Cold December Nights
The streets of New York were lit up with festive lights, but Peter felt none of the warmth they were meant to bring. Christmas had never been an easy time for him. First Uncle Ben, then Aunt May—both gone during the holiday season, leaving nothing but painful memories and an ache that never fully faded.
Most people saw Christmas as a time of joy, laughter, and togetherness. Peter saw it as a cruel reminder of everything he had lost.
That’s why, as he swung through the city, he was colder, harsher. He wasn’t cracking jokes today. There was no playful banter, no smug remarks. Just silence.
And rage.
He activated the Venom augmentation on his suit, feeling the liquid nanites spread over him like a second skin. His usual red and blue was swallowed in black, his lenses narrowing into sharp slits as the darkness overtook him. He welcomed it.
Tonight, the city didn’t need the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. It needed something meaner.
Peter landed silently on the rooftop, his enhanced vision spotting a group of men cornering a young woman in an alley. She was clutching her purse to her chest, fear in her eyes as the tallest thug pulled out a knife.
“Just hand it over, lady. Don’t make this difficult,” the man sneered.
Peter dropped down without a word. No warning. No quips. Just impact.
The first guy didn’t even see him before Peter’s fist slammed into his ribs, sending him flying into the brick wall. The second barely had time to reach for his gun before Peter webbed it to the pavement and crushed it under his boot.
The third—knife guy—tried to slash at him.
Big mistake.
Peter caught his wrist, twisted it with brutal efficiency, and listened to the sickening snap as the man howled in pain. He flung him against the dumpster and webbed him there, ignoring his cries.
The woman was staring at him, shaken.
Peter turned to her, his voice devoid of warmth. “Go.”
She hesitated before nodding quickly, running away as Peter turned back to the criminals. He left them webbed up, their groans echoing in the alley as he swung away.
The second fight was at a convenience store in Queens. Three men in ski masks had stormed in, waving guns and shouting threats.
Peter didn’t waste time.
He crashed through the window like a missile, tackling one of them so hard the shelves collapsed under their weight. The other two turned their guns on him, but Peter was already moving.
A web shot to one guy’s wrist yanked him forward, straight into a vicious uppercut. He was out cold before he hit the floor.
The last one tried to run. Peter didn’t let him. He shot a web to his ankle and yanked him back, letting the man slam face-first into the counter.
The store owner looked at Peter with wide eyes.
Peter simply nodded and vanished into the night.
The final stop was a gang fight in Brooklyn.
Two rival groups were in a full-blown brawl, baseball bats, knives, and even a few pistols being brandished in the chaos.
Peter dropped into the middle of it like a predator among prey.
He moved like a ghost, dodging swings and countering with brutal efficiency. A man tried to stab him—Peter caught the blade midair and snapped it in half. Another swung a bat at his head—he ducked, elbowed the guy in the ribs, and webbed him to a car.
One of them shot at him. Peter sidestepped the bullets before webbing the guy’s arm to the pavement and slamming his head against the hood of a car.
Within minutes, it was over.
Peter stood in the center of the wreckage, breathing heavily, his fists clenched. The street was littered with groaning bodies.
For a moment, he felt nothing. Just the cold.
Then ERIC’s voice softly broke through his earpiece.
“Sir, would you like me to draft an email to Doctor Storm requesting leave from the Baxter Building?”
Peter blinked, exhaling sharply. He hadn’t realized how much rage he was holding.
“…Yeah. Do it.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Peter swung off into the night, ignoring the Christmas decorations below.
ERIC’s voice rang in his ear. “Doctor Storm is on her way to your dorm.”
Peter tensed. “What?”
“She is arriving shortly.”
Panic surged through him. He immediately discarded the Venom augmentation, shoving the canister away. His suit retracted beneath his clothes, and he hastily threw on a hoodie just as he heard a knock.
He schooled his expression before opening the door. “Doctor Storm?”
Susan stood there, arms crossed, her blue eyes scanning his room. She smirked. “Messy.”
Peter groaned, quickly tidying up. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t expect company.”
Susan sat down, watching him. “I came because I was worried.”
Peter hesitated. “Worried?”
“You took leave without much explanation. Reed wasn’t happy about it. I told him I’d handle it.”
Peter swallowed. “Thanks.”
Susan’s gaze softened. “What’s really going on, Peter?”
He exhaled. “Christmas is… hard for me. My aunt and uncle passed away around this time. It just—brings back a lot.”
Susan’s expression shifted. “I’m sorry.”
Before he could react, she hugged him.
Peter froze, then slowly melted into it.
It had been so long since someone had held him like this.
She pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on his arms. “If you need more time, I’ll talk to Reed.”
Peter shook his head. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I promise.”
Susan smiled. “You’re amazing, Peter.”
Peter, caught off guard, whispered, “So are you.”
Their eyes met, emotions swirling between them.
Then Susan abruptly looked away. “I should go.”
She hugged him one last time before leaving.
As Peter closed the door, ERIC chimed in, “Sir, you may want to acknowledge that Doctor Storm—”
Peter groaned. “Shut up, ERIC.”
But he was smiling.