A/N: Sorry about the last update! It was all code and I edited as fast as I could as soon as I found out. Thanks to Phoenixfromthefire for the prompt response!
So, a short chapter, but I kind of wanted to illustrate Peter's depression, not sure if I did that too well, though. I left out quite a bit of detail apart from some weird (poetic?) descriptions.
I'm writing this on my phone, so the format might look a bit weird. Sorry about that. It's because my computer died and now will not allow me to get on it.
On another note, thank you for all of the support and compliments! They do mean a lot, and really motivate me to write!
Oh yes, and I forgot to mention last chapter, someone asked if I was going to continue my other story. I guess I might, but I don't want to jump the gun just yet. Thoughts?
(Pssst, did anyone see Homecoming? I just watched it earlier today, and it was great! That last end credits scene was fantastic heh. Basically saying "congrats on staying behind for 10 mins for no reason" haha).
It was raining.
Droplets dotted the ground and slowly darkened the roads and pavements. People rushed indoors or to their cars, as dust and litter got carried away by rivulets of polluted water. The corners of the roof and the small dips on it slowly filled and became dirty puddles, the gum stuck underneath shining like river gems. Water dribbled down his bright red and blue suit, gathering in the crevices and folds of his body.
Fitting, Peter thought, as he gazed down at the apartment opposite him. Miserable weather for a miserable day.
He wasn't quite sure why he was miserable on this particular day. He refused to believe that it had anything to do with the apartment opposite him. Nor had it anything to do with the apartment's occupants. He could never have grown attached to these people in the short time that he had been with them. No, it had to be something else. But it wasn't that something else either. No. No, he wouldn't think about that.
He stood up on the little overhanging of the roof and took aim at the next building, before slipping away, like a fish from from stream to lake.
.o0|O|0o.
It wasn't like a movie, he realised for the third, most painful time. Life wasn't a movie. Not like Star Wars or Superman or Back To The Future. It was real life.
He only had two more hours left alone before he would have to leave for the new place. The new... the orphanage. That was what it was. An orphanage. A place to store all of the kids when there wasn't enough parents to store them separately.
He wondered what it would be like. If the old Bird-Lady really was all that bad. If she really did whip children who misbehaved (as it was rumoured amongst the others). Or if he would see her at all. What if she was one of those stick-to-the-office kind of Headmistress? And then they would be left to the mercy of the other supervisors. Peter shivered (what if they were like her)? He hoped they would be... nicer.
Packing hadn't been hard. He didn't have much in the ways of physical possessions. Thomas had offered to help, but Peter turned him down, and they ended up awkwardly doing their own thing in utter silence. Not his most savoured moment.
He had said goodbye to Flash, but there weren't many other people he had to depart from. Most of them had already bid their farewells with whispering eyes and still lips. He shook his head again. No, not here. Not now.
He whisked away with the tear-stained wind. And so what if not all of those tears came from the sky?
.o0|O|0o.
The sky was a harsh gray, the buildings a sulky black, and the water the mouth of a beast, waiting to devour him. The small light that filtered through from windows and early street lamps was hard and cold.
He didn't feel like going back to the apartment. Why couldn't he just stay here forever, on this bridge, as Spider-Man? Wouldn't that be an idea...?
But no. He couldn't. That would be the same as losing her all over again. And all of the others. It would be killing their memory; casting them aside like dirty wrappers or wilted flowers. It would be like killing Peter Parker.
There was a polarised crash against the constant white noise of the rain. At first he thought it was a scuffle, and he groaned at the thought of getting up, as Spider-Man was expected to do. Save the day, rescue the old lady in trouble. But it was a homeless cat (some kind of crossbreed, by the looks of it), that scampered out from an alley to the left of the bridge.
In the gray light, the cat seemed to be a brownish colour, although that might have simply been grime or dried blood from previous fights. Despite the stereotypes, this cat didn't seem too clean.
The cat had stopped a few metres away, perched on the edge of the pavement by a gutter. He felt a sort of... kinship.
Peter bent down next to the cat, knees curled, and opened his palm out to the cat, which sniffed his hand, much like a dog. He reached a little further, going to stroke the shaggy hair under the cat's chin, but suddenly a a sharp pain stabbed at his hand, and the cat was gone. The only evidence it had even existed was the little teeth marks that spread over the side of his hand, and the dozens of hairs that now (somehow) decorated his Spidey-Suit.
So much for that.
.o0|O|0o.
Somehow, from under the little outcrop of a roof where he had stuck them, his clothes had been drenched. His jeans would be impossible to put on, but his hoodie would be stuck it on, but didn't bother with his other clothes. With his bag on his back, he swung up, onto the roof, then back down to the opposite building, through a window. There was only a matter of minutes left.
.o0|O|0o.
The car window was cold against his forehead. Rain was still hurling itself against the ground and against the car, too; it dribbled down the window in streams of water.
Peter watched as the apartment building became smaller and smaller. Such a small thing, and yet it seemed to signify more than that. It felt like it was giving him one last look to say goodbye. But he didn't feel like it. He just wanted to... sleep. Lie down and sleep for a long time, until he was back at home, watching old movies with aunt May and uncle Ben, criticising the plot holes and play fighting with popcorn, and then aunt May would scold him and uncle Ben, even though she took part a little too. And it would be nice...
"Chin up, lad. I'm sure you'll find something worthwhile where you're going. Government paid, y'know!" A chuckle. "Living for free... sounds nice, don't it?" It was the driver. He worked at the orphanage, probably./div
Peter nodded, but didn't say anything.
He sighed, and resorted to watching the rain fall.
.o0|O|0o.
The room was dark. The walls were made of white plaster, the floor of worn wood. There were two bunk beds along the wall with pristine white sheets. There was one dull window, and a poster of all of the rules on the wooden door, with crisp and tidy black letters. No colour. No other furniture. Just a small room, and one fifteen-year-old boy.
He dumped himself on a bunk, and slept.