Shutterbug
Panting, Peter runs across the pavement, weaving through the busy New York streets, the sounds of the audience gasping and screaming. The sound of webs being fired overhead, the familiar quips. It’s just another New York day. And Peter. Well, he needs to get paid.
“‘Scuse me! Coming through!” the young boy shouts, pushing past the bystanders, a few annoyed growls and commanding words shout his way. “Hey, I’m just doing my job! Don’t like it, then MOVE!”
Arriving in a relatively clear section of the crowd, Peter looks up, the worn leather strap of the three-time self-repaired camera slinging around his shoulder. Squinting through his glasses, he readjusts the lens, lying in wait for his target to enter the frame. Taking a deep breath in, his eyes focus. The familiar, broad, red and black suit of Spider-Man spinning and swinging forward at high speeds.
“There you are…”
Click.
Pulling back from the camera, Peter looks at the image forming on the digital screen, the grainy image flickering to life as a distant, slightly blurred figure. Clicking his tongue, Peter looks around, not paying attention to Spider-Man or the large, blue, slimey creature that he's fighting. It’s not like he hasn’t seen this before.
He’s definitely not the same kid that stopped and stared in awe as the black and red-clad superhero fought the alien goop. Eyes fixed on a fire escape in a nearby alley, Peter checks his surroundings, looking for any sign of NYPD before sprinting into the alley.
“C’mon, Parker. Jonah really wants some good photos, so let's get some photos…” he murmurs to himself.
Safely tucking his camera into his bag, lens cap placed back onto it, he grunts. He slowly swings the bag before letting it slip up onto the metallic ladder. The rattling thud of the bag landing on the fire escape makes Peter look back out of the alley. Small flecks of blood-red rust flicker down onto his nose. Wiping the flecks and giving a final check to the entrance, Peter runs, leaping up and pushing off the wall as he grabs the bottom rung of the ladder.
“I guess I really should thank Coach D for all the climbing in gym,” Peter says through his teeth, pulling himself to the top of the ladder. Scrambling to grab his bag, he begins checking the camera, his feet hitting the stairs of the fire escape. With no damage to the camera, Peter finishes his ascent, walking across the roof, eyes scanning for any signs of New York's black and red icon. “Come on, Spider-Man… where are you? I need that money shot…”
Suddenly, a surge of wind catches Peter, knocking him back. The signature thwip of webs being released followed the rattle of glass panes. Did Spider-Man get caught in some kind of uppercut or kick? It’s hard to tell from this angle, but that doesn’t matter to Peter. Not when he can-
Click. Shutter. Click. Click. Click. Shutter. Click. Shutter. Shutter.
The quick series of images captured through the lens comes out in a half-breath. Instinct. A word Jonah has used to describe Peter’s knack for being his personal shutterbug when it comes to the ‘masked menace’ but that's beside the point. Shaking his head quickly, a big smile spreading on his face, Peter begins thumbing through the images. Blurry. Grainy. Pixilated. Perfect. Perfect. Blurry.
“Hmm… Jonah might want a different type of image as well. Maybe one with just Spider-Man? I guess it’ll depend on the article he’s writing with it… One more.”
Turning his attention back to the fight happening in the air and on the street in front of him, Peter looks to see where the brawl seems to be heading. The broken sides of some of the buildings are scattering, accompanied with screaming and running as people run. People are always standing around and just watching, he thinks to himself, also contemplating the hypocrisy in the statement.
Looking at the brawl, Spider-Man and Venom battering their way down the street, small pieces of rubble and dust being spewed into the air. Looking around the rooftop, Peter finds a large, wooden plank, snuggly hidden behind the roof access and what appears to be a pigeon coop. Running over and grabbing the plank, Peter looks towards the fight, placing the plank between the buildings and walking across it.
“Just. Don’t look down. Got that, Pete?” he mutters to himself, eyes focused on the roof of the building he’s crossing to.
Gripping his bag and holding out his hands, he balances across the plank, acutely aware of the slight bend in the plank as he manages to cross the gap. Panting as he plants his feet on the stable rooftop, Peter groans. Seeing the fight turn down Lorimer Street, heading towards McCarren Park. Every time he thinks he's getting closer… Heaving the plank again, he continued his makeshift path across the rooftops of Brooklyn. Sliding down one of the buildings, using the plank as a slide to make his life easier, he dropped in front of a cafe before taking off towards the end of the street. Seeing another fire escape on the roof, the fighting still behind him, Peter charges towards the outside seating of the restaurant.
“SORRY! SORRY! GOING UP!”
“HEY!”
“KID?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Launching himself off a couple's table, the pair of men’s drinks spilling as Peter jumps onto the table and begins jumping up the wall, grabbing the rusty fire escape as he begins climbing.
Panting and gasping as he ignores the cries below him, Peter sets up on the corner, eyes tracking the brawl behind him, the pair of super-powered individuals brawling and talking in an incoherent mess. The slamming of fists and bodies as they hit the rough tops or leap from them is the only noise in the busy streets. Keeping his camera steady, he focuses on the hero, finger hovering over the button as he turns off his brain.
Shutter. Click. Click. Click. Shutter. Click. Shutter. Shutter. Click.
Breathing, Peter whips his head around, eyes and head following the impossibly fast movements of the two people slamming against each other. Grunting as he places some webs on the black goop, Spider-Man swings around and flings the large, insectoid-looking creature into the park. A stray tentacle from the creature claws its way towards the building, catching the edge of the rooftop.
“Oh n- AHHHHHHHHH!” Peter screams, the corner of the building he was laying on collapsing. Reaching back, he grips the ledge as it crumbles, falling back. His eyes widen as he feels himself falling. His eyes squeeze shut, thinking about how this could be it. The end of Peter Parker’s story.
But the impact doesn’t come, a soft lurching replacing what he imagined the concrete below pulling him along.
Opening his eyes, he sees the familiar black and red suit of Spider-Man gripping him, “Hey, kid! You know you shouldn’t be standing on rooftops to watch the show, right? It’s free admission, after all!” the man says, Peter can almost see the smirk under the mask, “Wait… that camera, are you the shutterbug that’s been taking pictures for triple J? I was wondering why the images were getting cleaner!”
Peter’s eyes widen, stumbling as the larger man places him down, “Um, yeah! I’ve been trying to earn some money to help out with my aunt and uncle. I took a picture of you a while back and took it to the Bugle and-”
“Hold that thought!” Spider-Man says, holding up his hand as the large snarling sound of Venom erupts in the distance, followed by the screams of civilians, “I’ve got an alien insect to go smoosh. You know, I wonder where he got the weird insect form traits form. I don’t actually look like an insect…” he says mumbling the last two sentences under his breath.
“Uh, I read an article about the symbiotes saying they can take traits from their hosts, so maybe it, well…”
“...right, so Venom decided he would bond with a cockroach or maybe a spider? Maybe both? Great… That explains why he’s so resilient,” Spider-Man says, dropping his head and shaking it before saluting to Peter and slinging his way off to fight the alien goop.
Standing, slightly dazed by the encounter, Peter salutes back. Internally, he begins to reevaluate the experience before his eyes widen. Tilting his head down, he pulls up the camera slung around his neck, flicking through the images he's taken, a smile spreading on his face. The pictures are almost flawless. Heck, some of them are perfect. Now, he just needs to go to the Bugle.
Looking around, he spots a Stark Bike stand. He runs over as he fumbles around in his bag and pulls out his annual pass, a lucky win from a science convention a couple of months ago. Swiping it on the display, punching in his destination. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for the bike to light up, the helmet light flickering as the GPS coordinates are uploaded into the display. Seeing the signature blue glow, he grabs hold of the bike handles as he takes off into the streets at a breakneck pace, helmet firmly fixed to his head.
The city streets blur around him, the GPS system speaking into his ear as he cycles through Brooklyn, through McCarren Park and the fight that seems to be leaving the area, over the Williamsburg Bridge. The rush of the wind against the exposed flesh of his neck sends a rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the money he’s about to receive coursing through his skin.
“NOTHING CAN STOP ME!”
Well, nothing but traffic, apparently. Stuck behind a truck, Peter looks around the vehicle, eyes scanning ahead as he groans. 1st Ave is jam-packed, likely backed up because of the redirections of vehicles away from the brawl in Brooklyn, the early morning commuters yawning into their cups of coffee. Tapping his foot against the pedal, Peter clicks his tongue, eyes scanning the road. It looks damaged, likely from the Electro incident last week. Man, Spider-Man gets into trouble a lot. Another reason it’s so slow, Peter bets.
Seeing the construction worker turn back to the road, flipping his sign around, the red tile changing to the green sides. The rumble of the engines begins ringing out from the truck in front of him, the vehicle beginning its rumbling path forward up the road. Cycling up past it, Peter makes a break for it. Passing the truck just as it slams on its breaks. The horn blares, and a red Honda skids past just behind Peter’s bike. Turning to see the crash, he sucks in a breath between his teeth, internally thanking his luck before seeing the damage to the back of the bike.
“You can’t be serious…”
He groans as he glares at the driver, the elderly man sinking in his seat. The repair cost of the bike might actually take all of the money he’s about to get from JJ. That’s Parker luck for you. Always making life a pain. Cycling on up the road, the bike-hobbling Peter parks the bike at Freedom Plaza, placing his money, $45.50, into the machine to cover the repair cost.
Running up the street, he stops at the side of the Daily Bugle, the large words on the side of the building trailing down to the convenience store on the bottom floor. Taking a deep breath in, Peter begins climbing the stairs as he enters the building, taking the elevator up to the Bugle’s main office.
The soft sound of distorted radio music fills the small space, Peter humming along to the rhythm before the signature ding of the elevator arriving at the desired floor. Stepping through the swooshing doors, the sound of the elevator is replaced by the frantic ringing of phone lines and yelling filling the void. Papers fly as stacks are dragged and moved across the room by the busy staff. Navigating his way through the maze of desks, stacks of paper, coffee cups, and people, Peter squeezes his way to the large door in the back.
Plastered on the door is a plated sign, the faded name of J. Jonah Jameson scrubbed into it. He knocks on the door. The signature gruff call of the chief editing staff inside, “YOU BETTER HAVE SOMETHING I WANT!”
“Mr. Jameson! I have some new photos of Spider-Man!” Peter announces, the door in front of him swinging open, greeted by the unusually warm smile of the man, the sides of his head greying, before being pulled into the room.
“I knew I could count on you, Parker! Now, let’s see what photos you’ve got for my latest article on the Spider menace.”
Pulling off his camera, Peter presses the chip on the side of the camera, the SD card popping into his hand as he hands it over to the man. Jonah clicks the SD card into the reader, the images beginning to load on the screen as he squints. The thin line of his lips hidden under his bushy slowly turning up into a smile.
“I should hire you full time, Parker! I won’t. Don’t need the lawsuit, but I should!” he says, rolling his finger down the wheel of his mouse as he selects the photos of Spider-Man he likes, “And the speed you get them to me! This fight is still going on!”
“Thank you, Mr Jameson.”
“How did you get these to me so fast?”
“Oh! The Stark Bike program. Although I had to pay a damage fine because I was hit by a car that ran a light on my way here…”
“WHAT?! Parker, that is unacceptable! You should have gotten the insurance details or money from that reckless driver! You shouldn’t pay for other people's mistakes!”
“I… you’re right…”
Sighing as he looks at the crestfallen expression of the boy in front of him, “It’s alright, Parker. You’re young. You still have time to learn about all these things. I’m going to take four of these pictures and pay for that driver’s mistake.” Raising a finger as the boy is about to protest, JJ continues, “75 dollars per image like normal. Plus, whatever it cost for the bike. How much do I owe you, Parker?”
“345.50 dollars, sir…” Peter says reluctantly, watching as the man dips into his desk, pulls out a wad of cash, shoving it into an envelope and attaching a sticker on it to seal it.
“Very good work, Parker! I’m looking forward to working with you in the future! Now, aren’t you going to be late for school?”
“Huh?” Peter responds, pulling out his phone, “8:30?! I’m going to be late for the trip!” He turns, and the young brunette begins making a break for the door, “Thanks for the chance, Mr. Jameson! I’ll see you soon!”
Charging back through the office, ignoring the protests and calls from the older man as he presses the button for the elevator repeatedly. He watches the dial for the elevator slowly moving up, his eyes flicking to the stairwell, dashing towards it and flinging the door open. Leaping down the stairs in strides of three or four steps, Peter barrels down the stairwell, passing by a couple of office workers as they yell at him. Turning at the bottom of the stairs, Peter charges the door, flinging it open as he looks left and right before running down the street. He pants, reaching Freedom Plaza, scanning his card against the Stark Bike stand, a small projection appearing a shaking finger followed by a nuh uh uh , of Tony Stark’s voice.
Groaning, Peter looks down at his phone, ignoring the notification from the Stark Bike rack about his cooldown with the damage from the last bike. Looking at his phone, he debates calling Harry. Maybe he could meet his class at-
“PARKER!” the voice of JJ says from behind him, leaning out of the window of a taxi, “GET IN!” Shocked into action, Peter quickly checks the roads before darting over and getting into the car with the man. The older man looks at the driver, opening his mouth as he says, “Midtown High.” Sitting in silence, watching the world pass outside, Peter fidgets with his camera strap.
“Um… Thank you for helping, Mr Jameson.”
“No worries, Parker. You forgot your SD card as well. Here,” the gruff man says, holding out the chip to the young boy. Eyes widening, Peter looks at the chip, slowly taking it and clicking it back into place in his camera as he clutches it.
“Thank you so much. I’m meant to be taking pictures for the school newspaper as well, so this… I would have been chewed out without this…”
Huffing, triple J looks out the window, “It’s alright, Parker. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. Just accept the help of the adults around you; you’re only a boy, after all.”
“I… right…”
“You know, one of my favourite sayings is ‘With great power comes-’”
“‘Great responsibility.’ At least that’s what my Uncle always says.”
“Hmm… While I do agree with the original phrases, I believe my own version of the saying is better. ‘With Great Power Comes Great Accountability.’ Something the spider menace doesn’t have, running around with a mask on, not presenting himself to the authorities…”
Sitting silently as he thinks the words over, Peter begins to form a question, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Hmm… I guess simply because it feels like whilst you’re trying to be responsible with your incredible talent, you don’t feel the accountability of it,” the man says, pausing to let the words sink in, “What I mean in simple terms is you’re too busy with doing what you think is responsible without thinking about the accountability, your reliability, to others. You need to learn to accept help, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to build the Daily Bugle into the place it is today. Even if Robby keeps trying to make a ‘digital app’ version of my company.”
“I… see…” Peter replies, eyes looking at his feet as he processes the words of the man, the car shuddering to a screeching stop. The taxi driver turns to look at the pair, pointing at the meter as Peter goes to reach into the envelope to pull out money before JJ places the cash in the driver's hand.
“What’d I just say, Parker? Now go. You’re class is waiting for you,” the man says, nodding his chin in the direction of the beaten yellow school buses lined up outside the school.
“I- Thank you, Mr. Jameson. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“Bring me your school newspaper, an article written by you and the photos of Oscorp,” the man says, smirking as he notices Peters's eyes widen, “You really think that a master journalist wouldn’t sniff out that Oscorp is letting a group of kids run around their tower? Have fun, Pete.”
Pushed out of the taxi, he turns to thank the man, but the taxi is already moving again, tires screeching as the yellow car turns around. Shaking his head, a small smile growing on his face, Peter waves the car off before hefting his bag and turning towards the buses. Seeing the familiar figure of Harry Osbron, crutch and all, arguing with a teacher before clocking him walking towards the buses.
“SEE! I told you Pete would be here!” Harry exclaims at the teacher, throwing his arm around his friend, “Sure, he was cutting it close getting here at 8:59 , but he made it! Now, come on, Pete. Let’s get on before they take off without us.”
Laughing to himself, Peter shakes his head, giving a small apology to Mrs Dolores standing outside the bus, the woman's eyes narrowing as she huffs. Stepping onto the bus, the noise of the students sitting in the vehicle quiet’s. The hushed conversations and whispers of Peter’s near-late arrival and snickers fill the silence as he and Harry move and sit in the back of the bus.
“God, my father would have a go at me if he knew I was sitting in the back of the bus,” Harry mutters, shuffling as Peter helps him into his seat, “He’d say it’s ‘ going back to segregation ’ and call it a mockery of the black activist rights. Like he actually cares.”
“We could ask if we can-”
“No. I like it. It’s peaceful, and we’re not going to have to worry about getting kicked in the back.”
“Just having things thrown at us then?”
“Just having things thrown at us,” Harry parrots, chuckling and shaking his head, “So why are you so late?”
“I wasn’t late technically. Just… extremely on time.”
“Right, and I’m Venom. Now spill, why?”
Pausing as he considers the words he's about to say before sighing and shrugging, “Pictures. For the Bugle, I had my camera, heard the news and…”
“Really, Pete? If you need money, you know you can always-”
“I appreciate it, Harry, but… but I’m not sure May or Ben would accept money that was just given to me.”
“You’re so difficult sometimes. Alright, Shutterbug, have it your way. I’m still buying you lunch once we get to Oscorp.”
“Sure thing, Prince.”
“God, I hate that nickname.”