Two loaves of bread, toothpaste, Q-tips, and box of corn dogs.
Aunt May went to the store just two days ago, but she'd forgotten a few things. She's not feeling very well today, so it's up to Peter to get these last few items.
Walmart's usually pretty crowded this late in the day. People get off work, leave school, the first thing they want is probably a bite to eat. Walmart's cheap and within walking distance, so it's usually their go-to place.
There's a Yankees' game tonight, though, so the store's relatively empty. Upon entering, Peter even notes that most of the registers are empty. It's not too big a problem, though. He wasn't feeling up to any social interaction anyway.
He gathers his things quickly and walks to the Self-Checkout Lane. For once, the lines are at a minimal, so much so that a few are even empty. Peter hops into one of these, sleepily pushing his cart down the aisle. As he's placing the corn dogs on the counter, a lady in a teal trench coat brushes past him. Her basket clatters to the floor, and an assorted mix of fruits and veggies spills out. He turns to murmur "excuse me", only to pause as he catches sight of her golden pixie cut.
"Pretty sure that's not how this works", she chuckles as she crouches to retrieve her food. "I bumped into you, kid."
Peter stares, absentmindedly scanning his items, and watches as the woman rises to her feet. She pulls a banana out of her basket and scowls at a developing bruise. Turning it over in her hands, she then says, "Take a pic if you want it to last."
Peter flushes red. He turns back to his lane and shoves his stuff into a tote. From his peripheral, he can see her tug on the neon yellow gloves covering her hands. He clears his throat, tosses his tote over his shoulder, and leaves for the exit.
"Karen", he whispers as he jogs into an alley. Peter slaps a hand across his wrist and stretches into a T. The suit envelopes him, and he leaps onto the side of the building. "Mr. Stark give you public memory before you were activated, right?"
Karen whirrs to life before opening her memory files. "Yes. If anything's ever been published, I have knowledge of it."
"All right." He dashes across the roof of the Walmart and peers over the ledge. "What do you have on Foxfire?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid. Any and all searches direct me to a web browser. There are, however, a few mentions of the name as an alias for a pyromaniacal convict in Pennsylvania-"
"Yup." Peter scratches his chin and scowls. "That'd be her."
"As of three weeks ago, she's been reported as having escaped from her jail cell." His mask chirps, and Karen's voice takes a soft note of curiosity. "Do you know her?"
"Know her?" Peter scoffs, shakes his head, and scans the parking lot. Without prompt, the licenses and registrations of each vehicle jump to him. He hums, leans forward, and scrutinizes each. "A few months after I got my powers, I heard word of someone setting a Waffle House on fire. Got there and found her with a mouthful of waffles and a purse full of money. She burned me." Scowling heavily, he presses two fingers into the pink, lumpy skin of his thigh; the burn's long since healed, but it'll never fade. And neither will the memory of his first failure as Spiderman. "She got away. Couple of weeks later, there's word of a mad arsonist running loose in North Carolina. I didn't think anyone would ever catch her. She's like a spectre; almost nobody knows about her, and those that do can never keep her contained."
"That sounds frustrating."
"You have no idea." Most of the vehicles come back clean, but the rusty pickup truck sitting at the front of the entrance was recently reported as stolen. Upon activating Enhanced Sight, Peter can see the metal of the front door has recently been melted. "That's our girl", he murmurs just as Foxfire exits the Walmart's doors.
Without hesitation, Peter leaps over the ledge and shoots webbing around her; her bags clatter to the ground, and she collapses, groaning as she collides with the pavement.
"Well, well, well", he titters as he swings to her. "If it isn't my old friend, Foxfire. Now, I'm not the jump-to-conclusions type, so I'm just gonna assume you lost my number."
"Fucking prick." She rolls onto her side and begins backing away from him. He just follows. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hm. Right." Peter sprays the lamp post three lots down from them; he then sprays a thread around her waist, sending her dangling thirteen feet above the earth. "You know", he muses. "If you're gonna go on the lam, you might wanna think about washing out the yellow. It's kind of a giveaway."
"First of all, dipshit, it's gold, not yellow. And it ain't dye." She juts down a foot, and a ray of energy shoots forward and takes out the bottom section of the lamp post. Before the lamp can crush her, Foxfire shoots energy rays from her eyes and disintegrates the webs binding her. "I let you live last time", she says as she jets towards him, a trail of yellow falling behind her. "Don't think Imma make that mistake again."
"Mistake? I thought that was just out of the kindness of your heart. Eep!" Peter leaps out of the way of a rather heated energy blast and ducks beneath a convertible. Moments later, the truck sitting beside him is set afire. Peter slithers from underneath his car, narrowly escaping the ensuing explosion.
"It's getting a little hot in here, old buddy, old pal." He swings past another lamp post, dragging Foxfire along by the collar of her coat. "How about we take the fight somewhere else? You know, somewhere a little less private and a little less civiliany?"
"Well, ya know what they say, Spidey. If you can't take the heat." Foxfire's brown eyes flash white; a blinding glow surrounds her arms and legs, incinerating her coat until just a blue leotard is left. "Stay out of the kitchen."
Peter lets her go, hissing as he draws his fingers into his mouth, and flings himself against a decaying billboard. As Foxfire storms his way, he plants his fingers firmly into the wood and narrows his eyes. "You know, Foxy, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't like me."
"Good thing you don't know any better then. Cause if you did, you wouldn't have picked a fight with me." She charges towards him on a stream of energy and prepares to grab hold of him. Just as she's gotten close, though, Peter propels himself from the billboard and into the side of a nearby building. He slams into the wall with a "OOF!", then crashes to the ground. Likewise, Foxfire collides with the billboard, her head slamming through the wooden material.
In the moments she takes to regain her balance, Peter crawls to his feet and web swings up to her. He removes her from the ruined ad, binds her ankles and wrists, and prepares to swing to the nearest police station.
Before he can, though, Foxfire charges up her arms, burning him until she's able to fall once more.
"You're not a very nice playmate", Peter informs her with a growl.
"Peter", Karen pipes up, apprehension deep-suited in her voice. "Perhaps you should call for assistance."
"I don't need help", he murmurs as he searches the skies for Foxfire. He catches sight of her jetting over an abandoned water tower and smirks. "I need to take her down."
"You're too close to this, Peter. Leave it alone."
"Karen, leave ME alone. I know what I'm doing." With that, he powers off his earpiece and launches himself back into the air. He shoots another string of webbing and snatches Foxfire by her arm. When he tugs on the string, a pop and a shout echo through the air as her elbow is dislodged from its socket. A quick swing and a kick to the knees then sends her tumbling to the ground, incapacitated.
"I've always preferred receptive audiences." Peter releases the sticky web from his fingers' grasp and crouches beside Foxfire. She hisses and sits up to fire an energy blast from her functioning arm. As she's leaning forward, Peter snatches hold of the arm and twists it in an ungodly position. She shrieks, and her eyes flare pure white. Peter takes hold of her by the neck and glowers. Rising to his feet, he raises Foxfire into the air and presses a finger against her windpipe.
Foxfire chokes.
"So", he muses as the white fades from her eyes. "Break the limbs, and the fire goes out? I'll have to keep that in mind next time I run into Johnny." She struggles in his grip, flailing and swinging the unbroken leg at him. Peter just shakes his head and tut, tut, tuts. "Foxy. Come on now." A lopsided grin creeps onto his face. He lifts his other hand to drag a finger along her cheekbone. He giggles. "Don't be a bitch."
"Peter!" A bolt of electricity surges through Peter, and he gasps, releasing Foxfire from his grip. Foxfire wheezes, her fingers clawing at her throat, and looks up to glare at Peter.
"Peter", Karen's shouting at him. "Peter, what are you doing?"
He doesn't answer. He just stares down at Foxfire. And he takes in her broken limbs. Broken. Had he done that? "I'm sorry", he whispers to her. "I-I'm so sorry." He takes a step backward, stumbles, and stares, wide-eyed behind the mask. "I didn't mean-"
"What-" Foxfire heaves and coughs up a glob of spit. Swiping the back of her palm over her mouth, she then blinks and shakes her head. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I don't know." Peter whimpers, his breath coming out in broken breaths, and takes his head in his hands. "I'm sorry." She raises an eyebrow at Peter, but he's already turned his back to her and begun swinging away. "Karen, call a hospital."
She doesn't say anything in response, but there's that whirring in his ear that lets him know she's doing something. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Peter swings past block after block, ducking beneath billboards and hurtling over several flocks of pigeons. He's high, but he's low at the same time. His chest aches like a distant memory, and his ears are clogged. Karen's saying something, his phone's ringing in his backpack, and that fucking chill is back.
Everything's slamming into him, and he needs it all to stop.
For the past two weeks, he's felt nothing but exhaustion and terror. Now, the terror is much present, but the weariness that's afflicted his entire being is absent. He's more awake than he's been in months, in fact, and it's giving him the chance to fully appreciate this moment for all it's worth.
And it's strange. Because it's such a gruesome act, and most of him is repulsed. But a part of him is pleased and actually wants to go back and finish the job.
"This is not okay", Peter murmurs to himself as he swings aimlessly through the city. "This is not, this is not okay, this is not okay."
"Why not?"
His muscles freeze, and he free falls. Perhaps the strangest thing is that he doesn't remember catching himself, but he's just happy that he does.
It's a few minutes later, or hours maybe, when he decides it's time to park it for the night. His arms are screaming from overuse, and he's running low on webbing. There's not much else to do tonight aside from rest.
Peter makes a left and lands against the side of an apartment. He ascends on a slant, pausing before the third window on the fifth floor. He knocks, then he waits.
It's only three minutes before Ned eventually peeks his head out the window. But for all the world, Peter can't help but feel he's lived through an eternity.
Peter snatches off his mask and crawls out of his suit. They're both shoved in his backpack, which is then discarded beneath Ned's bed.
"Peter", Ned says as he yawns; he rubs a knuckle into his eye and watches as Peter fidgets in the middle of his room. "Are you okay?"
Peter takes a seat on the shag carpeting of the floor. His fingers clench around the carpet, and he closes his eyes. Not a moment later, Ned's crouching and sitting beside him. He wraps a hesitant arm around Peter's shoulders and pulls him close. Peter just breathes.
"Want me to call Aunt May and tell her you're sleeping over?"
Peter nods.
He feels numb.
. . .
He doesn't sleep, but Ned doesn't need to know that. At around two or three, Peter sneaks back out the window and goes home. He wakes Ned before he leaves, tells him bye, and leaves.
He tells himself it's not final, but the words taste false, and he's too tired to put further conviction into the lie.
. . .
Peter knows it's gonna be a bad day when he awakes an hour late.
Aunt May's got a stomach bug, and his phone is dead. It's a mere matter of circumstances, but it sends a trickle of anger throughout his veins. The potency of the emotion is enough to steal his balance. He stumbles out of bed and leans against his dresser, panting as he snatches a pair of jeans off his chair. He then wobbles into the hallway, turns into the bathroom, and pauses before the mirror.
When he looks up, Peter can't say he's surprised to find the Doc staring back at him.
. . .
Going to school is not an option. Not with a mad scientist squatting in his brain.
But that also makes him a danger to Aunt May. After scribbling a quick note, Peter snatches his backpack from underneath his bed and sprints to the nearest train station. The train's nearly empty by this time, as most people have already gone to work and school. The car is nearly empty aside from Peter and another man sitting at towards the front of the cart; he has a dog sitting at his feet and a newspaper in his hands.
He hates dogs.
Peter inhales shakily and wipes a hand over his face. Placing two firms hands on his thighs, he swallows the gathering saliva in his mouth and closes his eyes. From behind his eyelids, several streaks of green creep along his field of vision; there's also a speck of blue amongst them, but it's quickly devoured by the streaks.
"Please tell me this is all just a nightmare", Peter pleads to himself; opening his eyes once more, he turns in his seat to stare out the window. The city is moving far too quickly for him to make out anything, and it's kind of making his head hurt. He should probably look away.
His phone buzzes, prompting him to retrieve it from his pocket; he presses a button and finds himself greeted by a collage of old timey movies. The words, "New Snap from the Breakfast Club" are bouncing about the screen. It's a picture of the gang, sitting at their lunch table. They're all making goofy faces and holding some food item or another in their hands.
"Missed you today, Peter!"
"Hope you're okay!"
"I'm still waiting on those Toostie Rolls, you dork."
Peter hums, swipes the screen, and makes his own snap. After sending the video to them, he stands from his seat and rushes off the train.
It's a sunny day in New York City, and its inhabitants seem to have been influenced by the atmosphere; several people give him a smile, and a few even offer him a well-mannered, "Good morning".
"Wretched simpletons", he finds himself swearing as he pauses at a crosswalk; his eyes widen, and he covers his mouth with a hand.
The man in a trench coat besides him raises an eyebrow. "Rough morning, pal?"
Peter gulps, shoves his hands into his armpits, and takes off across the street. There's a Ford that's about to turn; when the driver catches sight of Peter, they lean on their horn and shout at him. By then, though, he's already crossed the street and made a left into the nearest alley.
Peter doesn't remember putting on the suit. He doesn't remember swinging halfway across town and stealing a cup of coffee, either. If not for Ned's incoming call, he probably wouldn't have remembered lingering outside the BNY Mellon. But Ned comes through, and Karen, who'd been growing increasingly worried, sends a spark of electricity through his suit.
He blinks, leans back on the lamp post he's perched on, and shakes his head. "Jeez, Karen. What the hell?"
"Ned's calling you", Karen returns, her voice wavering. Before he can say anything more, Karen patches him through, and her voice is quickly replaced with Ned's.
"Peter", he says with a breath of exasperation. "Dude, where are you?"
Peter pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to breathe. He doesn't feel like talking. He doesn't feel like doing much of anything right now. He just wants to let whatever this is take the reins for a while and get some sleep; the few hours he'd caught the night before were already spent, and he's looking forward to any form of respite.
But this is Ned. "Nowhere", he says as he hops onto the ledge of the nearest building.
"Really? Cause it kinda sounds like you're somewhere that's really windy and...noisy? Is that a jackhammer?"
Peter rolls his eyes; draping one leg over the ledge, he smiles and taps his fingers against his knee; it takes more energy than it should. "Yeah, I'm, uh, down on Liberty Street."
"Liberty Street? By the Mellon? You ditched school to go the bank?"
"What? No. I'm just walking around." He glances down at his hand and flexes his fingers; that arctic cold feeling is back again, urging him to end the call and allow it to give him the zest he needs. Peter shakes his head and pops his knuckles. "I just needed a day off", he murmurs as his head lolls from side to side. "After everything with the Doc, I'm kinda...not all the way here. I just need to take some time off, I guess."
"Right, right. "Pete?"
"Yeah."
"I don't always get this superhero stuff", he begins, stumbling over his words. He pauses, and, in the background, metal scrapes against the floor. Peter winces, drawing the phone from his ear, but he continues listening. "I keep thinking that you hopped out of a comic book, like Superman or something. You know, that you're invincible and that everyone's always gonna be okay."
At that, Peter chuckles. Ned seems to take that as encouragement because when he resumes, his voice is stronger.
"But, I mean, this isn't a story. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt sometimes. And I know that's gotta be a pretty heavy load."
Peter smiles; from below, a man's dropped his bags of groceries and begun shouting. The assortment of fruits, vegetables, and bags of Cheetos roll down the sidewalk and into the street. Peter shoots a web in front of them, then turns to look at the clothes line to the right of him. "Comics always make it seem so easy", he eventually agrees. Watching as a red t-shirt blows in the mid-morning wind, Peter rocks back and forward on his ledge. The bricks are warm, heating up as the sun scales the blue skies. He purses his lips and kicks one foot up. "But the suit does get pretty heavy", he admits as he removes his mask from his face.
Ned's silent for a moment. Someone's murmuring on his end on the phone, something about an extra credit assignment. But Ned's either not listening or not a part of the conversation because he doesn't respond. Instead, he inhales and says, "If you ever wanna come over and just, I don't know, play with legos or work on your Lair or LARP, just let me know."
Peter smiles. "LARP?"
"You said you wanted to try it out", he says with a chuckle. "But yeah. Anytime. Just, uh, let me know."
"I will. Thanks, Ned."
A shrill voice beams from the phone, and Peter flinches; his teeth chatter as he struggles to calm his pounding heart.
Ned sucks in a breath, then says, "Ms. Hughes is going off. I gotta go. Talk to you later?"
"Yeah, yeah, no problem." He hops from the ledge and begins to navigate the maze of discarded boxes across the roof. "Good luck on the exam."
"Thanks. And good luck on whatever it is you're doing."
Something cold stabs in him in the back of the neck. Peter gulps, rubs a hand over the spot, and bites his lip. From deep in his mind, the Doc screams, prompting an involuntary shiver down his spine.
"Later, Ned." Peter ends the call and turns to face the sun.
His hands are fidgeting.
Taking hold of his left hand, he crawls onto the extending fire escape and begins the walk down. The staircase is corroded from the wind and rains, and it wobbles as a strong gust washes over it. It must make for quite a sight, the Spiderman frantically clinging to the railing as he descends the steps. But it's all he can do to make sure he's in control; one step, one menial task at a time, he's taking hold of the situation.
When he reaches the bottom of the staircase, Peter sighs and pauses to sit on the steps.
"Karen?"
"Yes, Peter?"
He drags his fingernails against the rusted metal clinging to the steps; his fingers come back brown and irritated; closing his eyes, he tucks the hand underneath his thigh and closes his eyes. "Can you patch me through to Mr. Stark?"