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Dear Reviewers:
Thank you so much for reading! I am grateful for you! Sorry it took so long to upload, I've finally moved and moving and unpacking has taken over MY LIFE. We only just got wifi yesterday, praise de lord. Looking forward to posting regularly again! I am DESPERATE to finish this fic before Infinity War comes out, and as of today they've just MOVED the release date to like an entire week EARLY! April 27 instead of May 4, WOOHOO! Who's excited?
When you leave a review, leave me your thoughts on the date change! Excited, or weirded out?
Love,
Pip
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THE TRAIN
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Somewhere between the East River and Murray Hill, I find myself on an empty train car. The last occupant gets off, and the doors slide shut.
Then the rocking motion begins again, the clatter of rails, the sounds of traffic passing by outside. Lights whirl speedily by the black windows.
I replay my conversation with Kim over and over in my head. She was a stranger I met twice. But she had connected with Spider-Man, and by doing so, connected with me - but I don't know how to handle that. It's so easy to brush daily interactions with Spider-Man aside as something that doesn't affect my personal life. To some nice lady, I'm a hero who gave her directions. To some guys on the street, I'm a cool hero who does backflips. To Liz, I'm the hero who saved her in the elevator. To some people I'm just a freak in a suit webbing them to a car that they own.
But how am I supposed to calculate what any of these people mean to me? Acquaintances? Friends? Pseudo-humans that lose significance by the fact I'll never see any of them again?
I know the last isn't true, because that's not how heroes function. That's what makes us different - everyone is special and worth saving.
Is Casey Cooper worth saving? My brain whispers nastily back.
I feel the emotions bubbling up inside of me until I can't hold it in. The train car is empty, and my dignity gone. I pull my knees into my chest and bury my forehead against them, sobbing wholeheartedly - selfishly. A young woman is dead tonight and all I can think about is how I feel. What about her parents? Her friends? Her daughter?
What about me? I think, unable to stop. What am I supposed to do with this? Clearly I had a GREAT influence on her.
Eventually I sit up, forcing myself to press my forehead against the cold window to try and sooth the throbbing in my skull. There are a few things I am certain about - one, I can't save everyone, right? Uncle Ben, Kim. People whose names I'll never know. Two, I'm so angry about Officer Cooper that it overrides anything else - even something as tragic as this. Even when I should focus on it, grieve in my own way, I still think about him and trying to measure his worth against everything else.
Why IS that? Why do I do that?
At this point I wonder if I should text Mr. Stark and tell him what's going on. But what would I even say?
Hi, Mr. Stark. I'm sad about the guy who hurt me. But I still don't want to press charges, I'd rather handle it and brood. BYE!
That would be utterly ridiculous.
I do pull out my phone however, but only because it buzzed first.
I am astonished to see it is a text from Mr. Stark, and the timing is both surprising and unfortunate. I feel as if I'm being interrupted somehow.
Mr. Stark - Not too late to change your mind. Food for thought. Be sure to check your email for the reservations I sent.
Mr. Stark - You and Aunt May - nice dinner at Ko, two weeks from now. I'll send a car.
I blink in shock. Ko is one of the most expensive and fancy restaurants that I think I've ever heard of. Never in a million years would think I would ever eat there. I guess when you know someone like Tony Stark with a huge guilt complex…
I type back, simply.
You - Thank you, Mr. Stark. I know Aunt May will freak out.
Mr. Stark - Karen's been pinging us some interesting locations. You still the friendly neighborhood guy? Or expanding?
You - Just a little. It's a big city.
My fingers fly over the virtual keyboard to keep him from being suspicious. Of thinking… anything at all. He replies in a reasonable amount of time.
Mr. Stark - Certainly.
I start to reply, and realize it doesn't warrant a reply.
I've had a bit of a rough day...
backspace...
Sorry about Tuesday, I just wanted to see…
backspace…
What you thought I was doing on Tuesday, I wasn't.
backspace...
But I will. I need to be stopped.
backspace…
You - …
You - …
You - …
You - …
You - ...
Mr. Stark - It's no trouble. I go way back with the people who own the restaurant. My treat. Least I can do.
You - really, thank you.
Mr. Stark - Everything okay?
You - …
You - …
You - Everything's fine
Mr. Stark - Remember when I made you promise me a little something about healthy communication?
I do, and that's the problem. I promised to confide in him when I was overwhelmed like this. And I was doing the exact opposite now.
You - I remember
Mr. Stark - Anything you want to share with the class, then?
You - I just had a really rough day
You - that's all
You - it doesn't have anything to do with last week if that's what you're wondering
Mr. Stark - Aha
Mr. Stark - So what happened?
You - …
You - …
You - Couldn't save someone in time. She died
Mr. Stark - …
Mr. Stark - …
Mr. Stark - I know what that feels like, kiddo. It's a shitty thing to happen. Sorry.
It's simple, and exactly what I didn't expect - but realized I needed to hear.
You - Thanks. Really.
Mr. Stark - Home yet?
Not sure how he knew I wasn't home unless he personally has my AI pinging my location even when the suit is stuffed in a backpack, but I ignore this.
You - No but on my way
Mr. Stark - Good.
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HELL'S KITCHEN
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I approach the Midtown South Precinct, hands in pockets. In broad daylight, nothing looks amiss. It shouldn't look amiss. I watch a black speck whir off into the air, eight tiny legs invisible against the bright sky. We'll see what sort of intel I get at the end of the day.
For a moment, I look at the precinct. It's a normal, older building, retro-looking. All brown and black brick with a couple of AC units sticking out of a few upper story windows on the left side.
It looks like its only three stories tall. People don't really realize how many short buildings are tucked away in this city unless you're a crime-stopping hero who needs skyscrapers every few feet for speedy getaways.
I stay across the street. I pull my hood up over my head and dart into an indent between connecting buildings, feeling the suit beneath my clothes. I'm beside a freight entrance, there's almost too much traffic for me to feel fully comfortable, but, it's better than going inside a building and losing my visual, and then getting in trouble for loitering about in some random place for 5 hours.
I sit on the cold cement, drawing my knees up to my chest and resting my chin on them. For all they know, I'm one of the many homeless. Maybe it's cruel to sit here and pretend I'm in need when I don't need anything at all, but I imagine the other Avengers have done worse than wear a gray hoodie and sit on the asphalt.
There's nothing wrong with surveillance. It's the least of my crimes, and certainly one that Tony Stark could not give me any crap about without having to take a serious look in the mirror first.
I wait. I wait all afternoon, evening, night. NYPD cars and vans pass by me like clockwork. I watch the officers come and go; arresting officers, parole officers, traffic officers. Lawyers, district attorneys, prosecutors, jurors, criminals, families, victims, witnesses and suspects. I don't know the identity of the people I see unless they have a uniform that explicitly says so, but I take educated guesses.
Then I see him.
My heart drops from my chest to my stomach, I feel as if my equilibrium catches and ceases in mid-air, as if an entire action sequence in a movie theater was abruptly paused and the reel stays on a single image, flickering and trying to continue spinning.
Officer Casey Cooper comes down the steps in plain clothes, hitching a jacket up over his elbow and pressing a phone to his ear. The movement is so normal and human that it makes him more terrifying. How can someone so evil and primal walk around like this? How can someone not make eye contact with him and know he's a monster?
I scramble to my feet, my movements disjointed, broken, child-like.
He laughs at the phone call. Nodding, gesturing. He crams it between his ear and shoulder to hold it, using both arms to put on his jacket.
"I'm telling you," he's saying. My ears stop ringing with shock long enough to finally hear his voice across the crowded street with diagonal parking on either side. "I'm telling you it's my turn to pick out the movie tonight, hon. We watched your horror film last week. You know I hate that shit." He laughs again. "I don't know, I was hoping for a comedy. Something normal with a couple of recurring characters from SNL." He pauses. "Yes. Fine. Anything with Will Ferrell. Sounds good. See you in a bit." He hangs up, and begins to scan the street. His eyes rove from his left - my right - over to…
I shoot backwards, body slamming against the wall with heavy oomph.
... I can't breathe.
… can't …
I turn and walk like a jolted, wooden doll into the freight entrance of the building. The cement instantly resounds the echo of my footsteps to unreasonable volume, so it sounds as if I am in a massive underground cave from science fiction instead of the entrance of a low-ceilinged parking garage.
Someone at the booth by the reflective, yellow boom barrier shouts through the window at me.
"Hey!" says a woman in a thick Bronx accent. "You can't be in here! Vehicles only!"
I turn immediately and skirt back out, feeling lost and dazed.
I shouldn't have come here… I shouldn't have come here… I shouldn't have come here…
I go back to my hiding place. I lean against the wall, trying to steady the beat in my chest. I feels like Thor's hammer is trapped in my chest cavity and he's calling for it. Any minute now and it'll burst out, blood and lungs splattering against the sidewalk.
I breathe slowly and count down.
Three.
Breathe.
Two
Breathe… and hold.
One.
I peer around the building corner again.
He's gone.
I sink down to the ground again, shaking and trembling, but not from the cold.
The sun sets at last, a blinding golden light disappearing from the reflective windows and surfaces, dropping down behind the building edges and skylines that I cannot see from here. I feel deep within New York city here, as if Hell's kitchen is actually a fissure inside the city, taking us closer to its namesake, but without the heat. My limbs seizing with a biting sensation quickly becoming numb.
I stick my hands in my pockets, resuming my average shuffle, and go back into the street.
Jaywalking once or twice to make my escape, I skirt through traffic, the streetlights beginning to flicker on in the twilight. Business fronts become glowing, beckoning beacons of food and drink, but I have to ignore the good things creeping into my sensory perceptions until I find an alley, far from the precinct.
I put my mask on and climb, the movements as robotic as if my AI took over me entirely. Peter Cyborg has a nice ring to it. If only all panic attacks felt this way… less vomit, less hyperventilating, less fainting. I guess I can subscribe to having more than one kind. Why can't they all be like this? This one feels metallic, senseless, thoughtless. My body is not my own and my mind is a blank box of absolute nothing. I move on pure muscle memory.
When I get to the roof, I fall into it, instead of landing gracefully. Somehow this solid thump jolting through me sort of… reboots my system, I guess. I blink as I lay back on the rooftop, looking upside-down at the air ducts and AC units sticking up like dinosaur-shaped heads rearing out of a canopy.
I sit up and brush myself off. "Hey Karen," I say, sort of sheepishly.
"How can I help?"
"Tell me where Droney is."
"He's following Officer Casey Cooper, as you requested."
"What is he doing now?"
"Stopping at the Redbox Kiosk on 52nd and Broadway."
"Getting a movie," I respond bitterly. "Great!" I send off a stream of web in the direction of the closest, highest building. "Let's go join his party."
"I strongly advise against joining his party..."
"It's sarcasm, Karen," I say, launching myself into the cold of the falling night sky. The last hint of lavender is beginning to droop behind the silhouette of the city's skyline, a row of black, jagged teeth, the spires like needles. A rather painful bite.
But still, the sharp air hitting my body feels good, the adrenaline pumps through my veins and counteracts the racing heart of a panic attack. The anxiety subsides until there is only exhilaration.
Maybe that's it.
Maybe I turn now, in mid air, flip my body sideways in an incredible feat of gymnastic ability, shoot off another stream of web in a different direction, and aim myself for home instead. Maybe I swing all the way there, a hero returning home without harming… or stalking anyone.
If it feels so good to be Spider-Man, why chance it on anything? Why throw it away?
Following a bad guy home isn't throwing it away, my brain argues. Following a bad guy home is honoring the suit - not degrading it. Right?
Surveillance, I repeat in my head. It's just surveillance. I'm not going to hurt anyone.
"What are you thinking about?" Karen asks, her AI voice more confused by human emotion and the vitals she reads from me than anything else.
"We're on mission, Karen."
"What is the mission?"
It's just surveillance, I think again. Easy to brand. Easy to commit to. But I do not answer her.
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SCHOOL
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"This is weird," Ned gestures to me, waving up and down as if indicating my entire being is weird, but he's looking at my stomach.
I look down at my bare torso, self-consciously slipping the blue P.E. T-shirt over my head and tugging it down. "What is weird, exactly?" I ask.
"You didn't get abs like that doing crunches in this class with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays," Ned intones suspiciously. "Are you like… working out? Like working out working out?"
"No," I squeak. "I mean - sort of! Not really."
"Did you join a GYM?" Ned gasps, looking offended. He glances around the locker room to make sure that we're not overheard.
"Dude no," I protest. "It's… complicated! I'm doing the… uh… internship… for like… six hours every evening. Almost. It's very… physical?"
"It's really a rigorous workout routine fetching coffees at the Stark building every afternoon," Flash's voice whines in our direction. A locker door shuts and Flash's grin appears with a snide, self-important expression.
"I don't get coffee for anybody," I sigh. He really needs some new material, I've heard this one before.
Flash sticks a stockinged foot up on the bench in the middle of the aisle and grabs a sneaker. "Oh… right, I forgot. Not coffee. All the running up and down the stairs in their big fancy building carrying Tony Stark's dry cleaning. Sounds like fun."
"They have elevators, dude," Ned comes to my defense as best as he can, rolling his eyes.
"Well, thanks to someone ditching the most important decathlon event of the year, at least he gets to live the rest of his life without a traumatic fear of elevators," Flash snaps back, tying his show a little too tightly. He kicks the metal lockers a little too hard to wedge his toes into place, and then slams his next foot on the bench to repeat the gesture.
"So we're sorry that you suffer from a traumatic fear of elevators, Flash?" Ned replies, lips pursed as he turns back to me, trying to ignore whatever petty taunt he'll come up with next.
"I don't," Flash presses his hand to his chest as if to say Who, moi? and then drops his hand, his expression narrowing to one of focused cruelty. "Your girlfriend does. Oh wait - not your girlfriend. I forgot. You dumped her at the dance, didn't you?"
I ignore him and turn back to my own locker, struggling to stuff my backpack in.
"And she left you," Flash rattles on. "Everyone leaves you."
I shut the door very, very slowly. Ned's eyes widen. It's almost as if he knows that slamming it would have been a better sign of dealing with this exchange in a healthy way. Instead, calculating the precise speed and click at which I close a single door speaks to an entirely different mindset.
I turn and face Flash, my face entirely neutral.
Flash finishes trying his next shoe and turns his back to me, tapping his toes against the locker again. I approach him quickly, silently, the way Spider-Man might move in on a criminal.
I'm directly behind him, a centimeter away from his face when he turns back around, mouth open with a wide smile as he prepares to spit out another bad joke. When he realizes his nose is almost about to touch mine, he gasps in surprise and flails back, slamming into the locker behind him. "Dude what the hell!" he barks.
"Everyone leaves me?" I repeat, in a deadly tone. "Everyone, Flash?"
"Yeah, like, girlfriends," Flash falters, beginning to stutter. The same way he stuttered when Spider-Man stole his car. The same way he would stutter and beg to be my friend if he knew the sort of cool people I was friends with. Or who my true enemies were. The way he would stutter like an idiot if he'd been the one kidnapped and tortured. "You've never - seemed to - keep a… relationship," he tries to finish his thought, making it sound less than it was.
"You said everyone," I correct darkly. "Who were you talking about, Flash? My parents? My uncle? My friends?"
I was referring to Kim, now, as incorrect or as misleading it might be… but Flash didn't need to know I was referring to A Stranger Whose Daughter I Rescued. I don't want to overly complicate something for his small, small mind.
Ned's mouth is hanging open like a marionette with a broken jaw hinge.
"You think you're so special, Peter Parker," Flash retaliates, his fear dissolving into anger. "Oooh, my parents died! My uncle died, wah, wah, wah!" He pushes me away from him and scrambles to get out of my way. "Everyone dies eventually, Peter! Some of us aren't pitied by the richest man in America and given handouts for it, though! Oh, excuse me," he does sarcastic air quotes with both hands. "INTERNSHIPS!" He turns on heel and stomps out of the locker room.
Someone around the corner hisses "Ooooooh snap," with a giggle, and the sounds of two or three boys follow Flash out of the locker room and into the gym.
Then it's just Ned and I. I turn and look at him, my facial expression surprisingly… calm and passive.
"Dude," Ned erupts in a high pitched whisper. "What the ACTUAL heck? That was so effing awesome. You've never stood up to Flash before! Not as PETER!"
I shrug. "I don't know what I was thinking. I should probably go apologize."
Ned moves around the bench and launches himself in front of me, holding up his hands. "No, no, no!" he exclaims. "Definitely - do not - do that. If anything, he should apologize. If you follow him out there now it'll only get worse."
"We do have to follow him out there, Ned. For P.E."
"Oh," Ned's face falls. "Right. Class." He jogs in a shuffling manner towards the ends of the lockers and checks the entrance, making sure we're alone, before jogging back.
He looks a little winded. "So, Peter, friend - my best friend - you've got to tell me something."
My eyes widen slightly. I don't want to tell him about last night. I can't - I don't want to think about last night. I was able to talk about some of it with May, but that was all I could stomach. I kept thinking of Kim's face, her daughter's face… what will happen to her, and if she'll understand that her Mom may have left on purpose, but didn't love her any less? My conversation with her proved that much. I knew that. But could her daughter understand that at this age? Probably not. Would I keep thinking of these things next week? Next month? At graduation? Or would I forget?
"Hey, hey, focus, best friend talking," Ned waves at me. "You've got to level with me. Is my life in danger?"
"What?" I refocus on him, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, god, I knew it," Ned slumps down onto the bench. "Your first reaction should have been NO… What should I do? Do I go into witness protection? Do Aunt May and I go together?"
"No, wait, stop," this time I take a turn waving my hands in front of his face to make him put the brakes on this entire thing. "You're not in danger. At all. Why do you ask?"
"Well you said… uh," Ned smiles apologetically. "Not to bring up a painful memory from… well… five minutes ago… and… all of them from your entire life… but you mentioned your parents, and your uncle, and then me."
"I did?"
"You said friends were dying. Am I that friend? With like… an evil Hydra's assassin's target on my back?" Ned points at his chest. "I'm I like the one that gets kidnapped at the end of the movie for a big showdown with your arch nemesis and rescuing me totally outs your secret identity? Cuz I don't think I'd be cool under torture..." his eyes get bigger as he realizes what just flew out of his mouth. "Uhhhh… I mean… not like you?" He hides his face suddenly. "Please reverse time so I can just erase all of that."
"No, no, it's not you," I exclaim quickly. "Ned, seriously dude, it's okay- You're not in danger. Not at all. No, no, no."
His eyes start to light up with recognition. "So it was more of a… metaphorical sort of statement? About friends dying?"
"I was trying to refer to the people that Spider-Man rescues as friends," I whisper.
Ned nods, a relieved grin taking over his face. "So I'm not in mortal danger?"
"No, Ned."
"Ookay… I get it. It makes sense. Sorry I flipped. But I totally get it. Save an old lady from falling? New friend. Saved someone from a mugger? Totally friends!" He pauses. "Oh, but you said… dying friends."
I rub the back of my neck awkwardly, looking away. "Yeah…"
"Do you… want to… talk about it?" Ned looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
I look back at him. "Not really..."
Ned looks shocked. That's not how we usually roll.
"I mean," I amend, "It's a short story. Spider-Man tried, Spider-Man failed. The end."
"Sure thing, bro. Whatever you want," Ned stands and adjusts his T-shirt. The final bell rings and we're officially late for P.E. "But I don't think Spider-Man failed."
I stand too. "But you don't even know what happened."
"But I know you," Ned smiles. "Peter Parker is the one putting on the suit every night. That's a win. You're out there trying to help people… that's a win. You're like the coolest person I know which makes me the second-coolest by default, that's a win. You're totally like - an Avenger - that's a win…"
"Okay, okay, I get it," I fight a smirk, brushing off the praise. If he knew, he might say - or even think - differently. There's a part of me that does not want to tarnish what he thinks of me.
"Look," Ned tries again, seriously this time. "Even if something really terrible happened and Spider-Man tried to rescue one of his 'friends' and that friend still died… it's the fact that he was even there in the first place that makes him a hero. Right? You could have been home. Like… drinking soda and watching another nerdy movie with me. But you weren't, you were out there and that counts for something, right?" Ned shrugs. "I hope every time I show up to class and manage to not fall asleep that it counts for something."
I hate to admit how much this isn't cheering me up, but he's trying so, so hard. And it counts for something, my brain argues. "Thanks Ned," I say, moved. "That… means a lot to me. Thanks."
"Aw, well..." Ned looks rather bashful. "You're welcome, Peter!"
We fall silent for a moment.
"So," Ned tries, shuffling his feet from side to side. "I wish there was something better to say, but I… I got nothing. I'm sorry he… or she… died. I'm really sorry. You know I'm here for you, bro, right?" He holds out a hand.
"Yeah?" I ask, peering at him beneath raised eyebrows. A pair of light footsteps come walking briskly into the locker room towards the sinks.
"Yeah, duh, always," Ned replies quickly. I take his hand. Instead of doing our special handshake, he tugs on my wrist and gives me an awkward hug, pounding my back with three good thuds, and then releases me before whomever-it-is can spy us having a moment. "I'm here for you if you need to talk about it. Anytime."
Before I can reply, Michelle in a P.E. uniform and carrying a very large book tucked under one arm, walks purposefully around the corner and comes to a halt in front of us.
"You're late for class," she says brusquely.
"You can't be in here, this is the boy's locker room," Ned exclaims, gesturing around the empty room. "We could have been naked!"
To her credit, Michelle doesn't even blink. "Coach is pissed. I said I'd come get you. Coming, or not?"
"He asked you to come get us?" I ask in disbelief.
"I volunteered," she admits, her hard exterior cracking for a brief millisecond. "But he may have said no."
"Well he's right!" Ned practically yells, using his arms to shoo her towards the door. "Come on! Let's go! Come on!" He looks back at me. "Come on!"
"Right!" I exclaim, following them out of the locker room. Michelle is the first one out, but she gives me a strange look as I brush by her.
"Uh… yes?" I pause and try to replicate her focused attention. For someone who always says exactly what she means and spares no extra verbage, she still remains a complete riddle to me.
She gives her chin a little jerk, nodding in the direction of the bleachers, where Flash is sitting and staring at us. He's glowering murderously, wringing his hands together as if he wants to strangle someone.
"Watch your back, Peter Parker," she says.
"Uh, yeah," I reply. "Thanks, MJ."
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Bonus Features
Feel free to skip to the end to bypass PERSONAL review replies, a 'coming soon' tag, and instagram/Youtube information, etc, and head straight on down to the end of the document. Your reviews are appreciated!
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All bow down to your beta, Queen of Crystallopia, and find her here on fan fiction, her stories "Paint it Black" and the sequel called "SILENT NIGHT" are THE BEST! You can find it in my favorites or on her profile.
I made a fan trailer for her first book PAINT IT BLACK and posted it on YouTube. It's unlisted to keep YouTube from deleting it. I'd love for you to see it! Since fan fiction hates it when we try to share links, you can try using the link below. Just take out the spaces and parenthesis and replace the slash with an actual slash.
(www) . (youtube) . com (slash) (watch?v=TqWlBlVA9Q4&lc=)
OR, you can direct message myself or Queen of Crystallopia on instagram (insta handles shared on respective profile pages) and we'll send a link!
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REVIEW REPLIES
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Sea-urchin-the-ninja: I am so glad that my writing was something that brought a smile to your face at the end of a long day. That's exactly all I could ever hope to accomplish. Bless you 3
BJAfan: Thank you SO SO SO much for your long review! I am truly glad you are enjoying my story. Totally agree about Black Panther though, I needed a six hour version of that movie. Hopefully director's cut is longer! I've posted my first fic on Ao3, 2 chapters so far of a 4 chapter Merlin story. It's a bit of an older one but has all the feels. I tried to post a Spider-Man one but I think the website ate it. Or I totally did it wrong, which is super likely, since I am very new to this! lol
Queen of Crystallopia: THANK YOU MY FRIEND. LOVE YOU. (see you on the flip side) ;)
LeDbrite: Oh my goodness you are FAR too kind, thank you so much for wanting to give me a review even when you usually don't post them! Wow! \ It means a lot that you took the time, thank you thank you! I am truly grateful that you are enjoying and feeling inspired by my writing, and I am so happy for this crazy internet community where we can connect with others with similar experiences. I am sorry about your co-worker, I'm with you in solidarity!
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COMING SOON...
Going back to Hell's Kitchen again, an invisible pull keeps drawing him back - again, and again - but to what end? Closure? Revenge?
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Instagram handles!
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For fanfiction and NERD STUFF: pippin_strange
For life, drawings, and more: myapapaya_adventures
For my epic Dungeons & Dragons group: thegildedlillyparty
For my weird obsessions: myas_haunted_things
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