I LOVE DAREDEVIL. That is all.

Hope you enjoy! :D

Chapter Twenty-One

Nec Spe, Nec Metu

"Eddie?" I asked, my throat going dry. There was something very not right with this. The way he loomed, the way he smiled, the way he was talking to me, right out in the open. My skin crawled at the realization we had been eavesdropped. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't say hi to an old friend?" Eddie asked with a tilt of his head, sounding hurt. But it was only a ruse. I could hear the mocking in his voice.

"Amy, what's going on?" Dorian asked, casting me a worried frown. He looked about as nervous as I felt. Eddie was giving off serious creep vibes and I was afraid he might attack us.

"Yeah, Amy, what is going on?" Eddie asked, not taking his eyes off of me. It was intimidating, almost predator-like, but I refused to let my fear show. Not for Eddie, not for Dorian. "Have you already moved on?"

"You know him?" For some reason, Dorian sounded accusing, and I was liking this situation even less and less. "Who is this guy?"

"Oh, she didn't tell you about me?" Eddie asked, his head flicking in Dorian's direction. The boy stepped back, but he seemed transfixed by the piercing blue glare. "Well, that's just like you, isn't it, Amy? Always keeping secrets. Always hurting others. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"What the hell do you want?" I demanded, my hands clenching. Every nerve was on end as I rocked on the balls of my feet. If Eddie wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

But Eddie didn't look too interested, actually. He said, "Well, I'll take that as a no, then. Not that I'm surprised. You could never tell me the truth when we were together. You even ruined my life when I broke it off."

"What?!" I blurted, so amazed and enraged by this utter bullshit that I had absolutely no other response to this.

Dorian looked equally as shocked, but didn't say anything, which Eddie used as an opportunity to elaborate: "She sabotaged my job, got my fired and ruined my scholarship. I had to drop out of NYU because of her. And I didn't even get an apology. You should run while you still have the chance."

"No, Dorian, wait —!" I started, turning to Dorian, but he was already backing away, shaking his head and looking at me like I was some sort of freak.

"No," he just shook his head, stumbling when his heel caught against a fallen piece of trash. "No, no way. I'm out of here."

Dorian turned and ran.

"No, please, he's lying!" I cried, but it was no use. Dorian had already disappeared around the corner. I stared at the spot where he vanished, waiting a few desperate seconds, hoping that maybe he'd realize that Eddie was crazy, or at least hear out my side of the story — but it never happened.

Two seconds ago, Dorian and I were laughing together. Things were just getting good; I was comfortable and happy around him; I thought I had something worth fighting for in my life. Now Dorian never wanted to see me again. All thanks to Eddie, who got exactly what he wanted.

Well, he was going to get more than he bargained for.

You want revenge? I'll show you revenge.

"How dare you." I said, my voice low, barely above a whisper.

"What was that?" I heard Eddie ask, teasing. "You're gonna have to speak up, sweetheart."

Eyes burning, fists shaking, I whipped back around to face the smirking Eddie. My vision shimmered as the blood started to pound in my ears. "How dare you! Is this what you wanted? Do you feel vindicated now that you've scared some boy away from me? Does that make you feel strong, better than me?"

Eddie didn't seem bothered that I had raised my voice to a shout, even though it was starting to attract the looks of passerby. This smirk seemed to be permanently glued to his face. "Like I said, you ruined my life, Amy. You destroyed everything I cared about, everything I worked for. I'm your worst nightmare."

"What, you think I'm afraid of you?" I spat, sneering at his gravitas. The corners of my vision was starting to turn red, but I didn't care. "I didn't destroy anything, you're the one who threw it all away. Instead of finding help, a solution, you decided to blame it on somebody else. It's never your fault, is it, Eddie? Because you know what? You're just a bully, selfish and lazy. And you always will be."

Now the smirk was gone, erased by the bruised ego, the insult of being demoted down to 'bully' rather than the arch-nemesis he prided himself to be. "Really? Can a bully do this?"

He held out his arms as the black of his jacket suddenly exploded, solid turning to liquid and wrapping its slick black goo all over him, until once more Venom stood before me. He grinned his awful pointed grin, forked tongue flicking out like a snake.

All around me, people screamed in terror, clearly recognizing this monster from his last appearance. There was nearly a stampede as people tried to escape the scene, and when a few onlookers tried to stay and see what happened, Venom ripped a chunk out of the tarmac and threw it at them, laughing as they cried out and scattered.

The street emptied in less than a minute. Venom seemed pleased with this development as he looked around, saying, "Finally. Some alone time with my favorite girl."

I'd say I was surprised, but at this point I was ready for pretty much anything. My voice was entirely calm when I said, "Bullies don't scare me anymore, Eddie. They just make me angry."

And all around me the world was starting to shake. I released my fists, splaying out my fingers and arms, and suddenly all around me was an explosion of sound and energy. Trash cans went flying. Signs ripped themselves from the ground. The streetlamps swayed dangerously in their posts as debris whipped through the air, a deadly orbit of destruction.

And Eddie was caught right in the middle of it. The fierce wind scraped at his black suit, tearing at it, and he brought up his arms to protect his face. The symbiote shrieked as this strange storm tried tearing it off its host.

But I couldn't see any of this. My vision had turned entirely red. I was no longer in control.

Perhaps it was spontaneous. Perhaps it had been building up for weeks. Maybe the break-up, the sudden emotions triggered it. I didn't know, because I couldn't feel it, until I suddenly let it all out. My chest felt hollow while the world around me became denser and denser with decompressed power.

And then it stopped, all at once. Things dropped from the sky, and everything went quiet. My vision cleared and I was staring at a normal Eddie, down on his knees, staring at me with a look that could only be described as awe and hate mixed into one.

I was breathing hard. My knees threatened to buckle underneath me. I had no energy left. I could feel my powers abandoning me once more. But that didn't stop me from saying: "Take this as a warning. I might not be able to stop next time."

Eddie didn't say anything. He just scowled, slipping back into the symbiote as he got up. He took one last look at me before swinging away.

OoOoO

Peter was all over the news that next morning.

There were paparazzi at our door, reporters ringing the phone off the hook, news vans already parked outside Aunt May's house at 5 AM. I could barely get out the front door without being assaulted with microphones and a thousand questions about Spider-Man's identity.

I only told them one thing. "He's not Spider-Man."

Of course, Peter could barely get a word in edgewise. Everyone believed it, somehow trusting the words of the gigantic, hissing Venom that smashed his way into the Bugle offices to reveal to the world that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. It was probably because J. Jonah Jameson just took that information and ran with it, not even bothering to fact check before issuing the paper.

And everyone wanted the answer, ever since Spider-Man first hit the streets. Who really is Spider-Man? Who is behind that mask?

Peter had to take the bus with me, since he obviously couldn't just swing to school when the whole world was watching his house. Aunt May had a hard enough time beating them away with her broom.

"I'm sorry," Peter said to me while on the bus, after we ducked a mob of reporters and avoided everyone else's questions. I could feel people staring at us, but a glare or two kept them at bay. "This is all my fault."

"No, it's Eddie's fault," I corrected, glancing over my shoulder and eyeing the boy who was taking pictures of us with his phone. He paled at my look and quickly hid it in his sleeve. "He's trying to ruin our lives."

"Well, he's doing a fantastic job."

"They can't prove anything," I turned back to him, lowered my voice and bowing my head so no one could overhear. "You're just Peter Parker, teenaged freelance photographer and occasional science genius. The Bugle -and in that case, the police - can't do anything until they have physical proof. Which they won't get, obviously."

"Right," Peter nodded his head, looking a little more relaxed at the thought, but not by much. He fixed me with a curious look. "I just don't get why didn't Eddie out you, too? Ruining your dating life is peanuts in comparison — uh, no offense. Why wouldn't he go for the double whammy?"

"I've been asking myself the same question," I muttered.

I didn't know why Eddie didn't tell them about me. Why he would try to expose Spider-Man but not the Falcon. Maybe it was because of the media. The Bugle and other news outlets had been speculating the Falcon had been dead for weeks now; apparently that was the only reason that I could have been taken off the streets; or, according to the conspiracy theorists, I had been kidnapped by the government to be experimented on.

I knew there were certainly a number of people out there glad that they didn't have to worry about me anymore, or so they thought. But Eddie couldn't be doing this for their benefit.

Maybe Eddie had a different plan for me. Maybe he knew that telling them about me might not be as satisfactory as Peter — I had destroyed my suit, after all. My helmet and gloves were well hidden. They would have a very hard time finding evidence.

But I had a bad feeling that maybe I wasn't as important to him as I was to Peter. Eddie wants to hurt Peter, like he tried to hurt me, but he wanted to hurt Peter more. Not in the usual way, of physical pain, of direct attack; but rather through more nefarious means.
School was a nightmare, at least more than it usually was. Each class was tense, as teachers pretended they haven't been watching the news recently and kids tried to focus on their work - but they couldn't help but stare at Peter and me, asking incessant questions. Always the same. And they always got the same answer.

"Are you really Spider-Man?"

"No."

"Can I be your sidekick?"

"I don't think Spider-Man wants a sidekick. Especially not you."

"Is Peter really Spider-Man? Can you get his autograph for me?"

"No. Ask him yourself, see how well that goes."

"What is your suit made out of? I got ten on spandex, but Jim thinks its organic structure you secrete from the pores in your skin."

"What the heck are you talking about? I'm not Spider-Man, I have no idea."

"So, are you like Spider-Man's personal body guard? Have you ever had to beat someone up?"

"No, but I'm willing to make an exception, if you don't shut up right now."

"So if you're Spider-Man, you must've killed someone before, right?"

"What? No! For the last time, I'm not Spider-Man!"

It was exhausting, and it was even worse when people I thought were completely rational were believing the rumors, too. In fact, the only people who didn't buy into the whole thing was Flash Thompson and Sally Avril, on the basis that Peter Parker was a nerd, and Spider-Man was way too cool to be one of those.

(Not lying. And this is completely disregarding the fact that everyone I trusted is correct, and the rumors are true, but that's not the point. It's one thing to believe Peter is Spider-Man because you've seen it yourself, or have proof; and a completely different thing when you're just going off word alone of a homicidal maniac with a grudge against Spider-Man. Certainly not a bias to take at face value, no matter how much truth he claims to know.)

I really thought things couldn't get any worse until Gwen stopped me in the hall after lunch, a small corner where we wouldn't be seen. "Amy, I have to talk to you."

Oh, god. "It's about Peter, isn't it?"

She bit her lip, glancing away in guilt. "It's just...what everyone is saying. Is it true? Was Peter Spider-Man this whole time?"

"Seriously? Okay, talking hypothetically here, and I'm not saying he is, but if Peter really is Spider-Man, why would he tell me that? It's not a secret identity if someone else knows."

"Well, he trusts you, doesn't he?"

"Gwen, this isn't funny. Peter's not Spider-Man. You know that."

"But, I mean...it almost makes sense, doesn't it? Peter's always late to things, he got really athletic out of nowhere, he gets these weird bruises like he's been in fights...he even showed up to Halloween as Spider-Man! You never thought that was suspicious?"

"I thought it was weird, yeah. But some people change. And Peter's still Peter, you know? He didn't just magically transform into a jock or anything. And you know the neighborhood is rough. People get mugged all the time."

"Less because of Spider-Man." Gwen pointed out, hugging her books to her chest. "But Peter has changed. He's not the same person I knew last year."

"True, but still. I mean, come on. Is Harry the same person you knew last year? Or me?"

I realized how unbelievably stupid it was of me to bring myself up in this conversation; I didn't want Gwen to put two-and-two together and think that I, too, might be a superhero, since she was the only one going at this rationally; putting personal experiences and evidence together to come to a semi-logical conclusion like an actual detective would. Gwen was the only person I was legitimately afraid of actually figuring this out, if she hadn't already.

Well, her and her dad, Captain Stacy. And Harry. And Aunt May. And J. Jonah Jameson. And maybe Flash. But just them.

"No," Gwen finally admitted with a defeated sigh, her shoulders sagging. She just ran a hand over her hair, looking tired. "Sorry, Amy, I don't mean to sound accusing. I'm not angry or - or anything. I just...things are so weird right now. Between me and Peter, and me and Harry. We're going out now, you know."

"Oh, I know," I said, nodding my head and rolling my eyes, but secretly glad for the change in subject. "Trust me, it couldn't be more obvious."

"And I'm sorry about Dorian. I knew you really liked him. It sucks this had to happen and break you up."

"Yeah, well," I shrugged, glaring at the floor. I had told the lie to everyone else that Dorian broke up with me because of Peter's big reveal, rather than the truth, which would probably been a little harder to swallow. "If he falls so easily over rumors and hearsay, then I doubt it would've worked out in the long run."

I still wasn't over it, by the way. Not that I particularly blamed Dorian, since Eddie had a way of saying things that made you believe whatever he said, but I started to wonder if maybe he had a point. Did I really ruin everything I touched? I certainly didn't mean to — or maybe that was half the problem. Did it just mean I was selfish? Did I not care as much as I should?

Or maybe I just didn't deserve that kind of relationship at all. Maybe I was better off this way, alone.

I didn't know. It bugged me, and it bugged me that Eddie had managed to wedge another uncertainty into my life. I just couldn't win, could I?

"...and Eddie's got his job back at ESU," Gwen was still talking, and it was just then that I finally dropped back down into the present. "It's so nice to have everyone working there again and —"

"Whoa, what?" I shook my head, startled by the information. "Eddie's working? At Dr. Connor's lab?"

"Yeah, didn't Peter tell you?"

No, he didn't, although least to say we'd both been pretty preoccupied with what had happened recently. Still, it was Eddie, and he was kind of top priority right now. I wondered what he was doing back there. The Connors offering his job back was one thing, but I didn't expect him to take it; Eddie was kind of vindictive that way. I was sure he was up to something.

(I mean, when wasn't he?)

I played it off for Gwen's benefit. "Maybe it slipped his mind. He's been hounded by reporters left and right whenever he's not in school, so I imagine he's pretty busy."

"Oh, yeah, they caught us outside of the lab," Gwen chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as her eyes went dreamy at the thought. "Peter managed to get us away, and we hid in the rock sculpture garden. You know, Peter can be a real hero when he wants to be..."

"Yeah, he's a real charmer that way," I said curtly, not appreciating her tone of voice, the sickly sweetness. Well, Gwen definitely wasn't over Peter, that's for sure. I really didn't like talking about my cousin like this. It felt weird and gross. "Look, I gotta head to class. Catch you later, okay?"

"Oh, right, sure," Gwen jolted, returning from her daze and offering me an apologetic smile. "Hopefully this whole craze ends soon, right?"

"...Right."

OoOoO

I was stupid enough to believe that was the worst Eddie had to offer.

Once again, I had caught myself staying too late at the library; I had been studying for a test, and found that the best place to work was at my old stomping grounds, where it was quiet and no one with microphones or cameras could find me. That that anyone would. No one seemed to notice me when Peter or someone else more important was involved.

I forgot that it got dark early. It wasn't even five o' clock and already the street lights were on and the sky a dark purple shade, a yellow sheen of light pollution hanging above the skyscrapers. Knowing I was going to be in trouble for missing curfew, I tried the metro only to find my card was expired and the ticket maker was out of order. Perfect, just perfect. The next station was over ten blocks away — the time it'd take to walk there would be the same amount of time it'd take to get me from here to Aunt May's.

Then I tried to hail a taxi, only to see that everyone taller and louder than me got them. Frustrated, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and started making my way south, hoping to find a bus stop that would take me to Queens. Hopefully I could catch one before it was too late, and there would be no news vans waiting for me at home.

Only, as I found myself walking in Hell's Kitchen, I was very much alone. At least, publicly — about ten minutes in I became aware that I was being followed.

Considering there were so few people on the sidewalks right now, it was easy to recognize him. I first saw him smoking outside the library, then again when I came up the stairs from the underground station. I hadn't noticed him at first because I figured he was waiting for someone, but now I had no doubts that someone was me.

I didn't recognize him in the least. He certainly had a thuggish look about him, five days unshaven, a leather jacket, and a black eye. I was downwind, and I could smell the beer wafting off of him. Was he drunk? What did he want with me?

I picked up my pace a little — the guy was over fifty feet behind me, and if he tried to keep up, I'd hear it.

And I did. Actually, I heard another set of footsteps join his, and when I glanced behind me a second time, I was startled to discover two more guys had joined the first one. And this time I could see strange bulges in their jackets.

I turned back around, hunching my shoulders and ducking my head against the chilly wind. The lampposts came in short intervals, and those pauses of darkness felt terrible long. I dodged from one to the other, feeling protected under the buzzing yellow light — until I had to leave it again, or else let those men get closer.

And they were getting closer. My feet were numb in their sneakers and I had forgotten to bring my hat. I made do with my hood, but it didn't do as much as I hoped it would.

Cars would pass by, and sometimes I felt like reaching out, wanting them to see that I needed help. Maybe a Good Samaritan would see that I was being stalked by some very large, very brutish older dudes and get me the hell out of here. I certainly didn't want to fight them, not out in the open like this.

Were they here about Peter? Did they think they could hurt Spider-Man because they thought I was related to him? Because I was.

I wondered how I could defend myself without completely blowing my cover. One man, I could deal with easily. But three or more? That was pushing it. Especially considering I was wearing my sling right now. If I had any witnesses, or if they blabbed to the police (and they probably would), I was screwed.

The buildings loomed dark and silent over me, like stoic onlookers waiting for the worst to happen. Darkened windows and barred glass only added to the feeling of how unwelcome I was here, in my own neighborhood.

It was just my luck that it started to rain. February, and somehow New York was getting freezing ice and sleet pouring on its streets. I was soaked almost instantly, my puffy jacket no match against the wet, heavy, suffocating chill that was this awful rain. Even the front of my hair was getting wet, dripping into my face and partially obscuring my vision.

My fingers were numb and the toes of my shoes kept catching on every edge and crack. My nose stung with bitter bold, and my ears had to be bright red now. Where was that stupid bus stop? Did I miss it on accident?

The three men were getting closer, less than thirty feet now. Did they even care that they were being obvious now? Did anyone else notice?

When that distance narrowed to twenty feet, I decided to act. There was no way I was getting jumped by them; there was no way I was letting them have the advantage.

Thirty seconds after my last shoulder check, I clenched my fists and broke into a run. My heart skipped into action as I nearly slipped on the now-slippery concrete before I caught traction and tore down the street.

There was a startled yell behind me before the other three men gave chase. I took pride in the fact that I was faster and lighter than them, but I wasn't sure how long I could last like this. My stomach grumbled for food, and my agility would be limited by my sling.

Of course, such thoughts of jumping fences or leaping over cars were dashed when two more men appeared at the end of the block — one with a crowbar, the other a bat — as though they had been waiting for me. Maybe they had. They thought they could trap me.

I gasped, swerving instantly to my right onto the nearest street.

Only, I discovered to my dismay, it wasn't a street; it was an alley. And not just any alley, but a dead end.

No fire escape. No way out.

I skidded to a stop, my heels kicking up gravel as my arms wind-milled, trying to keep my balance. My heart stopped, leaping into my throat. "No, no, no!"

Whirling around, I faced the five now crowding the entrance to the alleyway — every one of them wielding one weapon or another. For a brief moment, I was glad, because none of them had guns. But it was a small mercy at best.

I could've fought. I could've thrown them across the street. But I didn't, because I was Amy, and Amy isn't strong, she doesn't fight crime. Any aggressive act I made would be misinterpreted and used as evidence against Amy, as solid proof that I was Falcon.

In a moment of clarity, I understood what it might be like to be a celebrity a politician. To have my every move analyzed, criticized, and twisted into a weapon against me. Like nothing I could do, nothing I could say would be right. Especially not now. No one here wanted to learn my half of the story (lies not with standing).

"You know, when I heard that you were still alive, I couldn't believe it," the lead man chuckled, leaving me absolutely confused. Me, alive? Doi. "That Fletcher woman, snatched right out her home, and the girl, thrown out a window. Gotta admit, little disappointed the fall didn't kill you. Because this is gonna hurt a lot more, and it won't be quick."

"I-I have no idea what you're t-talking about," I said, my teeth chattering in the cold. I hugged my arms, trying to rub some warmth back into them. If I had to fight, I might as well be on my best terms.

Still, the fear in my chest was stronger than anything I had ever felt in my life. Who told him this? Did they actually think I was dead before? I mean, maybe that explained why the Rose never came after me, but still...I just thought I had gotten off lucky.

Maybe I was wrong.

"The Rose don't like survivors," a second man growled, smacking the end of his baseball bat in his hand. I couldn't decide if it if it was a good thing or not that it was wood instead of metal. Either way, it would hurt. "Better it ends this way before the top man finds out. He'd be pretty upset to learn that the job weren't done right the first time around. It'd just be worse for you, sweetheart."

"Whoa, what?" I said, shaking my head and holding out my hands in surrender. They were getting a lot closer now, and I had to keep stepping back to keep my distance. Still, it wasn't enough. "Please, I'm not who you think I am! I'm just lost! I don't even live here!"

"Nu-uh," one of them shook their head. "That guy, he showed us a picture of youse. And guess what, it's an exact match! Wanna see?"
He pulled something out of his pocket, flicked it to me. I managed to catch it while still backing away; the image was blurry and not easily seen in the dark, but I could make out the features well enough. It was me, a candid shot, in the library I was just in. It couldn't have been taken more than an hour ago.

Someone had been watching me. But who? I hadn't even noticed anyone.

And yet, the answer was already there, waiting.

Eddie Brock.

My fists, shaking with cold and fear and helpless rage, clenched around the photo, crumpling it as my eyes slid up, back to the Rose thugs.

Unbelievable. Eddie sold me out! I didn't even know I had been safe, but I couldn't even have that; now he wanted me dead.

Huh. Well, guess that explained why he didn't tell the Bugle about me. He wanted me to die, a Nobody, just another statistic for the cops to count at the end of the year.

That was cold. Real cold. And brilliant; I couldn't figure out a way how it would be exposed if his plan went the way it should. Me and my mom would just vanish off the face of the Earth, completely wiped out, and there wouldn't be enough people left to wonder where we went, or who took us.

Still, that didn't mean I was just going to lie down and die. "You gotta believe me, this is just a big mistake!"

The guy with the baseball bat, who I nicknamed the Jock because of the bat he had, just laughed. He swung the stick, like he was pantomiming a major league hit, or maybe bashing my head in. "Oh yeah? Because photos don't lie, sweetheart. You tellin' me you have an evil twin you don't know about?"

I stumbled back when the Jock tried to take a swing at me. My foot caught on a bottle or something rolled, my whole body slipping out from underneath me.

I cried out, falling back on my hands. The bitter rain and freezing pavement bit into my skin, a jolt like electricity shooting up my arms and down my back; simultaneously, a realization hit me.

I was on the ground. I was weak. I was going to die.

Oh, no.

A single light planted over a back exit gave scant light to the area. I had fallen just inside it, and got a nice gander at the faces of the men about to attack me. All of them, ugly and scarred, and not a hint of compassion or mercy in those beady eyes, the smiles slicked with icy rain, like they couldn't even feel it.

One of them laughed at my clumsiness. The rest smirked, like Christmas just hit twice in one year. There was a rise in energy and they suddenly converge, getting close before I can get up. My breath left my throat. For the first time in my since I became Falcon, I was scared of the average man. He could hurt me, if he wanted to, and I couldn't protect myself in the way I wanted to.

The Jock sneered at me. "You know, I kind of hoped you'd put up more of a fight. Anyone who could survive a fall like that's gotta be tough, right? But I guess you're just another sniveling, whiny bitc—oof!"

A shadow dropped out of nowhere, landing directly on top of the Jock and swallowing him whole in darkness.

The other four jumped away in alarm, turning on the shadow as it stood. It separated from the unmoving form of the Jock. It took on the shape of a man, silhouetted under the heavy lamplight. The four goons exchanged looks of shock, before gaping at the newcomer. Instantly, I could tell it was a man - or looked like one - as clearly defined by his broad shoulders and tapered waist, and so much better built than any of the other men here.

There were several very startling things about this man (other than his dramatic entrance). Some might find the scarlet color of his suit rather unusual, or the fact that he wielded a baton in each hand. The water slid off him like he was covered in wax, frictionless and bizarre. It was like he wasn't even real. But it was his smallest feature that caught my attention.

Two little horns, atop a featureless skull.

"H-holy shit!" One of the men gasped, stumbling back at the demonic sight. "I-it's him! It's the Devil!"

The Mechanic scoffed. "Devil? That ain't the -"

Whap!

Fast as a viper, the man -— Devil? — Flicked his arm out. His baton struck the Mechanic across the jaw. The man's whole head snapped to the left and he crumpled, instantly dazed.

A stunned silence fell over the scene.

And then everyone as moving at once.

I watched in horror as the Devil — my savior? Holy hell, talk about irony — was suddenly charged by four very large, very scary guys, all armed with bigger weapons than him. The nearest one, with a metal pipe, was about to bring it over his head.

The Devil sidestepped, so quick he was just a blur. Inhumanly fast, it was almost as if he knew their moves before they made them. The man with the pipe fell, overcompensating when his blow missed and he let out a startled cry as he landed flat on his face.

The Devil brought up both batons, making an X that caught the incoming crowbar of the next thug.

Then in a move too fast to catch, the Devil twisted the weapon from the Mechanic's hands and spun him around, hitting him twice in the process.

The Devil looked like he was going to finish off the Mechanic, but instead whipped around in a roundhouse kick, catching the Plumber in the chest and sending him flying back into a nearby wall. I yelped, bringing up my arms and scrambling out of the way when he came within inches of landing on me.

The Plumber didn't even have the time to pick up his weapon before the Devil knocked him unconscious.

The Mechanic came back around, dazed but still on his feet. He raised his fists as if he was going Mano-e-Mano with the Devil, but he didn't stand a chance.

Without even turning his head, the Devil brought up his fist, slamming the butt of his weapon into the Mechanic's face. The man was sent reeling, clutching his face and uttering guttural cries.

The Devil turned on the Carpenter and his measly weapon. The Carpenter, last to act, yelped when he faced the voiceless opponent. He clutched his hammer in between his hands, holding it before him almost in prayer as he dropped to his knees. Blubbering, the man begged, "P-please, don't hurt me. I love my mother! I repent. I repent!"

The Devil tilted his head, looking down at the Carpenter, as if considering whether or not to finish him as well.

He didn't get the chance to decide.

The Jock had returned his feet — being of greater fortitude than his compatriots, he merely wiped some blood off his face and straightened. His baseball bat had rolled away, but that didn't seem to occur to the Jock when he sneaked up on the Devil. He raised his fists, ready to strike.

"Hey!" I shouted, ruining his element of surprise.

The Devil whirled around, caught off guard. The Jock didn't miss a beat — his fist connected with the Devil's face as he turned around.

I expected him to fall, for the Jock to get the advantage and win — but the Devil's footing didn't even shift upon impact. He took the blow without even flinching, before rolling his neck and turning his face back to the Jock; the thug looked just as stunned as I felt.

The Jock hesitated for only a split second — then he was a flurry of fists, like a boxer trying to get a hit in. But the Devil was faster, his head twisting away to avoid the first blow and his forearm coming up to block the next. He continued to deflect the next few attacks, not making a sound while the Jock was grunting and snarling, growing more frustrated as his assault proved fruitless.

It took a few good blows of the baton to the head and chest for the Jock to realize it was going to take a lot more force than a (granted, a very powerful) punch to faze this guy, the Jock threw his whole body at the Devil, who was too close to dodge.

Instead, the man ducked, taking the force of the Jock's gut on his shoulders, before lifting with his knees and flipping the Jock over his back. The Jock went flying, launched with incredible force into the air, his own momentum used against him. The man landed so hard it made me wince in sympathy.

And yet, he still wasn't down. The Jock, woozy and beat-up all over the place, spit out blood before making to get up again. "Gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of —"

Wham!

The Devil didn't even wait to hear the whole spiel before bringing both batons down on the Jock's head. The thug collapsed, his whole body going slack.

A wail pierced the air. The Devil looked up, just as the Carpenter scrambled to his feet, dropping his hammer and taking off in a terrified sprint. He slipped in a puddle before tearing out the alley and disappearing from sight.

Then the streets were silent, with nothing but the sound of rainfall to fill the space.

I was breathing hard — just watching the beat-down was anxiety-inducing. I had no idea what to expect from this man that rescued me.

If that was even his intention at all. I still had plenty of reservations, no thanks to that hellish outfit of his. Maybe he just took these guys out so he could deal with me alone.

He seemed to remember he was not alone and turned to me. I froze, still lying on the ground. Who was this guy? What did he want from me? Did he think I was Falcon? Was he a hero or a villain?

Still caught up in my own thoughts, I almost didn't notice when he started approaching me. But then he got too close, extending a hand, and I flinched away.

He frowned. His mask didn't cover the lower half of his face and his nose was bleeding from taking the Jock's hit. So not a Devil, then. A human being.

Then he spoke with a soft voice that was the exact opposite of what a Devil should sound like: "I won't hurt you. I promise."

I didn't know why, but I believed him. Perhaps it was the fact he just saved my life; or his voice, which wasn't as scary as I imagined, sounded sincere, kind actually, even apologetic. So after a moment's hesitation, I took his hand and let him help me up. "W-who are you? How did you know I needed help?

"They had been following you for three blocks. I didn't think they were here for a tea party," he replied as though it were obvious. I mean, I knew, but I hadn't expected anyone else to get involved. I still wanted to know why he did. "It isn't safe to be out on the streets at night."

"Says the guy dressed up as a demon."

There was a soft snort from his direction. "I try to match the environment."

"Well, mission accomplished," I crossed my arms, edging away from him. Not just because his appearance still unnerved me, but because I remembered I was still shy, human Amy, who would be intimidated by this guy who just took out three overgrown thugs. Not Falcon, who got sarcastic as a defense mechanism and exchanged banter. "Why did you save me?"

He tilted his head at me, as if he didn't understand the question. "This is my neighborhood. I don't tolerate their kind here," he motioned towards the fallen thugs with a dismissive flick of his baton. "They're a plague on the city, one I intend to scourge. And there will be more. Do you have a safe place to stay, away from here?"

"Uh..." I thought of Aunt May and Peter, all the way in Forest Hills. I didn't even know if I could get there now — I was definitely in trouble now, no changing that. But I didn't want to make the trek there. It was just too long, too dangerous. Too predictable.

Eddie could find me there.

The thought was terrifying and I eliminated the option immediately. There was no way I was going back to Aunt May's when Eddie was siccing Rose goons on me. With the strict intent to kill, no less! I couldn't risk her life like that. But where else could I go? The only other places I could think of were Gwen's, Harry's and my own, but Eddie knew all of those, and there was no doubt in my mind he'd hurt my friends, too, if it meant he got what he wanted.

I had no one left to turn to.

Except...

There was just one person left. One I hadn't considered until this exact moment, but had been floating around in the back of my mind since December.

A brownstone in the Village, that not even Spider-Man knew about.

I didn't even know if I was welcome there, if I was allowed to go back. But it was my only option now. I had settled on it before I could convince myself otherwise.

With a final, somewhat uncertain sigh, I said, "...yeah, yeah, I think so."

"Good," the man nodded, appeased. I still couldn't get over the fact I was getting approval from a guy with horns. "Hell's Kitchen isn't the place for you."

I would've laughed if he didn't sound so serious. But he was right; I didn't belong here. I shouldn't be here. I was just a kid, living on her own in a bad neighborhood. These things were bound to happen eventually — I really didn't want to deal with it again. "Yeah, I suppose."

I was just turning to leave when I remembered something. "Wait! You still didn't tell me who you are."

"Don't worry about it," the man replied, almost mumbling, edging closer to the street.

"Come on!" I said. It wasn't every day a mysterious superhero saved me. There were too many nameless personages on the streets that I considered myself lucky to even have a name for some of them. "Just give me an alias, a calling card, something!"

The orange glow of the only light in this alleyway passed over his face and I froze, my blood running cold. His mask, the same color of his suit, covered his head. But there were no holes where there should be.

This man had no eyes.

He gave me a knowing smile. "Call me the Man Without Fear."