Chapter Sixteen: You're Not My Type

"I thought we talked about this, Captain A-Face." Spider-Man quipped, hopping down from the street lamp and crossing his arms. "No book burnings in the middle of Queens...or any public place, really."

Typeface turned, his spiky brown hair jostling at the sudden movement. He wore a pair of ludicrous green overalls and a silver chain covered with different letters. On his forehead was the inspiration for Peter's nickname; a giant 'A' drawn onto his forehead with red ink. The careless criminal's expression contorted into one of pure annoyance - primarily from Spidey's little name for him. "I'm doing these people a favour!"

"By destroying public property?" Peter scoffed, directing towards the towering stack of books behind the villain. "I'm pretty sure this library only lets you check out four books at a time. Do you even have a library card?"

Typeface grimaced, opening the book currently held in his hands and ripping out a page. He threw it into the fire and the flames scorched it out of existence. "You seem to be under the delusion that your comments are funny, but your humour falls flat in comparison to Douglas Adams, you artless arbiter of arrogance."

"Look, the whole alliteration thing was kinda amusing the first time but now it's just getting old." Spider-Man sighed. "So, how about we get this over with."

"Are you truly going to arrest me for a peaceful protest?"

"How is this peaceful?" Peter asked in disbelief. The fire was growing to new heights, crackling ferociously into the morning air and heating the world around it. People had already evacuated the area in fear that it might spread. "What are you even protesting?"

Typeface closed the book and lifted it so Peter could finally see the cover. It sported a tie in utter darkness and read 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. "I'm protesting the distribution of terrible literature!"

This was the exact moment when Peter decided to just give up on life. He had taken down some of the most dastardly villains in NYC...and yet, here he was, watching an unhinged literature snob burn a ton of library books. "Isn't that a little subjective? Just 'cause you don't like it, doesn't mean that no one does."

"You think I care about what everyone else thinks? They're wrong, and by burning this trash I will be preventing anyone else from being brainwashed by it."

Peter finally noticed the caliber of books that Typeface had lined up for burning; everything from Moon People by Dale Courtney and Miles To Go by Miley Cyrus, to Timon of Athens by Shakespeare and The Eye of Argon by Jim Theis. What? You were expecting Twilight to be on this list? Well, that's a dead joke at this point and in fear of being too predictable, I've decided not to mention it...until now.

Those books were piled on top of each other, the red flames casting threatening shadows over their covers. They almost seemed to scream for Spider-Man to save them, or maybe that was just the exhaustion setting in.

"Look, I really think you're overreacting...like usual." Peter crossed his arms and sighed. "Can't you just accept that people like different things?"

"Never!" Typeface bellowed, tossing the ruined copy of Fifty Shades of Grey into the fire. The flames twisted and crackled gratefully as the villain grabbed a copy of Timon of Athens. He dangled it near the fire, singeing the very edges of the book.

"Stop right there!" A voice punctured the tense atmosphere, and Peter was suddenly overcome by the urge to jump off a bridge. "I will not allow you to harm anymore innocent literature!"

Typeface scowled and the wrinkles that this formed on his forehead turned the 'A' into an 'N'. "Who the devil are you?"

"I'm Protonslaught, the champion of justice!"

Peter found a really tall building nearby and started thinking how nice it would be to plunge himself from the top.

Protonslaught continued, "On behalf of William Shakespeare, the Swan of Avon, I will punish you!"

Spider-Man slumped as she approached. He was starting to think that she'd never run out of stupid things to say. "Isn't that a Sailor Moon thing? Are we even allowed to say that?"

Don't question Peter for asking such a crucial question, after all, this could be a copyright issue. In fact, this whole tale could be one.

Ignoring Spidey's words, as if she hadn't heard him at all, she pointed her index finger towards Typeface and frowned. "Are you seriously thinking about burning Timon of Athens?!"

"Why does it matter?" Typeface growled back. "It sucks."

"You did not just say that something written by Shakespeare sucks!" Protonslaught snapped with such rage that it made Spider-Man jump in surprise. "Are you a fucking idiot?"

"It's literally about a guy that loses his money, moves to a cave, finds more money, then dies before he can spend that money! It's one of the worst things he's ever done!" Typeface argued, fingernails digging into the spine of the aforementioned book.

"Shakespeare's worst plays are better than most of the best modern novels!" Protonslaught retaliated. "And just FYI, The Two Noble Kinsmen is much worse than Timon of Athens. The cousins in that book fall in love with the same girl, and she can't decide between them so she just waits until one of them dies and marries the other one. I mean, you can't tell me that play isn't his worst."

"I can and I will!"

"You're seriously psychotic, man. Burning anything from Shakespeare should be a felony! It's just cruel!"

"I am not cruel, just truthful - The eye of a little god, four cornered."

"Don't you dare quote Sylvia Plath to me! You don't deserve to utter a single word that she wrote!"

Currently, Spider-Man could be found staring into the distance and attempting to block out their conversation. He had come here to arrest Typeface and go home...not endure an argument about Shakespeare. Seriously, he had enough of that waiting for him at college.

With a rather severe frown crinkling the fibres of his mask, Peter shot a web at Typeface's hands; he did this at a slight angle so that they would be glued together by the sticky substance. He did the same to his feet - adhering them to the concrete. "Okay, are we done now? Because this was a serious waste of my time."

Yes, Peter. It was a waste of everyone's time. Especially the poor, disappointed readers.

"Are you kidding? We saved a ton of books today!" Protonslaught declared, puffing her chest out with pride. "There ain't anything more rewarding than that!"

Peter rolled his eyes, knowing very well that she couldn't see it. "Really? 'Cause I could think of a few things..."

"That's because you don't know the value of Shakespeare!"

Peter grimaced. "...You really like that guy, huh?"

Protonslaught grinned from ear to ear and nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, he's a genius."

The world quietened to a dull hum, and even that disappeared eventually as Peter narrowed his eyes. Where had he heard that before? The universe's soundless atmosphere was deafening, and it was in those brief moments that Peter realised that silence has a sound; it's awkward and unsteady, like a wavering lifeline. It's the irregular beat of a heart and the annoying buzz of a mosquito. It's all the little sounds that usually go unheard.

Seriously, where had he heard that sentence before?

"What?" Protonslaught asked with a huff. "You don't agree? Are you too stupid to read his stuff?"

Spider-Man groaned. Her insult took hold of his curiosity and threw it into outer space, never to be seen again. "I can read it. He just sucks."

The woman's eyes flared with outrage. It coloured her eyes in a misty, powdery blue that almost suffocated him. "Are you looking for a fight? Because you're getting really close to starting one, Jizz-Hands."

"Whatever." Peter responded, obviously no longer effected by her crude comments. He didn't plan on sticking around for long enough to hear her continue either.

Spider-Man aimed the web shooter towards the nearest building. He could see it lined perfectly between his two middle fingers which were currently curled against his palm. Then there was a noise. A groan, actually, and it immediately grabbed Spidey's attention.

As if this wasn't enough of a filler chapter already, Peter turned to find his old colleague Clint Barton (aka Hawkeye) standing in front of the library with wide eyes and an unhinged jaw. "Wh-What the hell happened here?"

Spider-Man pointed towards Typeface, who was struggling in vain against the rope-like webs. "He did it."

Clint blinked at the deranged-looking villain and then let his gaze fall to the piles of books behind him. "Are those all my copies of Timon of Athens?"

"Yeah, he was gonna burn them...isn't that horrible?" Protonslaught responded, but Peter's attention was elsewhere.

Before Clint could even utter a response, Spider-Man had posed another question. "Your copies? Don't tell me you own the library..."

"I own the library."

Peter wished that he could sound shocked that Clint Barton, the legendary Hawkeye who had fought countless foes alongside the Avengers, owned a whole public library in Queens...but he wasn't. "Do I even want to know why?"

Clint shrugged. "It goes with my apartment complex and my farm. What else am I gonna spend all this money on? You know how it is with the crazy salary you get for being an Avenger and an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Oh wait, you don't. You're destitute."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. He wished that he had money to throw around...but no. He just had to be stubborn and idealistic about making his own way through life; on his own terms, with his own ideas. He was so consumed by his own stupidity that he had forgotten that Protonslaught was still there.

The masked woman jumped forward and said "You work for the Avengers?!"

"Good job with the whole 'secret identity' thing." Spider-Man teased lowly.

"Secret identity? Only assholes have secret identities. Besides, being a paid government agent means that they gotta know my name and shit." Clint deflected; he still didn't seem too bothered by her knowing.

Peter sighed. "Who you calling an asshole?"

"You. Idiot." Hawkeye jabbed. "Who is this broad anyway? Finally get yourself a sidekick?"

Protonslaught crossed her arms, almost offended by his assumption. "If anything, he's my sidekick."

"Okay, I'm officially done with this." Spider-Man exclaimed with a heavy exhale. "I can't deal with both of you at once."

"Yeah whatever, get outta here." Clint smirked, watching with immense amusement as the arachnid swung out of sight. He finally turned his attention to Protonslaught, who apparently hadn't realised that this scene was almost over because she just stood there blankly. "So...now that you know who I am, it's only fair that you tell me who you are."

"Me?" The girl pointed at herself rather cluelessly and grinned. "Michelle Pfeiffer."

Clint scoffed insultingly loudly. "Lady, you ain't no Michelle Pfeiffer."

"You don't have to sound so sure about it..." Protonslaught huffed. "Even if I did tell you my name, I can guarantee you wouldn't know who I am anyway."

The man went to argue but swiftly decided against it when he realised that he had no rebuttal. "That's...a good point. You're probably a nobody."

"Probably." The woman grinned confidently, snatching a copy of Timon of Athens from the concrete in front of Typeface (who was still trying to break free of his bonds), and handed it to Clint. "Take better care of these next time, fuckface."