Chapter 1
Peter's a bit angry. He’s sure it happens to everyone, getting so angry that his body shakes and he loses all rational thought. Its a normal part of life, dealing with impulse.
See, he knows hes an angry person, knows he has issues regulating his emotions, but theres one thing that makes it so much harder for him- dealing with the public.
Bones creak in his fists and his vision is swimming.
He tries to reel his restraint back in, catch it on its line and pull it against the current, because he can control himself, but this situation is a feedback loop, and he doesn't know how to get out of it without doing something rash. Let him go and risk catching him again? Or snuff him out.
Peter knows his breathing is ragged. It whorls in a hiss and comes out a growl, and his muscles are strung so tight he’s sure he could be tuned. He can’t hear the screaming or the whimpers, the blood pounding through him is so loud.
He’s stalling. He cant ground himself long enough to decide whats merciful for this piece of shit. This horrid, desolate, despicable, miserable shit for brains-
That doesn’t mean time is moving slower. The guy is trying his best to get away, but Peter has claws. There’s blood coating the ground and Peter is running out of time by the sirens on the edge of the city. He needs to decide.
If there was anyone deserving of death, it would be-
“Whoa! Babycakes, I didn’t know you had this side to you!” The voice is low and loud enough that Peter hears it. He grips down on his catch so he can turn his head and growl. If they’re smart, they will leave. “Maybe that newspapers right, you’ve flipped a switch! I haven’t seen you around since you were star spangled!” He starts forward, “Ditched the mask I see! You’re prettier without it.” Peter bares his fangs, an alligator's hiss accompanying it. “So, what are you gonna do with him?”
That catches Peter off guard. If this man is not here to try and be a hero, then why approach? Peter thinks for a moment, “That does seem to be the question.” His voice is raspy and broken, not having spoken in a few days.
“Wait, you caught him and you don't know what to do with him?” The man comes closer. It makes Peter’s skin crawl, but his nerves stay silent so he allows it. He crouches right next to Peter, “Why not kill him?”
His head snaps back over, and this time they make eye contact. Or- would be eye contact, but Peter is staring at a mask with white eyes. He looks to the floor, “I shouldn’t.” He wants to. How does this man know what he is struggling against?
“What did he do?”
“He-” Peter’s throat contracts in displeasure, but he makes eye contact with the man under his arms. Wide eyes gape back at him. “He was hurting someone. I stopped him.” It wouldn’t be hard. But he shouldn’t- he thinks that now the red has cleared his vision. But is his instincts are fighting his mind, telling him this man is nothing but a meal.
“You’re right for stopping him. How was he hurting someone?” the man tries again, crowding in with Peter.
The thought makes Peter turn sour. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Doesn’t he deserve it then?” His catch starts struggling again, whimpers from his shredded legs making Peter overstimulated again. He doesn’t even remember when the screaming stopped, but he wants the guy to stop moving around.
“Someone told me killing was bad.” The bag of bones chokes on a sob.
The laugh that breaks out startles Peter. “Honey, you’re almost there. Look at him.” Peter does. “What’s the difference?” He sees the blood pooling farther and farther, ripped jeans now maroon. Skin pale and reeking of fear. “Isn’t he a piece of shit? Hurting someone who couldn't defend themselves?” Peters muscles spasm, digging his nails farther until he’s sure hes touching bone. The screaming comes back full force and Peters spine stiffens with it. He’s begging, screaming for help and it makes Peter irate.
“Yeah.” Theres something welling up in him, urges fighting to present at the surface. Hes been holding them down for so long. Been in this situation a handful of times, always roughing them up and eventually letting them go.
“Wouldn’t it be satisfying? You will know he can never do this again. The world will still be the same without him.”
Peter can’t look away from his prey, “Yeah.” He whispers, over stimulation taking him over. “I wouldn’t catch him a third time.” He could stop this mans abuse here.
Is he a horrible person if he does this, or if he doesn’t?
Suddenly, with encouragement, his flimsy morals from his past life seem feeble. He tries to remember why he’s been holding onto them, but as crimson takes over and the screams grow louder, he can’t remember. He’s not the person he was a few years ago, he knows that. The spider inside him has been changing since he mutated. Maybe trying to hold it back is stupid.
“Do it baby, I swear you’ll feel better after.” Peter doesn’t even know this mans name, but he trusts him. “The sun will still rise, I do this every day.” Peter likes the baritone of his voice, lulling him into siren filled waters. His heartbeat starts increasing as his jaw itches. Hes so full of instinct, maybe fighting it is useless. He cracks his mandible once, twice, until he can open his mouth all the way.
Red always was his favorite color.