Title: F*cked Up and Flawed

Summary: "Michelle turns and, from the corner of her eye, she spots a figure disappear into the shadows. Her heart stops."
Everything seems perfect until it's not— or, Michelle and Peter have been dating for a while and, sometimes, bad guys find out.

Disclaimer: I am not associated with Marvel and make no profit from any of what I am posting.

F*cked Up and Flawed

She's curled up in bed reading when he knocks on her window, masked face pressed against the glass.

Michelle checks the door first, turning the handle to make sure it's locked before opening the window and letting him slide in.

Her heart hammers against her chest, it always does when she lets him sneak in, and with his super-hearing, Michelle's sure he knows.

She sits on the bed, hands in her lap and fidgeting with her blanket, and, maybe because he senses her nervousness, he sits on the floor, shoulder bumping into her knees.

They don't talk at once. Silences with Peter aren't heavy or awkward. They feel safe. Familiar. He pulls off his mask, drops it on the ground and she absent-mindedly strings her hand through his sweaty hair.

"Helped a blind man cross the road today," he says quietly, arching his head back so that their eyes meet. "Saved a cat from a tree. Lots of friendly-neighbourhood things."

She cracks a smile at that. Presses a kiss to his forehead.

Peter reaches up, grabbing her wrist and gently tugging her towards him. Michelle obliges by sliding off her bed and curling up against him.

"You stink," Michelle mumbles.

"Karen, spray me with Axe."

She kicks him playfully, scrunching up her nose at the thought and Peter elbows her in the side.

"Loser," she says.

" Your loser," he reminds her, grinning from ear to ear and Michelle shrugs in acceptance. He's not wrong.

She falls asleep like that (she usually does), head on top of his and Peter's arm around her waist.

By the time she wakes up, it's morning and Peter's gone.

They're different at school. Louder, Michelle thinks. Happier.

He appears at her locker, thumbs tucked under the straps of his backpack and grinning despite the bags under his eyes.

"You drool in your sleep," Peter says and she smacks him with her current read (The Moment of Lift by Melinda Gates). He sticks his tongue out, looking like a kid and like the absolute dork that he is and Michelle wonders how she got so damned lucky.

In a perfect world, nobody deserves Peter Parker. He's smart and dorky and so fucking good.

In this world, though, he chose her, fucked up and flawed. Not a day goes by that Michelle isn't grateful for that.

Peter slips his hand into hers like it's normal and Michelle ducks her face behind her hair to hide a smile. It's been months, but being with him still sends her heart racing.

Ned appears from behind them, and Michelle rolls her eyes at Betty, as the two begin conversing about Star Wars at a pace she cannot keep up with.

Then they split up for class, and the warmth of Peter's hand disappears from hers as he presses his lips to her cheek.

"See you in a bit."

They meet again at lunch and hijack a table for just the four of them. Peter complains about Chemistry (though really, he's just showing off about knowing more than Ms Green) while taking the vegetables out of his lunch and dropping them into hers.

She flicks them back at him because, "For fuck's sake, Parker, vegetables are good for you!"

They have math together next and he sits at her side, running a thumb over her knuckles under the table when they're not racing to see who can solve the sums faster.

When class for the day finally ends, she drags him to the back of school, cups his face in her palms and kisses him like they're never going to meet again.

"Tonight?" Peter breathes, sounding stunned.

"Tonight," she confirms.

When Michelle wakes up though, it's not to Peter knocking on her window but to her parents shouting in the next room.

She pinches her lips together, sinks in deeper under her blankets and squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to fall asleep at once. She doesn't.

A moment later, she's sitting upright and reaching for her phone.

It's nearly two in the morning— too late to call Peter; Poor kid barely sleeps as it is and she'd feel both shitty and selfish for calling him for something so trivial.

She opens Instagram, goes through a spam of stories from Flash, then opens a snap from Peter of her closed window and a crying Bitmoji. It's from an hour ago.

Michelle sighs. Tosses her phone aside and falls back on her pillow. Her Mom is screaming now, voice shrill and threatening. Her Dad tries to say something but he's cut off before he can get in a word.

If she listens any longer, Michelle thinks, she'll go mad.

She sits up again, tossing her blankets aside and tiptoeing to the window. Peter's snuck her out a handful of times, dangling from a branch while she climbs down. There's no reason why she couldn't do it alone.

She goes back to her room, grabs her jacket from where she'd discarded it after class and buries her phone into her pyjamas pocket. She looks out of her window again. Then Michelle thinks: fuck it and climbs out.

(She's a little bit proud when, after a small amount of struggling, her feet hit the ground.)

Normally, Peter would be next to her now, fingers entwined in hers or arm around her waist and Michelle instantly misses him. She pulls her hood up, stuffs her hands into her pockets. It's only been seconds, but she's already lonely.

Lonely because her parents are upstairs, fighting, and oblivious of the fact that she's snuck out. Lonely because she missed meeting Peter today. Lonely because it's two am and her corner of Queens is deserted, save for a stray cat staring at her from the shadows.

She stops to pet the Holland's dog, Tess, who comes out of her kennel when she's going past. Maybe she should ask her parents for a dog, Michelle thinks. It'd be easier to distract herself if there was a giant ball of fur to cuddle with. Though that might make Peter jealous.

She stops again to pet the Patel dog Polka Dot (PD for short), three houses down the street and is thoroughly enjoying herself when Tess begins to growl.

Michelle turns and, from the corner of her eye, she spots a figure disappear into the shadows.

Her heart stops.

She stands up, slowly, turns abruptly and marches down the lane. Her fingers find her phone, still tucked into the pocket of her pyjamas, and Michelle wonders if this would be an okay time to call Peter.

With trembling fingers, and refusing to slow her pace, she opens her phone. Clicks on his contact.

She can hear the stranger behind her now, quickly catching up with Michelle.

Run, a voice in her head whispers. Michelle doesn't need to be told twice.

She takes the first corner, onto the main road, and sprints down, taking the long way home. She can see her lane, at the end of the road, when the figure catches up, grabbing her by the hoodie and roughly swinging her around.

Her hand, outstretched and still gripping her phone, hits a trashcan and Michelle screams in pain. Her mobile flies from her hand and hits the ground with a deafening thud. If there had been any hope for help, it leaves her.

She's slammed into a wall. Her vision blurs with tears. The figure presses a hand over her mouth.

"Think your boyfriend will come save you?" he hisses.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

This isn't about her.

It's about Peter.

And that's almost worse.

"He doesn't know," she says, her voice shaking despite Michelle's effort to keep it level. "Please—"

She's slammed back. Again.

The man says something, but she can barely process the words he's saying over the dull ache at the back of her head.

He lets her go. Shouts something into the night, then lifts his arm and, with a weapon she cannot see, aims at the same trash-can she hit and, with a bang, reduces it to ashes.

Michelle screams.

She presses her hands to her ears and her knees hit the ground. Pain shoots to her and Michelle no longer knows where the aching stops and where it begins.

"Call him," the man says, and he's in front of her again, pointing his arm at her.

She can make out a gauntlet like weapon, gleaming orange in the dull light of the lamppost.

"I can't," she says. Cries.

"Where does he stay?"

"No!" she screams and she doesn't know what she's protesting. Just that she won't take him to Peter.

Something explodes again. Closer to her. Smoke fills her lungs and when Michell coughs, every inch of her seems to burn with pain.

He won't kill her, Michelle decides, still doubled over and shaking her head wildly. Not when she's the only link he has to Peter. To Spider-Man.

If she ran now and made it home, he'd leave her for the night, but then he'd be back tomorrow, or the day after. Maybe he'd follow Peter home too.

She breathes in. Sits upright.

"He's not coming," she says. "You won't find him."

For all she knows, Peter could bring him down in seconds, but she's not going to call him for herself. She's better than that. Peter deserves better than that.

The man growls. Grabs her by the hoodie, pulling Michelle up again. "Call him," he hisses.

"No."

He grabs her arm, the one she didn't hit on the trashcan, and twists it behind her back. "He'll find you eventually."

She snorts. Rolls her eyes, though it feels almost wrong to do so right now. "You wish."

The man pulls harder and Michelle screams into the night.

Then something whizzes past her, soft and sticky and something akin to hope bubbles in Michelle's heart.

The man drops her and they turn together.

"Someone made a wish?"

He's standing on a car, in a decathlon t-shirt that's too small for him and Captain America pyjamas. And his mask. Obviously. He looks every bit the chaotic teenage mess Michelle loves.

Peter aims again. Catches the weapon this time and, with a twist, has it off the man and spinning innocently on the ground.

He shoots again and, this time, he has the man webbed to the ground. It's almost too easy, Michelle thinks, sitting up. Waiting for him to come to her.

Peter stops next to the man though. Aims another web, a taser, this time, and the man writhes on the ground.

The taser stops.

Peter doesn't move away.

He kicks the man in the stomach. On the nose. Blood spurts and Michelle shrieks again.

"Peter," she says. He looks up, eyes meeting here. There's a harshness to them that she's never seen before and it has her hesitating.

He doesn't stop. He aims a punch. And another. And another.

"Peter!" she says again, pulling herself up. "Stop "

"He hurt you," he says as though that justifies everything. As though it makes sense in his head. A chill runs down Michelle's spine and for the second time that evening, a voice in her head tells her to run.

This time, she doesn't.

The Peter she knows feels guilty when he has to hurt an enemy and he sure as hell wouldn't kill one. Peter wouldn't beat up a man for her. He shouldn't.

"Stop," she says again. "Or I won't talk to you again." Michelle means it.

He clenches and unclenches his jaw, then looks from her to the man and, for a moment, it feels as though he's going to punch him again.

Then his hand goes slack, and his fists uncurl. His eyes soften with guilt.

"Em," he says whispers.

She takes a step back. Shakes her head.

Her legs give way, but he's at her side before she can hit the ground. Arm around her waist, fingers tangled in her hair. He holds her against him, whispering words that she cannot hear.

When she cries, Michelle doesn't know if the tears shed are for Peter, or for herself.

They're different at school, Michelle thinks. Her arm is in a cast and there's a pale bandaid on her forehead. (They don't sell bandaids in her skin colour.) Her knees are scraped and they ache when the insides of her pants rub against them. She should stop. Sit.

She doesn't.

Peter stares at her in math. He doesn't answer any questions. His knuckles are bruised and Michelle wonders if his ego is too.

She's ignored his texts. Hasn't answered his calls.

They still sit together in class, and they sit together at lunch, but there are now walls between them that will not fall down. There are walls between them that Michelle will tear down when she's ready to forgive him for becoming exactly what he's always despised.

(Walls that will crumble when he realises how bad he fucked up.)

Except, she misses him. It's been two weeks and she's ignored dozens of phone calls and even more texts and life's lonely without Peter. She wants to tell him about her brother's band and this murder she's been reading about. She misses the warmth of his hand and their quiet conversations when he got back from patrols.

So, on Tuesday night when her parents are arguing again and her phone rings, Michelle answers.

"Hey," he says. His voice is soft— barely a whisper. She can hear the wind whistling around him, and can hear the traffic below him.

"Hey," she whispers back, phone pressed to her ear.

"I'm near your place," he tells her. "Do you want to come down?"

And she squeezes her eyes shut, letting her thoughts wander to the arguing next-door. "Yeah."

She's wearing pyjama pants and an oversized hoodie. He's hiding behind a mask. They're broken and bruised and falling apart but, when he wraps an arm around her, Michelle feels safe.

(She feels at home.)

They stop to pet the Holland's dog Tess. They stop to play with the Patel dog three houses down.

There are no shadows in the corner tonight— no evil men following them around.

Michelle sits on the ground, cross-legged, while Peter scratches PD's ears, talking to the dalmatian in that voice he only uses for pets.

This is the boy she fell in love with. This is the boy she's always loved.

(This is the boy who fucked up.)

"Why?" she whispers. It's the first conversation she's prompted in days. The first words she's spoken to Peter that haven't been a response to something else he's said.

He looks at her, fingers still rubbing the spot under PD's ears. "I don't know," he says. "I was angry. It felt like Uncle Ben all over again. If I let that guy go once, maybe he'd do something worse next time. And I hated that he got you and hurt you and, Em, I'm sorry. Really. I've never regretted something so much."

She nods, but there are no words to describe how she feels. The fear she'd felt when he'd looked up from the man, the feeling that Peter could be just as bad as him.

"The man," Peter says. "I followed up on him." He squeezes his eyes shut. Gulps. "He might not make it."

Something in his voice clicks. This is the Peter who cried the first time a supervillain died during a fight. Who told Michelle of the villain's wife and children. Who sent them an anonymous donation, knowing that it wouldn't be enough.

It doesn't make sense that this is the same Peter who almost killed a man. For her.

"He didn't have a family," Peter goes on and Michelle wonders if he's trying to comfort himself, or her. "He works for a man named KingPin. He— He knows about me. And you. And May."

He scoots closer to her. Eyes finding hers.

"I can't sleep, Em. I want to tell May to leave Queens. I want to take you away from here. I— I don't want to be the reason the people I love get hurt."

She leans forward. Slides her hand into his.

"We'll be okay," she whispers. "May's strong. She can fuck up more people than you can and, well, me? I'll deal with whatever that KingPin throws at me. At us. Just promise you'll always be you. Even when Pin sends you his worst."

Peter nods. He cups her face between his palms, running his thumb over the cut on her cheek.

"I promise," he says.

And Michelle believes him.

I've had this in my drafts for months and, on a reread, I found that I actually enjoyed it. I am working on the next chapter of JSaBB, it'll hopefully be done by next week! Though, you can check for updates on my Tumblr, WizardingAesthetics!
As always, thanks for reading!