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Ruby stared at the number on her phone, the number that was supposedly leaked only days ago, the number for the city's very own hero, Spider-Man.

Her finger hovered over the button to press on the screen, where she had it set as the very first contact on her phone—ready for speed dial, but she hesitated. How did she know it was real? How did she know that if she rang this number, Spider-Man himself would answer? The reality was…she didn't. It had not been proved that this was indeed the direct number the police had given the hero and used to contact him with; it was only a rumour that this was Spider-Man's personal contact number. So then, why did she have it on her phone?

Ruby took in a deep, shaky breath, as she looked up nervously from her position on the dirty floor, huddled against the side of an alley wall. Darkness bathed the area in sinister shadows and odd scuttling noises sounded from the corners. She was terrified, eyes flitting around at every sound, not daring to move as she shivered with fear. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks.

She wasn't on the best of terms with her family, and hadn't been for a while. They often treated her badly, sometimes even kicking her out, and she'd then have to run away for the time being. The minute she'd heard about the number, she'd jumped on it, typing it into her phone right at the top, for the slightest piece of hope. She didn't feel safe, and the possibility of being able to contact the hero if she ever needed help gave her the tiniest sliver of comfort, even if that was all. And right now, the worst had happened. She'd become hopelessly lost and alone in a big city at night.

Taking in another uneven breath, she did the only thing she knew how, and called the number. Bringing the phone to her ear, she tried desperately to control her breathing as she heard it start to ring. It rang once, then twice, and continued to ring. The tiny sound echoed from her small speakers. Just as a new wave of fresh tears poured from her eyes in wet droplets down her cheeks, someone answered.

"Hello, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here," a chipper voice echoed through her phone, accompanied by a background whooshing sound like a lot of air rushing past. Ruby froze as still as stone, in pure shock as she tried to process the fact that Spider-Man had actually answered and that she actually had Spider-Man on the phone. In the wake of this, she completely forgot to say anything as her vocal chords seized up, and her hands shook uncontrollably.

"Hello?" Spidey asked, as the whooshing sound stopped and he seemed to cease moving. His voice didn't hold annoyance though, as it sounded surprisingly concerned.

"S—Spidey?" her tiny voice managed to stutter, the shake in it obvious.

"Hello? Who is this? Are you alright?" The words came tumbling out of Spidey in a rush, with a taint of slight desperation.

Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but instead only managed a small noise of fear as she stared around her surroundings, jumping at another noise.

She was alone with her thoughts for a second, until Spidey suddenly spoke again.

"Where are you?" he demanded, in a startlingly determined voice. This seemed to break her out of her trance as she quickly recalled the last street name she remembered.

"Ugh, M—Madison Street, I think. In—in an alley," she choked out.

"Don't move," Spidey said, and hung up.

Ruby burst into tears, the stress of everything becoming too much, as she began to weep and weep, phone dropping limply into her lap.

She continued this way for quite a while, panic attacks shivering through her form, before there was a thwiping sound, and a slight pitter patter from the wall above her.

"Hey," a soft, kind voice suddenly said from not far over her head, and she jumped with a gasp, only to come face to face with the friendly bug eyes of Spider-Man glowing faintly above her head, where he was sticking to the wall.

It was really him. The real hero, the one she'd seen so often on television, on the front page of newspapers, on the bright screens of other people's phones.

She felt overwhelmed with sudden embarrassment; Spider-Man was a superhero. He dealt with super-villains, and saved the city—he wasn't there to fix the mess that was her life. She buried her face in her arms, tears wetting the sleeve of her sweater.

Ruby heard the faint sound of rustling fabric, and then a hand was brushing against the tip of her sneakers. She peeked up, and was met with the huge, goggled eyes of Spider-Man's mask, crouched bare inches away from her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice softer than she might expect.

She peeked up at him under wet lashes, and shyly shook her head, no.

He brushed a hand against her knees, before withdrawing, staring at the bloom of red smeared on her jeans. "You're bleeding…"

She shrugged. "Just scraped my knees, when I—" she bit her lip, "When I left somewhere in a hurry."

He fell back on his haunches. The goggles of his mask were huge and shining; when the hero had first emerged, many had found the angled, bug-like eyes to be menacing. Now, up close, that thought seems ridiculous. They're big, innocent. Curious. How could anyone be afraid of him?

"What happened?" Spidey asked gently.

There was something about the hero. Maybe it was the eyes; maybe it was the thin, harmless line of his body—lithe, the man crouched small—nothing like the frightening, looming figure of her stepfather. Maybe it was how familiar Spider-Man was. He was everywhere, in this city. She felt as though she knew him already.

Whatever it was, it compelled her to tell him. He listened attentively as she spoke about the deteriorating state of her family; the constant threat of violence or sudden homelessness; how frightened she always was.

Her voice wavered as she talked, choked up with renewed bursts of tears. Halfway through, Spider-Man shifted, sitting cross-legged before her. One of his gloved hands rested lightly on her ankle, rubbing supportive, gentle circles into her skin.

"I'm sorry you have had to go through that," he murmured. She could only nod shakily, exhausted, all her energy cried out. He inched closer. "May I…?"

She nodded again, and didn't shy away as he sat against the wall by her side, and gently placed an arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against the curve of his neck, her eyes blinking closed. He was unnaturally warm.

Ruby fell asleep like that—the night air cold around her, the city's hero a warm pillow against her wet face—without meaning to. She could vaguely remember being lifted and jostled as they moved.

When she woke, she was in a warm bed. There were people chattering around her, and a radio playing a soft acoustic song in a corner. The sky outside was beginning to lighten.

"Good morning." Ruby jolted awake. There was a teenage girl sitting on the adjacent bed. She was red headed and freckled, her eyes kind. "I'm MJ," the girl said. "I work here. I'm glad to see you're alright."

Ruby looked around, taking in the huge room and rows of beds around her. "Here…?"

"It's a Youth Shelter," MJ explained. "Spider-Man brought you here, do you remember? He said to take good care of you."

The comforter pulled over her was warm and soft. Ruby gripped it tightly, recalling wide goggles and safe gloved hands and warmth pressed platonically against her. "I remember," she said thickly.

MJ pulled a stack of pamphlets and newsletters out of her jean pockets, and spread them out on Ruby's bed.

"This is for you," MJ said. Ruby glanced over the papers, and couldn't contain a small gasp.

There were pamphlets on how to report domestic abuse and get out of toxic families. It wasn't anything new to Ruby, the same useless things she'd been handed to by well-meaning adults and guidance counselors. However, it was the others, the newsletters detailing opportunities in overseas study, in university scholarships, job offers, and safe places—youth groups run by actual teenagers, other youth shelters, and another dozen or so spread out around her.

Tears welled in Ruby's eyes once again. She'd always felt powerless and entrapped in her household, but this, with all these opportunities and safe spaces offered up to her, she felt strong. She felt like she had the power in this situation. A choice. A chance to get out.

"This is yours, too," MJ said, and handed over a letter.

It was short and handwritten, the paper a little torn, but clearly decipherable.

You shouldn't feel threatened in your own home, it read. It may not feel like it, but there are still opportunities. Your future is bright, and I'm always a phone call away.

At the bottom was the same number Ruby had dialled last night with numb fingers. Beside it, was a wobbly sketch of the Spider-Man mask, which almost seemed as though it was smiling at her.

"Spider-Man asked me to personally look out for you," MJ said, smiling gently. "So you're always welcome to stay here, okay?"

Ruby laughed a little, the sound wet and breathy. Tears dripped onto the torn paper, smearing the scrawled letters. "Thank you," she said, staring at the tiny, drawn Spider-Man. "Thank you so much."

Later that morning, Peter walked down the street in his civilian attire. He'd been called in to The Daily Bugle this morning by one J. Jonah Jameson, probably something to do with a photography assignment. He didn't know why he couldn't just email him the details…he guessed the guy had always been old fashioned…

On his way to the subway, Peter couldn't help but reminisce over the unusual event which had occurred that morning. How had the girl had his number? The strange phone call had undoubtedly taken him by surprise. He'd done all he could—made sure the girl was now safe, but how had it happened? He wasn't aware of the number being used for anything outside of for the police to contact him with. Was there something happening he didn't know about? Someone using it he wasn't aware of…?

Peter stepped onto the subway, making sure his camera was safe in his backpack, and squished into a comfortable position, standing up in the centre.

He pulled out his new, special phone from his back pocket, and began scrolling. He found no unusual activity or messages though, so quickly tucked it back away again, safe for the time being from prying eyes. He knew he was paranoid—no one had even seen the phone, let alone to recognise it, but he found himself being cautious all the same. Someone he didn't know had used his Spider-Man hotline. That, in itself, was enough to put him on edge…

Stepping back off the subway at his stop, Peter made his way up the stairs, and was soon standing in front of the tall, Daily Bugle building. Although not being quite as tall or spectacular as the Oscorp Tower, it still stood strong as its own. It was both the extra cash in his pocket and the thorn in his side.

He'd managed to get a foot in with the photos he took of his alter ego, as a freelancer, the editor having taken a heavy interest in the subject matter. Unfortunately, it was also a very specific interest, as the man had soon made himself out to be a formidable enemy, constantly and relentlessly slandering Spidey's name.

The money helped pay the bills, though. Aunt May would often wonder why he worked under such a man, claiming he never paid him fairly, but Peter was just glad that he could help out with the house payments with whatever little he could get. Oh well, you win some you lose some…

Walking across the road, he quickly made his way into the building.

The Daily Bugle newsroom was abuzz with activity. People ran about, and it was obvious something had everyone riled up. Judging by the sound of JJJ's voice, he was right at the heart of it all. And the wide-eyed look of the other employees gave Peter a pretty good outlook on his mood.

He gulped, gripped his backpack strap and shoved a hand in his pocket, before strolling his way towards the editor's office, sidestepping stuff and jumping out of the way of rushing people in the process.

Running a hand through his messy hair, he gave one final gaze behind him, before knocking on the door and turning the handle—slipping inside.

"Parker! Where have you been? Don't you check your E-mail?"

Peter paused—opened his mouth to speak, but the editor in chief had already moved on with the conversation.

Dropping his head briefly, he turned—defeated annoyance showing on his face at being unable to defend himself—to see who else Jameson was talking to.

"I want all the details! I want to know when it happened, how it happened—every juicy little thing. That web head is going down, if it's the last thing I do! I want him to squirm. And most of all, I want that number!"

Number? Peter wondered to himself. The reporter quickly nodded his head in acknowledgment and tore out of the room, the papers piled awkwardly in his arms nearly flying everywhere. Jameson appeared to grin to himself like the cat that'd swallowed the canary.

Something about it made Peter uneasy, although he wasn't sure what, and the teenager soon found himself shifting on his feet.

"Ahh…what's going on, Mr. Jameson?"

"Huh? Oh, you. You seem close to the wall-crawler. I want to know everything! The web-slinger's finally slipped up, thanks to that wimp of a police force for recruiting him. Apparently they set up phone contact, and I'm gonna get it, haha! The police shoulda' arrested him when they had the chance, and put an end to his masked charade. Too bad they started working with him instead. The softies. No one has a backbone around here anymore."

"Mr. Jameson—"

"Quit it, Parker. He's a menace, no matter what you say."

Peter froze, taken aback that Jameson had been able to tell so easily that he was about to defend his alter-ego.

"Now, I want all the photos, all the secrets. I'm gonna find out what this number is, and that web-slinger will never hear the last of me."

"But…Mr. Jameson, sir, don't you think that's wrong? This is official government and police business, there's nothing illegal about it, and many of the public like that the police and Spider-Man are getting along. Isn't—isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes, it's a good thing. Of course it's a good thing. That's why we've got to stop it, before people start putting their trust in dangerous vigilantes. Now, get out, and get me photos of this allegedly rescued girl. I want a page one, Spider Savior, or Spider Kidnapper!"

Peter's eyes widened in alarm.

"There's a number someone's using to contact the hero with that's been leaked from the police. I want to find out who it is, and make people aware that their children are not safe with this number drifting around. Their kids could be calling up a hard earned criminal. Now, what are you waiting for? Get out of here! I'm gonna break this story before anyone else can, if it's the last thing I do."

Peter didn't even bother to wipe the horrified stare off his face as he turned on his heel and left the room. He didn't even acknowledge his boss; his mind was too frantic, spinning elsewhere.

Peter took a lick of the plain ice cream he'd managed to pick up with a bit of loose change, and pulled his booted feet up under him, cross-legged…He was hanging from a web, upside down from the side of a water tower. He tried to scratch the sole of his boot awkwardly when he got an itch, before letting himself relax again.

He was just up here thinking.

He didn't know why he liked being upside down; all he knew was that he seemed to be able to think better in this position. So…this position it was.

Taking another lick of his ice cream, he sighed. Although from the outside he looked calm, on the inside, it was a very different story.

He was thinking about his hotline. His visit with Jameson had set him on edge, the editor's words floating around his head. Had he made the right decisions…?

He could feel the phone from where it was tucked away at the waist of his suit. The earpieces were left hidden under the ears of his mask. Their presence seemed to weigh heavily on his soul. What if all this went wrong? What if Jameson found the number and used it for not-so-good reasons? What if somehow his identity got out, despite the fact that it was very unlikely? He'd fool- proofed the system. No one was getting any private details out of it. But still, what if? What happens if this backfires? What if it leaked…?

On the positive side of things, his publicity would improve if the number went public. Being Spider-Man would become a lot easier, and he wouldn't have to worry about being hunted again, and the constant hatred thrown his way would most likely lessen. He'd be a proper hero. He'd know when more people were in danger. He wouldn't have to snoop around as much, or rely solely on his spider-sense to find trouble. But on the other hand, it could totally change what it meant to be Spider-Man…

Peter closed his eyes behind the mask.

And what of the police? His relationship could be so much easier with them if things continued. He'd know if they needed him or not at a scene. It would give them more space to do their job, while he would continue to have more for himself. He wouldn't be labeled a "menace" if he became a more accessible, public hero. In a way, he'd technically be in line with the government for once in his life, since it was their idea for the program in the first place, trying to put an end to the problems between the police and himself.

He admitted most of it didn't sound too bad. But is it what he really wanted?

The police hadn't attacked him in a while, and if he was to be honest with himself, he felt he was even beginning to make a few friends within the force, which previously he'd thought was impossible.

He'd have to see which way the tide turned. But somewhere deep in the back of his mind, there was still that small doubt that he'd made the wrong decision in being trusting towards the police, and that it all might just backfire on him if he wasn't careful.

For now, he'd just have to go with the flow.

Peter reached out his tongue to take another lick of ice cream, only for the whole thing to just go splat on the roof, having melted in the morning sun.

"Awww, really?" Peter complained sarcastically, shoulders drooping. "Why now? I was just enjoying that." Darn Parker luck.

A pigeon fluttered down from the skies, followed by another, and another, and soon a small flock of them were investigating the sad remains of his mid-morning snack.

Peter pouted. "Fine, enjoy it, why don't you." He gave one last look at his lone cone, before shoving it in his mouth, gobbling it down. He'd just have to get something else later… for it was right at that moment that his Aunt May rang, calling him home.

Still, in the back of his mind, he just couldn't stop this nagging feeling that everything was about to change…

While Spidey was grumbling about spoiled ice cream, swinging his way through the streets, a certain particular figure made his way into the police station, days later than originally expected.

Jack Stevenson had had one hell of a week. His nose was still red and stuffy, and he felt like he'd been hit by a truck, or something equally as dreadful.

Wiping his nose with a tissue, he grumbled as he made his way slowly forward through the police precinct. He probably should still be at home, but if he had to rest one more day in that quiet apartment, he'd swear he'd go insane. So here he was, as determined as ever, making his way into work.

As he trod his way closer to his desk, he noticed he began to get some odd attention. People were whispering, while others struggled to contain giggles or angry glares as he walked past.

On an average day, Jack admitted this was a little unusual, even for him, what with being the rookie and all. But for the entire station to stop around his return, that was a bit out of the ordinary.

Brushing it aside, Jack sniffed, before moving over to his corner of the bullpen. He saw Marissa first, sitting perched at her desk, trying very hard to keep a straight face. He frowned, before turning to his desk. He stopped.

He gazed back at Marissa, as if to confirm his thoughts, and she cleared her throat, in an obvious attempt not to laugh, but the look in her eyes betrayed her hard exterior. And Jack had gotten to know Marissa well.

Taking in a deep breath, he moved around, and sat at the desk.

His co-workers all seemed to hold their breaths in different states of mind, peeking inconspicuously over their desks for his reaction. But their actions didn't go unnoticed by Jack. He didn't have time to acknowledge them though, as his eyebrows were too busy hiding somewhere up in his hairline at the sight before him.

His desk was absolutely, thoroughly, covered in sticky-notes.

Blankly, he stared at the note stuck in the centre of his monitor, the words blurring as he gazed at them unblinking. His mouth opened and closed, but he had nothing to say. His face said it all.

Shaking himself out of his shock, he began to take in the many messily scrawled messages littering every square inch of his desk.

It took a total of about two minutes, before Jack was hopelessly, helplessly giggling. He tried to stop it at first, sucking in the heaving bubbles of laughter, but before long, he was leaning over on his desk clutching his stomach.

There was nothing for him to say, and maybe he was still a little sick from the flu, but there was no way Jack could see the event in a humorless light.

Slightly giddy from illness, Jack's laughter continued to fill the room. His co-workers had no idea what to think, some even looking a little uncomfortable. Marissa was typing away on her computer, a large grin spread across her face. But she remained silent. Apparently his reaction satisfied her well.

After several long minutes, Jack finally managed to get himself under control, the giggles dying down as he stared at the note that had been stuck to his Captain America bobble head. He shook his head. He guessed he'd greatly underestimated Spidey. The guy really was a jokester. They weren't kidding. And now he'd reaped the consequences, as his desk had well and truly been invaded by the vigilante. His young friend had got him good.

Jack tried to imagine how exactly this event had played out in the police station. He couldn't see how his fellow policemen had sat and watched this unfold without intervening. He was surprised there'd been no issues towards the vigilante. But maybe he'd also underestimated some of his colleagues.

One thing he knew for sure, his new friend was gonna be a handful. What had he gotten himself into in rescuing this nit? Jack giggled again into his hand. At least things were going to get very interesting around here.

Moving other scribbled nonsense away, Jack uncovered the small stack of evidence Spider-Man had left. He sighed, but smiled to himself that the spider had trusted him enough to leave this on his desk. He wondered if he'd been aware that he'd somewhat been branded the kid's unofficial handler by some of his more friendly co-workers. People recognized the trust shown between the two of them from that dreadful day at the bank robbery. The thing had been blasted across every news station, and he'd heard Marissa was doing pretty well with the hero, too. He was glad Spidey was feeling better. He must admit he'd been internally quite worried about the kid since their first encounter. He'd never seen such fear before. The poor thing had been terrified. If anything, that's what surged a protective feeling towards the vigilante in him. He'd be darned if anyone scared him again. Whatever had happened, it had certainly left its mark.

Going through the papers, he mentally took notes of what he was seeing, and noted who he had to give them too.

Putting them safely aside to hand to the correct people later, Jack pulled out a clear, plastic zip bag, and got to work.

Fondly, he went through every note, putting each one safely in the packet. The kid had gone all out, and half the stuff hardly even made sense, as Jack just shook his head in amusement at them.

He quickly threw the random coke cans in the trash when he uncovered their notes, slightly alarmed with embarrassment. He knew he should have cleaned his desk before he got sick.

The sound of the slight sticky rip became familiar as he peeled off each note, placing them in the bag. He couldn't help but snort at a particular few of the notes, like—

Spider-Man rocks!

Would you get mad if I played with your police siren? Those things are seriously underrated.

Do you like pickles?

…And a bunch of equally ridiculous nonsense. It sounded like the hero had just scribbled out whatever random nonsense that had popped into his head. Jack seriously wondered if that's exactly what had happened, and whether the vigilante had used his desk as a comfort of sorts whilst in the police station.

Jack was interrupted from deep in his thoughts when another officer timidly walked up to his desk.

"Jack?"

Jack looked up. The man was standing in front of his desk as if he felt out of place, glancing at the notes Jack was putting away.

"You might want to see this," he said, as he motioned across the room. Jack stared in horror at the news headline splayed out before him. Across the way, Marissa snapped her head up from where she was working, attention caught by the disturbance.

Jack gazed back up at the officer, before turning to Marissa, eyes wide and face white. He gulped, and Marissa rose out of her chair.

It was playing on the small TV sat on the wall. The thing blasted across the screen while a newsreader spoke eagerly into the camera. Moving over to the set, Jack turned up the volume. Half the police station seemed to pause to stare as the words flowed out of the newsreader's mouth, everyone slowly pausing what they were doing.

A feeling of horrified panic flooded Jack's form as he watched the story unfold, before he was grabbing his coat, and fetching his keys.

"I'm going out," he announced, mainly to Marissa, before the room was left looking at his retreating back.

...are you ready?

Mwahahaha, cliff-hanger :P Things are about to get interesting. Hope to see you again next chapter :) And don't forget to leave your thoughts in a review, they are very encouraging :)