SO SORRY FOR LONG UPDATE WAITS.
I need to get on my A-game for this man.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Yada yada yada.
It was the sound of footsteps, light against the pavement rushing to him. The footsteps were delicate and soft. He could hear the sound of another pair of feet hitting hard against the pavement, immediately following after the first.
"Gwen? Ms. Stacy, you can't be here," the policeman told her. Peter rolled over upon his back. He gritted his teeth together. Tilting his head the slightest bit to gain a better view, he saw a fairly large crowd of people standing far away, being pushed further by a few police men. Closer to him than he would like, was Gwen, straining terribly within the grasp of a man's tight grip.
"He's hurt. Someone – someone has to help him. Please," Gwen cried. He could hear her voice slightly rise at the end. She was trying to hold back tears.
"Officer Smith, can you please escort Ms. Stacy home?" Captain Jones asked the officer standing beside him. The man placed his hand lightly on Gwen's shoulder. He ushered her towards the police car, the door already propped open. She turned her head to look at Peter.
Peter yearned to hold her within his arms, and to be held back comfortingly in return. Yet even if he could suddenly muster enough power within himself to do so, he would not make such a foolish mistake like she had by trespassing against the obvious barrier the police officers created.
"He needs – needs help," Gwen uttered.
"We'll get him help," Officer Smith told her.
"Captain Jones, has the NYPD decided their course of action? Is the Green Goblin as much of a threat as the Lizard? Is there any possibility Spider-Man could be helping the Goblin?" a red-headed, bubbly woman asked the Captain, struggling to reach the front of the crowd. She looked young. She couldn't have been older than Peter or Gwen. She wore a tan sweater, a black skirt, and tan flats. Her hair was loose, perfectly straight, but curved inwards at the ends. She held a tape recorder.
Captain Jones withheld a sigh of frustration. He lifted his arms as though he were pushing back an invisible wall.
"Spider-Man is a hero. He – he wouldn't do that," Gwen retorted quickly. She escaped from Officer Smith's hold. She took a few steps toward the red-headed reporter.
"Ms. Stacy, please," Captain Jones pleaded.
"Ms. Stacy? The daughter of George Stacy? You seem to be a great Spider-Man fan, unlike your father was," the red-headed young woman commented sneeringly.
Peter could see Gwen falter in her breathing, as well as her responsiveness. She stood there, her face white as a sheet in mere shock and outrage.
"You don't know my father," she weakly choked out.
Peter could see, judging from the saddened look on her face, that Gwen had caught her choice of words as well as he himself had.
The red-head began whispering to the man who stood next to her.
"I'm ready to leave now," Gwen told Officer Smith, who stood next to her.
Peter saw his brilliant light being escorted into a police car, her beauty seeming out of place in the back of the car used to hold the criminals he caught on a daily basis.
Peter could see the strain in her face, the pain she tried to conceal. He could see the reporter grinning smugly as she continued whispering into her partner's ear. He began writing furiously upon his notepad.
Peter saw, above the building opposite of him, the Green Goblin hovering upon his glider. The dark backdrop of the night sky gave off an eerie feeling as Norman stood there, staring down upon Peter. Although he wore a mask, he could see the malicious, insulting grin across Norman's face. Just staring upon the floating mad-man made Peter's wounds hurt all that much more. He immediately flew away, past several buildings before disappearing altogether.
He placed his hands on the ground, attempting to pull himself up. His knees wobbled, almost giving out completely. Peter slowly and cautiously straightened himself up, his spine feeling ready to fail him. He examined his suit, noting the multiple burns and tears.
The feeling of defeat weighed upon him, hurting him more than his injuries did.
The next four hours were spent painfully, trying with as much strength as he could muster to get home. It was roughly almost 2 a.m. and all Peter wished for was the comfort of his cool bed sheets. Peter swung upon bio-cable after bio-cable, down streets upon streets in which he didn't recognize. There was a loud ringing in his ears that ceased to go away. The lights were a blur, as was his memory.
It wasn't until dawn that Peter finally recognized a street that was a few blocks away from his Brooklyn home. Cautious as to not be seen by any onlookers, he carefully crawled upon the roof. He lifted the window that led into his bedroom, and quietly landed onto the carpeted floor inside. He shut the window behind him and let down the blind. He wasn't in great pain anymore. It was just the throbbing of his temple and the still healing fire wounds that vexed him.
No matter how greatly his bed tempted him to come closer, he knew there was a greater comfort in the woman presumably downstairs keeping busy with chores. With a tried doggedness, he made sure to change into comfortable clothes which lay on the floor of his bedroom. It was quite difficult attempting to rip his suit off. Parts of his spandex suit had somehow clung to his skin in a goo-like manner. Once successfully ridding himself of the destroyed suit, he changed into casual clothes with less effort. He then proceeded downstairs.
Peter wondered with great curiosity about how his aunt would react when she caught sight of him. He hadn't come home last night. Imagining his aunt in a complete nervous wreck, he was stunned to see that she seemed the opposite as she casually mixed batter within a bowl in the kitchen.
"Peter," Aunt May gasped. She looked tired, as though she hadn't slept in weeks. Worry lines creased her forehead. The bowl, which she held in her hands, almost slipped clumsily from her grasp onto the linoleum floor.
Oddly, Aunt May quickly graced herself with composure. She regained her tight hold on the bowl. A forced, pained smile appeared on her face.
"You startled me," she told Peter.
"Aunt May –," Peter began, wondering how to finish this sentence without making their conversation any more sufficiently awkward than need be.
"We – we're all out of milk," Aunt May told him, clearly flustered, "Would you mind going to the store for some later?"
"I – wait, what? Listen, Aunt May –" Peter began.
"Actually, I need some now. You like pancakes, don't you? You always have. I'll make you some. I just need milk. Could you get the milk? Oh, and also some eggs," Aunt May continued.
Peter had never seen his Aunt so clearly shaken. She was an unreadable nervous wreck, refusing to look at Peter directly.
"Yeah," he weakly nodded. It was clear that his Aunt was not ready to discuss what they both knew, and he wasn't completely sure that he was all that prepared either.
During his long, thoughtful walk to the store, the demeanor of his Aunt shook him greatly. She didn't dare look at him, and she refused to talk of anything but trivial errands that she needed Peter to run. A disturbing thought ran quickly past Peter's mind, but it soon rented a permanent spot.
Perhaps his Aunt was disgusted with what Peter truly was, or perhaps Peter was disgusted with himself.
The few people within the store shot curious, frightened glances towards Peter's injuries. He, already accustomed to this, paid no notice. He grabbed a gallon of milk and a carton of eggs. After purchasing his items, he exited the store.
Starting home, he began to imagine scenarios in which he had never took upon the life of a hero. These thoughts continued to plague his mind until he passed a booth along the sidewalk.
It had a row dedicated to newspapers. One in particular caught Peter's eyesight quickly. He read the words "The Green Goblin: Too Much for Spider-Man" bolded and in italics in large letters across The Daily Bugle newspaper. There was a picture of Peter, dressed in his suit, lying upon the pavement. He picked up the newspaper, quickly scanning the article.
Spider-Man, New York City's most famous wall-crawler, may have too much on his web. Spider-Man not only failed to defeat the suited threat on the Brooklyn Bridge, but yet again last night. An abandoned building on 5th Avenue was set on fire by the infamous Green Goblin. Spider-Man was soon seen entering the building, to merely be shot out from a window a few minutes later. He was severely injured. The Green Goblin escaped without a scratch. Spider-Man, helpless and fallen, received help from a pleading onlooker. The onlooker was no other than the daughter of the deceased Captain George Stacy who fell victim to Dr. Curt Connors, also known as the Lizard. She showed compassion in helping out our wall-crawler, but will extra support from a simple civilian really help our Spider-Man defeat a great threat? Is it time to place our trust in a new hope, New York City?
Peter, feeling his fingers tingling to rip the newspaper apart, placed it upon the row full of exact replicas before his frustration took the best of him.
His walk back home was less enjoyable than he wished. The feeling of failure temporarily clouded the feeling of worry and anger that would soon come from the realization that Gwen had been mentioned in the article. He felt disappointed in himself. Peter wished for more than anything to be the symbol of hope, and to show New York City that they do have someone to put their trust in.
"I got the eggs and the milk, Aunt May," Peter called from the front door.
"Thank you," Aunt May replied.
Peter briefly closed his eyes.
When did my life become so complicated? he asked himself, When did I become someone that Aunt May refuses to even look at? I'm sorry, Uncle Ben. I'm not destined for anything.
He took a step towards the staircase. "I'll be in my room."
Aunt May appeared within the hallway, a few feet away from the foot of the staircase which was where Peter stood.
Aunt May held a dish cloth in her hand tightly, twisting it around until it could twist no more.
"Peter Parker, I love you," Aunt May said. She let out a relaxed sigh, showing she had finally released the words that she needed to.
"I love you too, Aunt May," he told her. Before continuing up the staircase, he waited to see if this was all his aunt would say. After silence greeted him, he then took two more steps.
"No. Listen to me, Peter. I love you. You cannot risk your own life to protect New York City. You're life is just as important. It isn't your responsibility," she told him.
He struggled with an answer. It was as though his aunt, exactly like the rest of New York City, had given up on him.
"It is," Peter told her defiantly. She gave him a solemn look for she knew, yet hoped otherwise, that was exactly what he was going to say.
"I can't lose you, Peter," she mumbled. Her lips began to quiver.
His hand was gripping the staircase rails tightly. His disgust with himself and pitiful thoughts of what-ifs had soon been exchanged for feelings of anger. He felt a raw desire to achieve what no one thought he could. He would not disappoint New York City as his parents had disappointed him when leaving him with no explanation, and neither would he disappoint the ones he loved as he had disappointed Gwen when he avoided her to a great extent with no explanation. He needed to prove his aunt, New York City, Gwen, his parents, and his Uncle Ben that he could be someone great.
"You won't. I promise," he told her.
"You don't need to be a hero. Nobody expects this of you," she told him. She placed a warm, soft hand upon his.
Peter thought for a moment.
"I know. I just – I think I expect it of myself, Aunt May."