissolve.
"Awful nice of Spiderman to save us the trouble." The officer checked his watch as he spoke. Still quite a bit of time left.
"Indeed it was. We need to write him a thank you card or something." The other cop was idly inspecting the webbing, testing its strength and flexibility.
The youngest of the boys burst into wailing sobs and snuffling tears.
His mom was really going to kill him. Then his dad would reanimate his corpse and tan his hide. His little sister would take pictures of the whole thing and post them on her MySpace.
His life was over.
ß---------------------à
The Amazing Spiderman was currently web-slinging his way down West Broadway, crossing quickly over Sixth Avenue.
It had indeed been a very slow day. Nothing more than a few minor incidents here and there. A mugging, an attempted robbery of a hot dog stand, and the attempted kidnapping of some old bat's pure pedigree poodle. Instead of thanking him, the biddy had whacked him over the head with her purse, which no doubt held twenty cans of dog food, and proceeded to chew him out for scaring her "precious little poochi-pie" so badly with his antics.
He sighed as he swung through heavy traffic on Broome.
While he was glad to have a break from the usual baddies, and the whole 'saving New York' thing, it made for a very bored superhero. Maybe he should turn in early? It was far and few in between that he got a break on the job. He'd learned to take advantage of them as they'd come along. Peace and quiet is necessary from time to time for the continued sanity of a superhero. Well, except for guys like the Punisher. That guy was just batshit crazy. He'd probably snap if he didn't have a lowlife to aim his gun at.
Yes, perhaps he would turn in a little early.
MJ would certainly be surprised to see her husband return so early. Maybe he'd take her out to dinner somewhere, or perhaps a play on Broadway. Phantom of the Opera was always a good choice. Nine times out of ten, it meant a little nookie for the long-suffering husband.
He stopped, perching upon the corner of a ten story building like a cheerfully wrought gargoyle. He contemplated the north for a moment. It was twenty minutes from Broome to Central Park, by way of web, but he decided to head that way anyway. It was still plenty early. A quick circuit on the outskirts of the park wouldn't hurt, just to make sure.
While there might be a slow day from time to time, a hero's work is never done.
With great power comes great responsibility, after all.
ß---------------------à
He froze. He burnt. He lived. He died. He breathed. He drowned.
He was reborn through the baptism of green flames, and shudders of pain and ecstasy wracked his frame.
There were fragments. Bits of memories from a life long gone. He knew his name, but that was all.
An eye with three commas, spiraling slowly in a fit of patient dread.
A man with long white hair and a smile on his wrinkled face patted his head fondly.
A man, clothed all in black and red clouds, grinned viciously, revealing razors lined neatly in a mouth that belonged to predator.
A foolish boy, dressed in green and still hopelessly naïve to the ways of the world, shouted in triumph as he hugged an older man dressed in the same manner.
A lone apartment, devoid of luxury and permeated with the scent of loneliness.
A kind smile from an old man with a funny hat, even as he grasped a sword that jutted bloodily from his chest.
The swish of a tremendous furred tail as something murmured in the depths of a cage.
Eyes of green balefire flared from beneath a hood, and they spoke. "You are my Hand, Uzumaki Naruto. If all else fails you, remember that."
He died again. And was reborn again.
An unending cycle of death and rebirth until the fragments all ran together in one muddied jumble that threatened to break him.
But he would not be broken. He was Uzumaki Naruto and no stranger to suffering. Though how he knew that, he could not say. He just did.
His eyed opened, and alighted on a swathe of leaves that left a heart-rending ache in his chest, for some strange reason.
But there was no time to reminisce, for his vision was consumed one last time by green. Flames flickered at the edges of his vision suffocating him, until he knew no more.
ß---------------------à
He had been just on the verge of heading for home, his quick circuit of the park finished in minutes, when a flash of green caught the edges of his peripheral vision.
He whipped his head to the left, only to see the last vestiges of jade flames die down in a thick copse of trees.
He stared for a moment. Then, he heaved a deep sigh and set himself to investigate.
"Goddammit!"
Of course. The one time a year he thinks of shirking his duty, and something like this happened. God hated him, and that's all there was to it.
With a graceful swing, he dove down into the park, darting from tree branch to tree branch to avoid startling the evening joggers.
If this was another alien, an invasion of the mole men, or just a general 'world domination' scheme, he was going to retire. He meant it this time. The previous twenty-eight oaths of retirement were now null and void.
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Okay, True Believers. I need your help. Was Spidey up to snuff? Was this chapter just a waste of time? Should I quit while I'm ahead?
Let me know.Your Friendly Neighborhood Xenocide