Only Downsides

Peter couldn’t breathe.

Well, that was wrong, technically Spiderman couldn’t breathe because come on Peter you know better than to refer to yourself and Spiderman as the same person because people just keep finding out- anyway. Turns out a strong punch to the solar plexus from an angry guy will just knock the breath right out of you, huh?

“Hey man-” he wheezed out, fully winded. Couldn’t having super strength and whatnot prevent being winded? I mean come on, only downsides. “Could I just, just have a second, yeah?” 

The very very  angry looking man frowned deeper - Peter took a second to appreciate the frankly physics defying wrinkle between his bushy brows - before quickly ducking as his spidey sense buzzed menacingly in his brain.

“No? That’s cool too I guess,” he got out as his breathing began to even, glad that his warning system got him to avoid the punch the man had sent his way. “I can do this all day-” another duck and sidestep “-wait, is that copyrighted? Can Captain America now sue me? I feel like he’s gotta have great lawyers as well so I mean-” he paused as he shot a web to the man’s foot, poised to kick his ribs. This guy was really not very quick. I mean he had thrown like three punches in two minutes; did he not get the concept of a fight? Fast-paced, man, the thrill that Peter lived for. “I mean that’s gotta be what, twenty years in jail at least? I don’t know. I guess the law is a foreign concept to you though huh, you’re not the guy who can help me with this.”

The man raised his eyebrows in disbelief, and so did Peter, because how did he still have a crevice between his eyebrows even when they were raised? 

“Look kid,” the criminal spat, “when I’m done with you you’re gonna wish you were in the safety of prison for twenty years.” Peter rolled his eyes, and wished, not for the first time, that the man opposite him could read the snark in his expression. Damn secret identity. Only downsides, I swear.

“Sure man, you gotta catch me first.” he looked pointedly at the man’s foot, webbed to the floor.  “Look, I know that mugging old ladies with their grandkids in the park sure is easy, but I mean, I’m a whole different level of threat.” He paused, cocked his head to the side as he blocked a punch without even looking. “Did I sound way too full of myself there? I’ve been told that’s a character flaw.” He shrugged. “Oh well, I guess you’re not the one to talk to about character flaws either, right? Anyway, it’s been nice knowing you, but you know, I’m a busy spider-” he webbed the man’s other foot to the ground and his hand to a conveniently placed nearby lamppost - “places to be, people to help, you know?” he began to back away.

“Hey- where are you- don’t you dare leave me here, you freak!” the angry guy pulled against the webbing, but Peter just raised his hands in surrender.

“Look man, nothing I can do, unless you promise real nice that you’re not gonna attack random people in the park again.” The man scowled, but answered anyway, resent darkening his tone.

“I won’t. Promise.”

Peter made a show of considering the reply, before shaking his head ruefully. 

“Sorry man, I just don’t believe you I guess. That webbing will wear off in, like, an hour, and the police won’t be far, so, adios, ciao, bye man! Have fun!” And he was off, swinging through the streets of Queens that he knew better than the back of his hand.

=====

He loved this, the rush, the adrenaline, the pure feeling of life that he craved so much. And of course, it didn’t hurt that people actually looked happy to see him as he swung by. 

After waving at three little kids, doing six flips for some teens, and stopping two more muggings and a drug deal, he came to a stop on a rooftop, looking over the city, feeling the beginnings of fatigue drifting through his muscles. Sitting down against a wall, Peter made a mental list of his injuries, however small they may be. 

Small scratch from a knife on his forearm, no problems. Maybe bruised solar plexus, he’ll live. That was it for today. 

Satisfied, the fifteen year old took off his mask, confident that no one would see him in the small alcove, and breathed deeply. One thing you didn’t read about in comics, was how nice breathing air felt after having a sort of filter for hours.

“What a day, man,” he sighed to himself, despite the fact that it wasn’t actually that bad. He literally lost like, zero fights. And he’d found what looked like a camera abandoned in an alleyway and couldn’t wait to take it apart. But did Peter love a good dramatic effect? Yes, yes he did.

Looking over at the setting sun, he smiled at the warm current in the air. Best part about summer, it’s not cold. Damn spider thermoregulation. His stomach growled, and Peter briefly considered finding a food vendor and hoping someone was trying to steal tips or something, so that the owner would give him a free hotdog or at the very least a drink. No Spiderman, bad Spiderman, he reprimanded himself. We don’t want to hope for crime, do we? Not very friendly, not very neighbourhood of you. His stomach growled again, as if in disagreement, but Peter had made up his mind.

Swinging down to the alley where he stashed his stuff, he went through his inventory of friends. MJ… no, out of town for the weekend, he thought as he pulled off the old air vent grate and grabbed his backpack. Ned… maybe, I’ll have to check, he mused as he quickly changed clothes and shoved the suit and camera into his backpack. Anddddd, that’s all my friends, he concluded as he strolled out of the alleyway, reaching for his phone.

Hey Ned, can I come over tonight? Peter sent off quickly as he weaved through the crowd effortlessly thanks to his spidey sense. The reply was instantaneous.

I wish but my Lola has invited people over sorry dude. 

Peter’s stomach sank as he realised that he had to head home. With a sigh, he began to walk - almost shuffling in his attempt to make his trip take longer - in the direction of his foster home.

=====

Peter couldn’t breathe.

This time it wasn’t Spiderman, anonymous vigilante, fighting a criminal. It was Peter Benjamin Parker,  fifteen year old kid stuck in a shitty system.

Punched in the solar plexus by his excuse for a foster father.

He dropped to his hands and knees, feeling his breath rattle in his chest for the second time that day. 

“You know what your problem is?” Jason Alastair spat, grabbing Peter’s hair and forcing his head up, so they were eye to defiant eye. “You’re too damn full of yourself” he dropped him with a look of disgust. Peter’s face hardened.

“Yeah? Well you’re a piece of work too. I bet kicking the crap out of a kid makes you feel manly-” A kick to the ribs shut him up.

“Oh Pete, you’re gonna rue the day you walked through these doors.” he snarled, grabbing his hair once more and punctuating it with a punch to the jaw. 

“I already do, man”, the teen smiled sweetly, and Jason threw him to the floor again. 

“Get out of my sight, you little shit” he muttered, opening the fridge for a beer. Peter didn’t need to be told twice, scooped up his backpack, and scrambled up to his room, closing the door softly and breathing a sigh of relief.

He quickly stashed his suit in the roof, displacing the loose square, dumped the camera (that somehow had offended Jason because it “looked too expensive” so he “must be a little thief”) on his desk, next to the half formed computer, the taken apart phone, and the dynamo torch, waiting to be studied at a later date, and lay down on his bed, hand over his eyes. Come on Peter, three more years. That’s not too bad… right? He sighed loudly, wincing as his jaw twinged a little. Three years sounded like forever.

=====

Peter hadn’t always been here. Since his aunt May died when he was 13, he had been in the system. But scared and confused as he was, he didn't realize that while the first few places weren’t great, they were at least better than what could be.

In the first place, a group home where he slept in the same room as six other boys, they seemed to identify him as an easy target, picking on him whenever they got the chance. But this just made the grieving teen angry, and in turn Peter began to fight back. And it’s not like the people who ran the house cared, they could barely even get food on the table twice a day. But five months in, he weakly punched the oldest guy in the stomach after the bully tipped his plate of food onto his lap, and immediately they got rid of him.

And so “history of violence” was marked on his file.

His next place had to be a record of some kind; he was only there for about a month, too bitter and too scared of being moved again that he barely spoke to the older couple. They would ask him about his day, sit at the table with him, give him plenty of books, but for some reason Peter just wouldn’t speak to them past monosyllabic answers. He didn’t miss the tired looks the couple shared, and was not surprised when, on May 29th, CPS came to move him.

And so “uncooperative” was marked on his file.

Even though he had only stayed at two places, he was beginning to understand that being moved too many times would not benefit him. So even when this guy, Denis Brown, forgot meals, left him to make his own way to school, never bought him clothes, let Peter - a thirteen year old kid - take care of shopping, Peter didn’t complain. He smiled, all “please” and “thank you”, staying out of his way as much as possible. Denis probably wouldn’t have cared either way, always high or drunk or both. Five months in, he started inviting over his friends, and they would laugh and jeer at him whenever they saw him, and so Peter simply went outside, and didn’t go back in. Many a night, he slept in playgrounds, abandoned buildings, and, whenever he could, over at his best friend Ned’s. But he always went back at least once every two weeks, just to confirm he was alive. Not that Denis gave a damn. But almost one year later, CPS pulled a surprise check, Peter was not there, and Denis couldn’t account for his whereabouts. Needless to say, the next day, they pulled him out of school, and moved him on.

And so “risk of runaway” was marked on his file.

Which brought him here. Jason Alastair’s house. When his caseworker, a very uninterested man called Chad Mason, droned out that he was lucky to have a last place, that if he caused trouble again he would have to leave Queens, and what about his fancy scholarship to his school bla bla bla, Peter fervently - and naively - hoped that this place would be better.

He knew that dreams were made to be crushed.

It seemed fine for the first two weeks, but he came home late after hanging out with Ned and Jason just slapped him across the face. Peter was not taking any shit at this point, and slapped him right back. But his fourteen year old, unenhanced body was no match for the man in his late thirties, and he was off school for a week and a half afterwards. 

This never stopped him from fighting back. He had years of hurt and anger buried beneath a snarky smirk, and it showed when he hit back. But most of the time he tried to avoid Jason, without running the risk of staying elsewhere and being absent if CPS ever stopped by. They did once, and Jason made sure to tell them that Peter was uncooperative, rude, and prone to violence, but that he would “keep him out of the goodness of his heart”. Peter scowled in reply, and Chad took one glance at the expression and agreed with Jason.

Fucking Chad.

And then, one day in October, he was on a field trip to Oscorp. And he never felt like he could fight back against Jason after that.

One small bite from a radioactive spider, and Peter was ill with fever for three whole days. After that, he was just better - stronger, faster, more resilient. Punches hurt less and healed faster. But the sickening crack that he heard and felt when he hit his foster father in the nose came with the equally sickening realistion - his super strength that he had gave him an unfair advantage.

He stayed outside some nights after that.

And that’s when he first noticed how bad crime was. How many people looked over their shoulders on dark nights. How many people were beaten up and robbed in dark alleyways. How many people screamed for help and didn’t get answers.

And lo and behold, a new superhero started showing up, helping out the little guy. The Avengers were all well and good - Peter was an avid Tony Stark fan, and has been for years - but they could never help on a small scale. Well, Peter couldn’t help on the big scale, and so he felt like it was his calling to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves. One onesie, a stint with a sewing machine, and some dark swimmers goggles later, and there he was.

Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman, at your service.

=====

The next morning he woke up from a fitful sleep. His spider sense always buzzed menacingly in the nape of his neck when he was at home, and that made for terrible relaxation. Why can’t I be warned with a nice melody? A little lullaby. That would have been so nice for sleeping, he thought, and snorted at the image of hearing twinkle twinkle little star while fighting a knife wielding buff guy. 

Since it was early, he figured he was good for a quick shower before speeding out of the house. Making his way to the bathroom,  the words tingle, tingle, spidey-sense popped into his head, and he chuckled again. Activity of the day for Spiderman: write the spider sense theme to the tune of twinkle twinkle. 

After a quick, lukewarm shower, he grabbed two apples, and ran out the door just as his super hearing alerted him to the fact that Jason was up and moving.

Strolling along the sidewalk, he checked that he was alone before shrugging. 

“Tingle, tingle, spidey-sense, uh, warns me from… warns me of the next offense. Hah, yeah, not bad. Okay, okay…” he double checked that no one was around. “Something’s…lurking… in the night, uh… bad guys, hiding? Creeping? Um… out of sight…” he trailed off, before laughing at his own stupidity. I am not half bad at that, he mused, before sighing and putting it out of mind, heading down into the subway.

=====

At lunch that day, he was sitting by Ned as he talked at length about his Lola’s guests and how they played monopoly for, “I’m not even kidding, seven hours”, and how he “almost died of boredom three times”. Peter nodded along absently when suddenly Ned cut himself off.

“Peter? Are you listening? do you hear me loud and clear? Cos it looks like Flash is coming near.” 

Peter looked around, noticing Flash even as he noted that Ned’s accidental rhyming could make a good addition to the spidey-sense song- geez Peter what are you even doing writing a spidey-sense song? I think you’ve finally cracked he thought to himself before meeting Flash’s eyes.

“Hey loser, tell me, how does it feel that I scored better than you on the last chem test? Do you feel stupid? ‘Cos you are” he jeered. Peter frowned at him, confused. Dude, does he really think I’m insulted? I’m not ten, he thought, and opened his mouth to articulate this fact, but MJ - who had been sitting a few seats down, as usual - beat him to it. 

“Flash, no one is impressed that you scored two points higher than him on a test. And besides, he regularly has double your score, so run along and study some more.” she didn’t look up from her book like the unbothered queen that she is. Flash spluttered. 

“Need a little girl to fight your battles for you, Penis?” He spat. Peter winced, out of fear for the guy.

“Look, Flash, first of all, you’re really not a battle to me. Second of all, watch out.” Flash barely had a second to look confused at the warning when a pile of mashed potatoes landed in his hair, perfectly aimed by MJ.

“Look, Eugene, resorting to sexism just because you’re too inarticulate to stand your ground is weak. Go bother someone else.” her eyes promised vengeance if Flash did not, in fact, go elsewhere, and the boy gulped, sneered at Peter and Ned one last time, and stalked away. Peter smiled at MJ.

“Thanks. Sorry he was a douche to you too,” he said, and MJ rolled her eyes, muttered “don't be a white saviour boy”, and turned back to her book. Peter shrugged, and turned back to Ned, who continued as if uninterrupted. Peter zoned out, his stupid song stuck in his head again.

=====

Tingle, tingle, spidey-sense

Warns me of the next offense.

Something’s lurking in the night,

Bad guys creeping out of sight.

Tingle, tingle, loud and clear,

Tell’s me danger’s coming near.

=====

He was humming it as he walked home, trusting his instincts and feet to guide him as he got lost in his thoughts. Alright, so if I stop by Mr Delmar’s I can get a sandwich, I’ll still have, what, 24 bucks left. That’s plenty to get thread to fix up the suit… and maybe I should go to Ned’s tonight after patrol? Yeah, yeah, sounds good. Humming sharply in my head, I face things that people dread… Damn song. I swear I’ll have a damn album by the time the week is over. Wish I had a record player, how cool would that be, vintage. Retro. Very cool. Webs are ready, I take flight, swinging into any fight, yup it’s official I am a musical prodigy. An artist. Oh shi-

He was lost in his reverie and didn’t step aside as he was slammed into by a guy running ridiculously fast, holding a backpack in his hands. Hey, matching backpack, Peter registered, because his brain loved to pick up useless details, as he tried to get his bearings down on the floor. The taller man rolled off him, dropping the bag on the floor. He looked around jumpily, like he was being followed, but Peter didn’t see anyone for now. 

“Hey, are you alright?” he said, taking out his headphones and dropping his backpack on the ground as he knelt next to the guy. “You good, man?”

The guy closed his eyes for a second, and Peter heard the sound of distant footsteps. The two of them were alone in an alleyway, but he supposed that wouldn’t last. 

“Look, dude, if you’re being followed, I would keep running; someone’s coming,” he whispered. The man’s eyes snapped back open.

“Never get into the drug business, kid,” he whispered, and the pair flinched as a gunshot sounded out. The man jumped to his feet, and began to run away, picking up his bag. Peter watched, perplexed, as he skidded out of the alley and turned to the left. Soon after, a group of five men ran in the same direction. 

I wonder what was in the bag, he thought, before shaking himself back to reality. You’re Peter right now. Spiderman can find the guy again tonight. Okay? Okay.

Peter swung his backpack onto his shoulder, and reconnected his headphones to try and drown out his newly humming instincts.

=====

Bone-weary, Peter climbed the stairs to his apartment building, hoping that Jason was out. But the sharp buzz of his spidey sense - which he stubbornly ignored - let him know that this was not the case.

Never one to leave the river of Egypt, Peter had almost convinced himself that it was a fluke, force of habit, and that Jason was actually at some bar or other. In fact, he was humming quietly to himself as he opened the door, so in denial was he. 

And then he looked up. And sitting at the kitchen table was Jason and his delightful social worker, Chad.

“Oh hey, Chad” he said, a false sweet smile on his face. “So lovely to see you again.” 

Chad missed the sarcasm, and grunted a short “Likewise. Please sit.” Peter scowled. Something about this guy brought out the annoyance in him. But he sat, dumping his bag on the floor. It was at this moment that he realised that his bag was way too light. There was no thud as it hit the floor, filled with a day’s worth of school books. Instead, a slight crinkle of plastic.

“Peter? Peter!” Jason shouted, and Peter flinched, realising that he had zoned out. 

“Sorry, what?” he asked, not trying to be rude, just perplexed about his bag. Was I pickpocketed or something? He tried to remember, but after being knocked into by that guy, he hadn’t paid much attention to anything around him. Surely my spidey sense would have alerted me.

“What’s so interesting about your bag,” Chad droned. “Whatcha got in there.”

“Uh, I- I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “Schoolbooks?” he was so confused.

“Can we see.” It wasn’t a question, not really. His spider sense flared, and he shook his head frantically. 

“Ah, you know what? It’s- it’s personal, you know I just- It’s something belonging to Ned, you know Ned? My friend Ned. Yeah, he might not want you to be looking, so…” he trailed off, smiling sheepishly.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna slide, Parker,” Jason got out, semi-civilly. Chad didn’t notice anything. His facial expression never changed, Peter noted - challenge of the day? Get a reaction? His brain wondered vaguely.

But Peter didn’t know what was in the bag, or how it might have gotten there- wait. He frowned as he recalled the afternoon: the man, grabbing his bag - no, Peter’s bag, because they were matching, weren’t they? And they weren’t paying attention. Grabbing the bag in the same way Jason was grabbing Peter's now. And Peter never stopped to check, never unzipped the bag in the way that Chad currently was.

A gasp. From Jason of course, Chad simply hummed noncommittally. 

“Never get into the drug business, kid”. Yeah, Peter suddenly had a pretty good idea of what the bag contained.

“Fuck,” he said simply, before getting up and walking to his room.

He sat on his bed, blood rushing, as he distantly heard someone call the police.

The police? Wait, seriously? Oh my god what if they search my room what if they find the suit what if they discover I’m Spiderman what if- no Peter, calm down, breathe okay, we’re chill. Yeah? Yeah. Okay cool.

Jason pushed open his door.

Not cool!

He grabbed his arm tight enough to bruise and got right up in his face. Peter squared his jaw. 

“You can’t hit me, Chad’s here” he stated petulantly. “I bet that pisses you off, huh.” Jason scowled and roughly pushed Peter away.

“You little shit,” he began. “If you say anything, I swear to god-” 

“Look, Jason, you don’t scare me” Peter said, keeping up a tough act he didn't feel. “I’ll tell whoever I want.” At that moment Chad came in, so Jason could only glare.

“Listen Parker, the cops will be here any second. I’m supposed to search your room but just tell me if you have anything stashed here.” 

“Even this can’t get a reaction out of you huh,” Peter mused. “No, nothing here. I- I swear. The bag wasn’t even mine- there was a mix up,” he added the voice crack to convince his damn caseworker. If anyone searched the room, they might find the suit. That’s what Peter wanted to avoid at all costs. He was pretty sure no one would believe him about the mixup.

“Sure, Peter. No one is angry. Let’s go downstairs.” Chad simply replied, and Peter heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs, before a loud knock sounded through the apartment. Chad glided out of the room, and Jason shoved Peter after him.

He realised as he walked down the stairs that Chad expected this to happen sometime. He was just waiting for it: his file showed that he was a troubled kid. Just about the only thing missing would be “addict, dealer, criminal.” Yeah, Chad would just love to add to his list of reasons why Peter Parker wasn’t good enough to be loved.

He scoffed.

“Police! Open up!” an Officer shouted.

Tingle, tingle, don’t delay,

Spiderman will save the day.