Fair warning: the rest of this arc is going to be pretty tense and there's a part of me that thinks it ought to be pushed to M.
There's certain aspects of combat and the thought process involved that I like to delve into that might be a bit too much for some people. I don't really know; the internet can be a crazy place and some people's sensibilities are vastly different from another.
It was a tale as old as time. In one room, the miracle of life. In another, some middle aged man is getting something removed from somewhere that he swears 'he slipped and fell on'. And in another, a life ebbs away. Every heart beat weaker than the last. Every breath slower and deeper and all the more spread out. Life came and went like grains of sand; cup your hands and you could keep the majority of the particles, but some would inevitably slip away, no matter how hard you tried.
I stared out at the city. Over the course of twelve hours, Long Island City had become a warzone. Warehouses sent ablaze. Businesses and homes broken into. Cars vandalized, storefronts shattered; that it was only the first day was all that kept anyone from declaring a state of emergency. But no one could deny that a gang war had broken out. A vibration in one of my pockets drew my hand's attention, my thumb sliding the relevant button idly.
"Dude, where are you?"
"Out."
"I know that, but where are you?"
I said nothing, watching as a car suddenly started speeding down the street. Inside, the passengers learned to the side, windows rolled down.
"Dude!"
Gunfire rattled out, piercing through a trio swaggering along the sidewalk and sending them to the floor.
"Pe— Spider..."
"I won't be home tonight," I whispered, feeling the parts of me that cared about such things as humanity and sympathy slip away.
"...be safe."
"You too. Keep the curtains closed."
I hung up and tucked my phone away in its designated pocket, zippering it close.
"It's a terrible day for rain."
/ - /
A facet of life that held true in gaming and reality? No one ever looked up. For most, any potential concerns were all beholden to the laws of gravity. Anyone to be wary of were likely to have their feet on the ground, not clinging to the outside of a second story wall like hair on a screen.
"Man, can't believe everyone else is taking so long."
One of the three goons chuckled. "Bet they got lost. Idiots."
The one who spoke first chuckled as well. "Their loss. While they get to be out in the cold, we get to be in here all nice and toasty."
The one who had yet to speak up suddenly did so after a few moments of silence and card placing. "Don't you think it's weird though? Months of nothing but enforcing and collections and now suddenly we're out popping heads?"
"Hey, if the boss wants us reducing the competition, you ain't gonna be hearing me complain. 'sides, weren't you paying attention? We clear those guys out, that means we get all their space. That means we get all their tech for upgrading our rides! That means all of us! Donny, you, me, heck, even dumbass Angelo."
Tech to upgrade rides definitely meant sizeable buildings. And as big as this place was, that definitely meant there were more people out and about that had yet to return. A quick web zip brought me roof-side. Queens sprawled out before me, and across the river, Manhattan. The clouded skies were aglow with the lights of night, electric or otherwise. Any other time, it would have been a beauteous thing I would have taken time to enjoy. But right now?
Streets passed beneath me as I leapt from rooftop to rooftop. It was going to be a long night, and I only had a limited daily capacity for my webs. Perhaps as I grew in both experience and age, my webbing stores might grow, but until then—
I kicked my legs forward as I began arcing away from the earth. Here in Queens where the buildings weren't as tall, height and speed would be my best friends. Time to gather my bearings. Time to race to save whatever I needed to.
I grunted as I tugged on my next web, raising the tension in the strands to throw me even farther as I let go. I wasn't too proud to not admit I had no plan. That I was running solely on luck and running about. But that wasn't the point. Even if I wasn't able to protect my caretakers, at least tonight I could try and save anyone who got into trouble.
Late night car jackings, muggers; everything was fair game.
I just had to not think.
/ - /
Whenever Peter went AWOL, there were three places you had to check. The first was Station Square in Forest Hills. The second was wandering around the big malls along Queen's Boulevard. The third was posting up somewhere near Forest Park with a book or portable charger shortly after noon, when Peter would usually decide to head out from the morning stroll.
Two for people watching, one for connecting with nature. Peter was strange like that whenever he decided to hide himself away from his friends. She couldn't fault his choices, though. She'd joined him a few times across the various summer breaks, school work in hand and one ear on the problems of the people around them. She wasn't sure how often he'd done it over the years, but it was certainly enough that she knew where to look for him on those rare occasions.
MJ slowed down as she exited the tunnel. Station Square always felt like stepping into the past, and it was a shame the brick flooring of the area didn't extend beyond the square. It was magical in a way, and it was very much a welcome reprieve from the smoke and constant sirens echoing in from Long Island. She made a slow lap of the square before approaching the station stairs. Perched atop the walls of the small garden on the right side of the stairs, Peter laid resting, looking more like a cat than a person with how comfortable he seemed.
She said nothing as she sat down next to his head, pulling out her phone and sending off a few messages to Cindy and some of her friends before she began scrolling through her socials. That was the other thing about dealing with Peter whenever he got into one of these anti-social funks. You couldn't pull him out of it, you had to let him come out on his own. All you could do was hang around him for whenever he was ready. Of course, usually he only did something like this for a single day, but according to Cindy he'd been AWOL for nearly three days already.
The moment the next video showed a red and blue figure, MJ began lowering the volume. It was no secret that Peter was a critic of Spider-Man. Yeah, all of his complaints were valid, but the easiest way to derail a conversation and sour the mood was to bring up the vigilante's actions. In the video, Spider-Man pulled himself through an open window, smoke billowing out of it while other parts of the building spewed flames. Over the past few days, similar videos popped up all over the place. If there was someone in trouble, Spider-Man was likely there.
Some of his methods were definitely questionable, especially in regards to moving vehicles, and the presentation of would-be criminals being strung up on walls or street lights like prey was definitely questionable, especially those first few when some criminals were shot and left for dead (no one knew what happened the second day to make those stop), but the end result was that during a time of strife, the streets of Long Island were less dangerous than it should have been.
There was even a slowly trending topic about how Spider-Man had a social media account of his own, and how his first few posts were made from within Manhattan (corroborated with some posts about the man swinging through the city as he made his way from location to location), and what it meant that he was sighted all over Long City. It was almost twenty minutes later that she realized the rest of her feed was filled with almost nothing but Spider-Man things, and that Peter had been silently watching her screen for who knew how long.
"So what do you think about him?" he asked scratchily, as if he had just woken up from multiple all-nighters or a particularly hyped concert.
"Like what he's doing?"
Peter nodded, slowly turning his attention to the benches in the center of the square.
"I think he must have burned himself out. Maybe a bit literally. Videos of him take place all throughout the day. Morning, night, evening; almost three full days of him running around, saving lives." MJ opened up her gallery and tapped one specific picture she'd saved from that first day: Spider-Man in his mixture of red and blue clothes, hauling one person away from an overturned vehicle while fires lapped at oil leaking out from the car over a shoulder, and with his other hand he had a web attached to another vehicle off screen that was upside down. Someone had taken the picture and edited to the point of belonging in a film. It still looked natural, but there was a heightened sense of humanity to it. Of someone doing their best to save others.
The next photo she pulled from her gallery was of Spider-Man two days later; different clothes but still the same white eyed mask. His clothes were visibly weathered from all that he'd done, and his left eye piece was cracked, but still he charged out of a flaming building, a kid tucked under one arm and a coughing mother slung over his back. This too was edited, and it was one of many photos that were circulating the rounds.
"Do you think the people he doesn't save hate him?" Peter asked quietly.
She turned to him, and only then did she realize how worn he looked. Faded scratches and dirt gathered through wrinkles marred his face, and underneath his hood she could see what looked like flakes of dried blood crusting his skin.
"People don't think about it, but behind those closed doors of a hospital, how many lives do doctors and surgeons fail to save? How many people pass in an emergency vehicle because traffic was too thick?" Peter slouched even more, his voice becoming gravelly. "Spider-Man doesn't have those excuses. He can leap to and over buildings. He can swing through the air. He can catch tumbling cars and take hits without getting a limp. He's all over social media and throughout the past three days, how many people died because of everything going on in Long Island? With how many people he saved, how many people did he fail to protect?" He nodded at her phone, screen still showing Spider-Man exiting the burning building. "How many people next door did he not notice? How many people inside that very building perished because they weren't able to call for help anymore?"
"That's unfair, Pete," she whispered, feeling a terrifying sense of paralyzing anxiety course through her body. Though he was a level as if talking about something in class, there was a hatred to his words that she'd never heard from him before, a kind that almost reminded her of her father.
He took in a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Mind if we grab some tea?" he asked, motioning towards the tea store across the plaza.
Sometimes the places Peter invited her to made her feel incredibly underdressed. And underaged. The tea shop definitely felt for people in their twenties who already had a college degree and a job. High end decor with the chandelier lights, candles and flowers on each of the tables; in one corner of the two tiered store (a few stairs separated the two levels, as opposed to a full staircase), a group of six adults laughed at something or other as they ate at finger foods delicately plated on decorated dishes. Peter nodded in greeting at one of the staff before he moved up to the other level, receiving a smile and wave in return.
Code Switching was what he had called this once. Where with one person you acted one way, but with someone else you behaved differently. Five minutes ago Peter was acting like a loner emo kid who thought the whole world was out to get him, and here he was chatting with their waiter like a long time friend. Knowing Peter and how he seemed to have a bunch of friends over the age of eighteen, they probably were, but it was still strange. It was when the waiter stepped away with their order that she reached out for Peter's arm, pushing the sleeve of his jacket up and exposing his skin.
It was like someone had taken a grater to his skin. Jagged scars and angry scabs crisscrossed his skin, and his hand looked burned pink, as if someone had forced him to hold something scalding. "Peter..."
He slowly pulled his hand back and tugged his sleeve back down.
The world felt so very small and tiny. The whispers of conversation which before were just background noise became overbearing. "What happened?" she asked quietly.
"Spider-Man can't be everywhere," he repeated quietly. "Long Island's been in a lot of trouble, and people need help."
"But that doesn't answer this!" she almost said shrilly.
Peter sighed and looked away for a moment. "Emergency responders are overworked. Not every burning building or car fire is going to have someone there to help."
MJ pressed her lips together. "And you think this was the best thing to do? For you to go and throw yourself into fires?"
Peter's head fell. "If you were able to help someone out, and you didn't, wouldn't you feel horrible? If you found out someone was around when you were in a moment of need and they didn't step up, would you be okay with them?" Her longest friend looked up at her, a look of barely restrained anguish in his eyes. "I think Aunt May would have wanted nothing more than for someone to be there to help her when she got shot."
She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. It explained why the Parker household had been so dreadfully quiet the past few nights. "May's dead?"
"They said they did everything they could," he whispered hoarsely. "But she still died. There are murderers roaming the streets free as can be, and no one's trying to stop them."
"That's not true, Pete!" MJ quietly retorted. "The police have been working non-stop to try and get things under control, and firefighters are constantly going back and forth dealing with fires!" She leaned forward, her voice gaining a harsher tone. "I get that you've been working yourself to death trying to do whatever, but the entire city's going to sleep with sirens in the background!" She thanked the waiter as their tea arrived, a few snacks that she knew would go unattended accompanying them. "Pete, go home. Cindy's worried about you. No one's been able to reach you and all of our calls keep going to voicemail."
He said nothing, ignoring even the steaming floral tea in front of him.
MJ grabbed his hands in hers, cupping them securely. "Eat up. Get your strength back, then I'm walking you home. I'm not going to take no for an answer, Peter."
"Can you sit beside me?" he faintly asked.
No words left her mouth as she moved around the table, scooting her new chair as close to him as possible. No stares were allowed unchallenged when he burrowed his head into her neck, sobbing silently. Peter always had trouble watching emotional scenes of familial loss on TV or in the theaters; how painful must it have been for him to experience it first hand?
Next chapter will be released November 13th.