A/N: As you can tell by now, if you've read my other fics, I like writing crossover stories where people from our world go into fictional ones. Well, this one isn't going to be any different. So if you're tired of reading these, then leave because I don't have time to read flames from people who aren't really all that interested in the first place. If you are interested, read on. P.S. I don't know all that much about the Spider-Man comics, so it'll probably be A/U. I might stick in a villain or two, though it is doubtful because I'm horrible (note the descriptive adjective) at action scenes. On to the story, huzzah! (No review replies, sorry.)

Crossing Over

          It was a normal day, night, whatever. 'Was' being the key word here. I was sitting up in my room, sulking like I usually do, over things that I would usually sulk over. No friends, parents always fighting, people mistaking me for a guy. You see, I keep my auburn straight hair cut short right above my ears, 'cause I think that it makes it easier to take care of. I wear boys' clothing 'cause it's more comfortable. If you don't take a close look at me, or it's dark, you'll most likely think I'm a guy. It doesn't help that I have a flat chest, or that I'm as skinny as a rail.

          This is why I was moping in my room at 9:00 P.M. on a Friday when I should have been out partying, or whatever sixteen-year-old tomboys do on Friday nights. Looking up into the sky, I saw a shooting star. Closing my eyes, I wished for the thing I had always wanted.

          I wish I were somewhere where people accepted me; somewhere where I have at least one good friend.

          The star faded from view just as I opened my eyes, and I sighed. I had never believed in that wish philosophy, but for some reason, I needed to have proof for myself. Running my hand through my hair, I flopped onto my 'Spider-Man' bedspread face down, making it so that no one could see the tears trickling down my olive cheeks, turning my vivid green eyes dim and dull. I would never be happy. Boy (A/n: No pun intended), I didn't know how wrong I was.

~*~

          When I woke up, it was freezing. Colder than it should have been in my room, ever. I heard gunshots. Gunshots? We didn't live in the city. We lived just outside the city, and I despised the walk to school because it was ten times longer than the other kids'. Jerking into a sitting position, I noticed that I was no longer in my bed. I was sitting on the icy floor of an alley. Far away from what I called a home.

          I was still, however, in my same clothes. In addition, by a quick feeling of my face, I surmised that I also appeared the same. Feeling a bulge in my back pocket, I reached in and brought out a wallet that I had never seen before. A feeling of dread came over me. Had I stole from someone and not remembered? More shots ran out, so, as a defense mechanism, I slipped further into the shadows that naturally appear at 9:00 in autumn. At least, that's what time I assumed it was.

          Two, giant burly guys with ski masks and sacks ran past the entrance to the alley, not even giving it a second glance. Of course, they could have just seemed big to me because I am only 5'(1.5 meters) in height. But that's not the point. I sighed in relief, and then stared at the wallet more closely. It had my name on the ID, Daxa (a/n: pronounced da as in 'bat' and xa as in 'sum') Hoffkan, though I don't remember ever receiving an ID. It said I had a drivers' license and that I was legally eighteen, though if I remembered my own birthday correctly, I was only sixteen. There was also $350 in the wallet. What had happened?

          Not hearing any more firing, I crept out of the alley and gazed around. A couple of police officers had parked their cars about twenty feet (six meters) to the right of me in front of a bank. Three male officers were standing by the cars, looking at the huge hole in the glass window. Obviously, there had been a robbery. They must have been who the thugs were running from! I thought frantically. Suddenly, one of them noticed me. In the dark, I probably looked like the type of people they were searching for.

          "Hey! Hey, you! Stick your hands up!" Crap, I thought. They are probably not going to buy that whole, 'I've been transported through space and time' excuse. Better see if I can outrun. Besides, all of 'em look like they could cut down on the doughnuts. I took off running, hoping that they wouldn't come after me with the cars. Fate seemed to be on my side that night, since I heard footsteps, but they faded away. Panting heavily, I leaned against a burned out streetlight.

          "So, I take it they weren't going to invite you to the cocktail party?" a voice asked from seemingly nowhere. I jumped, whirling around, my unbuttoned tan checkered shirt fluttering at the sudden breeze, revealing a white wife beater underneath. I almost tripped over my dark green, baggy cargo pants as well.

          "Who's there?"

          There was an over dramatic sigh.

          "I see my reputation hasn't preceded me in this case. Are you new in New York?"

          An old newspaper happened to blow against my leg at that very moment. (A/n: Yeah, I know, big coincidence, deal with it.) Picking it up, I read something that didn't really make me feel a whole lot better. It said 'The Daily Bugle' at the top in bold letters. The Daily Bugle, to my knowledge, was a fictional paper that existed only in the world of . . . Spider-Man. Which meant that anonymous voice that was talking to me was none other than . . .

          "This isn't happening, this isn't happening,—"

          "What, you've never been busted by ol' Web-Head before? Here, let me tell you how it goes–"

          However, by that time, I had already taken off running again, not knowing where I was going, just knowing that the adrenaline rush from thinking I was insane giving me a second wind. I didn't hear him sigh, but I did hear him mutter,

          "Why do they always want to do it the hard way?"

          I did not want to stick around to find out what the hard way was, so I tried to run even faster. Alas, my efforts were in vain, because I felt something like thick rope tying my ankles together. Then I smirked. This guy didn't know who he was dealing with. Take my legs away. I didn't need them. I was an acrobat.

          Bending my knees, I hopped up onto my hands and continued to run, this time walking on my hands, head lifted up and pointed forward. I heard an amused chuckle from somewhere close behind me, and I realized I was slowing down. Gritting my teeth, I speeded up, but this time, I was doomed. Because there was something tying my wrists together, causing me to fall forwards, flat on my back.

          "Ow," I said simply as someone came to stand next to me in the shadows of the large brick building blocking me off from the rest of the neighborhood.

          "Whoops, sorry. Did I ruin your escape plan? Well, that's technically what I'm supposed to do. I think you need to go visit your police buddies. I hear their parties are a real  blast."

          "Listen to me," I said angrily as I brought my hands over my head and drew my knees in, coming to a sort of sit/squat position. It was then I realized that I had been chased into an alleyway. "Please, don't turn me in to the police. I didn't do anything but I can't prove it."

          "Then why were you running?"

          "Because they thought I was someone else."

          "Who?"

          "How am I supposed to know? Whoever robbed the bank!"

          "How did you know the bank was robbed?"

          "What is this, twenty questions? I saw it with my eyes. You use them to see things. Can I go home . . . now?" I trailed off at the last part because I had no idea how to get home. I didn't even know if this was real or something I dreamed up.

          "Sorry pal, but you were near the scene of the crime." He stepped into the moonlight Guess it's later than nine after all and I saw. It was Spider-Man.

          "Holy sh–"

          "Young men who are respected by the community so much shouldn't use such language. What, is the mask too much? I knew it; it makes me look fat, right?"

          "Damn! Even superheroes get it wrong."

          "Well, I wouldn't call me a superhero–"

          "Neither would I. Here, look at my ID and tell me what you said wrong."

          He took my wallet, opened it and glanced over my ID. Then he lowered it to look at me.

          "Oops. Well then, young women shouldn't use such language."  Throwing the wallet back, he asked, "So, tell me again why I shouldn't hand you over to the cops?"

          I tried to think of something that could persuade Spider-Man to let me go. No, he wasn't Spider-Man. Not in the daytime, anyway. He was Peter Parker.

          "Because I know your secret identity," here I looked around making sure no one was listening and then whispered, "Peter Parker." I pulled my self into a sitting position as the white eyes of his mask grew larger.

          "I'm sure you don't want me telling the police force that fact. Word might get to the news, and, oh, you work there, don't you? The fantastic photographer who gets all the pictures of Spider-Man is Spider-Man himself. Isn't that ironic?"

          Peter didn't say anything for a while. I assumed he was thinking. Then, we both heard sirens.

          "Shit," I said plainly.

          "Very eloquent."

          "Thanks. Now, are you going to turn me in?"

          He stared at me for a while, not saying anything. Or at least, I think he stared at me. It was hard to tell with the mask.

          "No, but where will you go? I'll need to talk to you again."

          "I'll find a crappy hotel, but I don't have that much money. What'll I do after my money runs out?"

          "We'll deal with that when the time comes. Just be ready."  With that, he was gone, web slinging off into the night. I shook my head, and noticed he had tossed me a knife to cut the webbing with. I grabbed it as best I could with my wrists and cut my bonds. Jumping up, I managed to avoid the police by hiding in dark alleyways where their searchlights never bothered to look because the area was so disgusting; buildings that had been abandoned so long ago that there were cobwebs over cobwebs over cobwebs; and beneath broken down cars that would never run again even if the greatest mechanic in the world set all their time for that one car. Then I made my way to a sleazy hotel in the bad part of NYC. Getting the cheapest room I could haggle for, I staggered in and opened the window for some air. I collapsed onto the badly made bed, wincing as it creaked noisily. Eventually though, I drifted off to sleep, not even bothering to ponder what Peter meant by 'being ready.'

~*~