Chapter 2
Chapter 2:
Tyler woke me up at two in the morning.
Honestly, I should have expected it. His sleep schedule was worse than mine, and I hadn't seen him the group chat in a while. Any of them.
So I couldn't myself to be surprised when I was startled awake by my burner. "What, Maelstrom?"
See, Tyler and I had gone to high school together back in Charleston. Evelyn - my stepmother - had offered boxing and self defense classes at her gym before she died, and Tyler was one of the kids who joined. It wasn't until our senior year that he found out he was a mutant.
His hydrokinetics came in handy, and he had carved out a name for himself. He and the remaining members still watched over Charleston, but had taken a step back over time.
"I have a shipment of kids that managed to get out this morning. They've been working their way up the coast so I had Sam hack into their radio frequencies. They're stopping in New Jersey Saturday, and New York Sunday. And given they're track record -"
"They'll be in Hells Kitchen." I finished. "Of course they will. Because it's us, and that's how our luck runs."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, Mae. I know you wanted out."
"I was out," I grumbled. "And now I'm back in. I'll take care of it. Have Sam send over the information and I'll be there."
"Backup?"
I scoffed. "Have I ever needed backup?"
"Gabe- "
"Don't answer that. I'll give DP a call if I need it."
"Thanks, Shadow. I'll call you later. Need to grade a few tests before morning."
"It's already morning, Ty." I reminded.
He was quiet, then the call dropped. I rolled over with a groan and stared at my alarm clock. One would think going into semi-retirement from vigilantism would let me get more sleep. But alas, nightmares.
I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then walked out to the kitchen for coffee. Halfway through pouring a mug, there was a thud on my balcony and my shadows jumped, skittering around my legs and up my arms.
With a thought, my vision shifted to the wisp brushing my cheek, and I reached a mental hand through to the shadows on my balcony. This was one of my favorite abilities. As a Hellwalker, I could use my shadows as a middleman to any other shadow in my radius. It was like having eyes in the back of me head.
Of course it wasn't perfect, since it showed me from the Shadow Dimension - which meant everything was monochromatic and outlined in the soft glow of the Eternal Fire, but it still was better than nothing.
It was a person - I could tell that much. Dressed in a skintight bodysuit and laying on their side, not moving. I pulled back my vision and stepped around my island to the window.
"Shit." I stared. "Spiderman just landed on my balcony."
+
Peter was having a terrible day. More terrible than usual, which was saying a lot.
He had been late to his construction job for the third time in a month that morning, and his foreman had fired him. Jameson threatened his freelancing for the dinner gig, and then he couldn't even get enough pictures to make a dent in his rent payment. Dinner with Miss Barnes had been nice, and Peter had gone home full for the first time since May. But that had been where Peter's luck ended.
A carjacker managed to start the car before Peter could web him, and his wrists hurt from the awkward stop. The nice lady who gave him churros was robbed last week, so she had to move shop. A kidnapper had caught a little girl and lugged her into Hell's Kitchen, where Peter was shot trying to find her.
The girl! Peter tried to push himself up from the balcony he had landed on, but a new wave of pain rolled over him.
"Shit." Peter froze at the familiar voice behind him. "Spiderman just landed on my balcony."
Peter spun over onto his back and instantly regretted it when a new gush of blood seeped from his wounds. "I'm sorry, Miss - I'm sorry. I'll be on my way. I didn't mean to land on yours. Have a great night. Morning!"
"Don't you fucking dare. You're injured somewhere - I can smell the blood. Get in here and I'll stitch you up." And then she was gone. Back into her apartment for what Peter assumed was a first aid kit.
He really shouldn't. Peter had enough problems, and there was a reason he avoided people. But he hadn't known Miss Barnes before The Spell, so he should be safe. Right?
"You coming in?"
Peter made his choice and climbed in the window.
The redhead was standing beside her couch with a bin and a towel impatiently. When she saw the vigilante clamber in, she nodded to the furniture. "Lay down."
Peter shook his head. "I'll get it bloody, and -"
"It's just a little blood. Lay down."
Just a little blood? Barnes raised an eyebrow. Peter laid down.
She found the zipper on his suit with frightening ease and started wiping down his torso. "How did you get hit twice?"
"Distracted, and I didn't see the other gun - woah, woah, mask stays on!" Miss Barnes pulled her hand away from where she had been touching his neck. "Secret identity. People to protect. Secrets to keep. That's, like, vigilante rule number one."
"Vigilante rule number one is to train. I should know since I wrote them." Peter protested, and she leveled him with a glare that was half annoyed, half resigned. "Take the damn mask off, Peter."
His jaw dropped. Ten minutes and she had already found out. What kind of vigilante was he? "Who's Peter? I'm not Peter."
"You totally are," she scoffed. "Other than the voice and the rambling - you sound young, you act young. You're short and you have no planning, no backup, no training."
"That doesn't mean I'm Peter!"
She stared at him flatly. "Deadpool mentioned the name Peter in the same sentence as Spiderman last time we met for drinks."
Peter was floored. Sensing this was a loosing battle he ripped the mask off his face and laid out again. Miss Barnes dove back into cleaning his bullet wounds, which now included a graze on his neck he hadn't noticed. "How do you know Deadpool?"
"I met him through a mutual friend a while back." Her head tilted for a second in thought. "And we had similar jobs so we ran in the same circles."
"What?" Peter gasped. "Are you a mercenary? Miss Barnes!"
"I was one, yes," she admitted. "Are you still planning on coming to work Monday or have I scared you off?"
Peter side eyed the woman. "You're not worried about me telling people? I could call the cops right now. You just confessed."
She stopped what she was doing and stared him in the eye, unwavering. "One, if you tell anyone, who will believe you? You're clearly here because you had no one else to go to, and no one would trust a guy in a mask. It would never hold up in court. Two," she pulled out a needle and thread. "I'd know if you told anyone. Then I'd kill them, and come back for you."
Peter was thoroughly scared now.
"Just kidding, Pete. Relax. I don't kill anymore, and it wasn't something I enjoyed doing in the first place. I just have a good judge of character and you seem like a good guy who could use some help and guidance."
Peter couldn't decide what to think.
But he did grab her wrist when she moved in with the needle. "I heal fast. You don't have to stitch it."
"How fast? On a scale of 'slightly more than human' to Wade Wilson."
"Uh, they'll be closed by tomorrow?" She hummed and exchanged the needle for gauze and tape, and started bandaging his torso. "What did you mean by I could use some help and guidance?"
She kept working. "Do you want any water? Tea?"
"You were a mercenary. Are you saying you could train me?"
Barnes sighed and stood up. She gathered the bloody towel and box, tossed a blanket to Peter, and walked into the kitchen. "Yes, Peter. If it will keep you from getting shot, I will train you."
"You're not going to tell me I should quit? Or that I'm too young?"
"Are you going to quit if I tell you to?" He shook his head. "Then there's your answer. And as for age... it would hypocritical of me to harp on you when I started at fourteen."
"You were a mercenary at fourteen?"
"No!" Barnes came back in with a coffee and a water, handing the glass to Peter and keeping the mug for herself. "Can you keep a secret, Peter?"
"Of course!" Peter was affronted.
She nodded mindlessly and sipped her coffee. "Have you ever heard of The Shadow of Charleston?" Had Peter ever heard of her? Of course he had! The Shadow was only one of the first heroes or vigilantes ever! Peter's eyes widened as he told her as such and her lips stretched in wry smile. "Do you want your autograph in pen or sharpie?"