four of wands
It was late when Kat left The Ink Pot that night. Peter watched from his perch atop the apartment building across the street as she brushed several strands of hair out of her face, before popping in her earbuds and taking off down the street. He kept to the shadows as he trailed her, eyes darting back and forth between Kat’s shivering form and the people who swarmed the sidewalk around her, almost obscuring the cement from view. Around her, the city lights seemed to glow a bit lighter, illuminating the flush of her cheeks and nose from the cold air.
Peter forced himself to tear his gaze from her face as she turned the corner onto a far less populated street, humming to herself unknowingly. As a sharp wind cut through the night's serene atmosphere, he shivered while Kat nestled deeper into her thick scarf. Suddenly, his eye caught on a nearly imperceptible movement in the alley she was quickly approaching. Fixing his gaze on the source of the motion, Peter moved easily from rooftop to rooftop, ensuring her safe passage. Kat continued past the alley without hesitation, completely unaware of the shadow that lifted off the brick wall and began to trail her.
“Fuck,” Peter whispered, guilt building up in his throat at the sight.
As Kat neared the next turn, onto an empty street, he surged forward, nearly in sync with the shadowy figure that moved at lightning speed, toppling her to the ground.
A screech ripped itself from her throat as she wrestled the man, hands scrambling for her bag. Peter was on the ground in an instant, grasp tight on Kat’s assailant as he flung the man aside.
“Are you okay?” he demanded, crouching down to search her eyes, and for a moment, she appeared relieved. Just a moment, before her nose scrunched up, contorting her face into the picture of disgust, and he remembered the mask obscuring his face. Peter immediately moved to back away, only stopping when his back came in contact with a pair of shins. Right, the man. The man who was following Kat. The man who probably wanted him dead. Tilting his head upwards, his gaze caught on the silver flash of the knife rapidly approaching his face. Without thinking, Peter surged forward, landing on top of an already pissed-off Kat in a sloppy attempt to escape the oncoming attack.
“Sorry,” Peter breathed out, taking in her obvious annoyance from his position mere inches from her face. Rolling off, he whipped around, landing a web on his attacker’s face before dropping down to sweep him off his feet with a swift kick to the ankles.
With the man flat on his back, Peter webbed his wrists to the ground and pressed a firm foot to his chest.
“Who are you?” His tone shifted quickly from the one he’d used with Kat only moments earlier. His eyes scanned the man’s frame on the ground before something struck him as odd. His clothing looked almost discolored. Peter dropped down to remove the web from his face only to draw back in surprise. His eyes looked exactly like Dr. Connors’s had earlier that day.
“I am nothing more than a servant to the great Mr. Negative. He is the master of all. He is greater than death itself. He is all-seeing, all knowin-” Peter allowed a groan to push its way past his lips.
“Dude that is so not what I asked. What do you want? Why were you following her?” he asked, foot pressing down harder.
“Mr. Negative needs her, to spread his influence of course. The girl is the key to Spider-man, to Pe-” Peter’s hand darted forward at lightning speed, trapping the man’s words in his throat.
“Why her?” he whispered, more to himself than to the man underneath him. He felt the stranger’s body shake with a cruel sort of laughter and for the first time in their rather short conversation, his eyes seemed to clear just a fraction and he spoke in a manner that betrayed the cryptic tone he’d taken only seconds before.
“Isn’t it obvious? Spider-man’s normal human girlfriend is a way easier target to acquire and if he can get his hands on her, it's over for you,” Peter’s head jerked back in confusion.
“She’s not my-” But he quickly cut himself off. Mr. Negative didn’t know that. In fact, all he knew was that he’d seen the two having lunch together in a cafe on what looked suspiciously like a date.
“Fuck.”
“Hello? Yes, I’d like to report a crime,” Kat’s voice rang out from behind him and he realized he’d all but forgot the reason he was here in the first place. Webbing the man’s mouth shut once more, he turned to face her, only to be met with a tight-lipped glare and a can of mace.
“Woah, watch where you point that thing,” he joked lightly, raising his hands in mock surrender. Her brows only furrowed deeper.
“Yes, there’s two men here, I think one of them may have been trying to mug me, but this other guy just beat the shit out of him-”
“Hang on a second, I just saved your life,” Peter cut her off, moving towards her once more.
“Back up, or I swear to God, I will mace the shit out of you,” she spat, eyes flashing with a violent determination.
“Are you serious?” Peter asked, head cocking to the side in genuine confusion. Though he was aware of her distaste for his alter-ego, he was sure he’d fully processed the extent of that hatred.
“I’m on Miller Street right now, I’ve got a can of mace, but I’m not sure I can hold him off much longer,” she continued into the phone.
“Are you- Give me that,” Peter easily plucked the device from her grasp despite her attempts to tug it away.
“Spider-man here. Listen, I’ve got the situation pretty much under control, although I could use your help picking up this guy who took it upon himself to mug the lovely Ms….” he paused, pretending to not know her last name and waiting for her to supply it.
“Jennings,” she bit angrily.
“Ms. Jennings,” And though she couldn’t see it, he smiled beneath his mask.
Hanging up the phone, he offered it back to its owner who retrieved it with a scowl embedded on her face.
“You know you’re a criminal right? Vigilantism is against the law, you could do hard time,” she said, a severity Peter had not yet seen creeping onto his face.
“Can I walk you home Ms. Jennings?” he asked, evading her harsh attitude.
“Can you- Can you walk me home? No! No, you can not!” She backed away as though horrified by the mere thought. Bending to grab her tote from the ground, she adjusted her ruffled clothes before turning to depart, mace still in hand.
“Lemme try that again,” Peter offered, moving to catch up, “I’m gonna walk you home now.”
“Would you please just leave me alone? I don’t need your help,” she added stubbornly.
“Oh yeah, it looked like you had that situation super under control,” he shot back, but his pace didn’t falter as he continued to accompany her.
“I hate you,” she stated plainly.
“I gathered as much. Care to elaborate?” And despite the nonchalance in his voice, Peter felt a part of him fill up with genuine curiosity.
“No.”
Peter returned home from patrol around one in the morning, mind still buzzing with the happenings of the night despite the weight of his eyelids as he slumped down onto his bed. He’d known his friendship with Kat left her in a vulnerable position, but he had failed to recognize the extent of that danger. After ensuring she’d entered her home without issue, he’d stuck around for a while, scanning the street for imminent threats. Still, at some point, worn down by exhaustion, he’d been forced to return home. And so the question remained: what was he going to do about Kat?
Sure, he could spend his nights camped outside her home, keeping watch, but eventually, he’d be forced to return home to sleep, leaving Kat alone and unprotected. Unprotected from a fate he’d brought upon her. All because he’d allowed himself to make a friend. Peter groaned, flopping down onto his pillow. He’d figure it out in the morning, for now, he needed to rest.
Peter did not, in fact, figure it out in the morning, much to his dismay. And so, for the next week, he carried out a routine of sorts. He spent his days watching, working in the cafe by The Ink Pot, with one eye trained on the outside world at all times. Kat joined him for lunch most days, asking him about The Perks of Being a Wallflower which, amidst all the ongoing chaos, Peter had not even touched.
His nights weren’t much better. He appeared on Miller Street each evening, much to Kat’s dismay, dressed in his signature red and blue spandex, ready to accompany her the rest of the way home after trailing her the first two blocks. After about two minutes of bickering (most of which died out after the first two days), the pair would begin the silent trek to her house. And then, after she’d made it back without a problem, came the waiting. Peter sat, engulfed in shadows, atop the roof of the house across the street, watching. Searching. Scanning. Until, of course, he found himself too exhausted to continue and dragged himself back to his apartment so that he might begin again the next day. He was drained. He knew he couldn’t continue down the same path for much longer: time was ticking on finding a new solution to his babysitting problem.
Dragging himself out of bed that Tuesday morning felt like carrying a bag of weights. Slowly, he trudged towards the bathroom to rinse away the previous day with a splash of cold water to the face. Eyes nearly blind with exhaustion, Peter lowered his hand to turn the faucet, only for it to return to his line of vision with the faucet still attached. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
As water shot out of the now broken sink, Peter searched frantically for a towel, shaking the metal apparatus from his grip. So much for starting fresh Peter thought to himself as he stuffed the rag down the hole left in the sink’s porcelain surface. Though it could be worse, he supposed as he fished into his back pocket for his phone. The bathroom could be flooded or, god forbid, the pipes could have broken, leaving his whole apartment submerged in water.
His pipes could have broken. Ceasing his movements completely, Peter allowed the cogs in his mind to turn, if only momentarily. With his pipes broken, he would be out of a place to stay, leaving him forced to ask around for a couch to crash on, and being that he was only in possession of one friend, it was either Kat or Aunt May. Kat who he was exhausting himself to watch over. Kat who would be much easier to protect if the two were living in the same place.
No. No. That’s creepy and weird. I’ve only known her for like a month, I can’t just ask to stay at her place, let alone lie to her about my pipes breaking in order to do so. But… But Peter was running out of options. He couldn’t continue as he had been without breaking down eventually. Even now, the weight of his eyelids, nearly too heavy to keep open, was driving him insane. It would only be for a little bit. Just until I can figure out this whole Mr. Negative situation. He justified to himself. Besides, she could always say no.
Squaring his shoulders, Peter turned his gaze to his phone to draft a text.
Peter
hey, so sorry to bother you, but my pipes broke and my apartment is completely flooded. any chance i could crash at your place for a bit?
Fidgeting awkwardly as he awaited a response, he kept his eyes glued to the screen, until unable to bear the lack of that daunting ellipsis, he cast the phone aside completely.
“Urgh, I’m so stupid. Why the fuck would she say yes? I’m basically a stranger she met a couple weeks ago,” he muttered to himself, dragging his hands down his face, ready to give up already. Ping. Immediately, Peter was scrambling for the phone which had landed face down between the cushions of his rather sad couch.
Kat
of course. wouldn’t you be more comfortable with your aunt though? i mean just given that you know her better.
Right. Aunt May. In any normal situation, it would make perfect sense for him to turn to her first. Except this wasn’t a normal situation.
Peter
i would, but she does so much for me already, and i really don’t want to worry her with this aswell.
Praying that Kat would just accept that answer and move on, Peter sat nervously as she appeared to be typing.
Kat
yeah, i know how that is. you’re welcome to stay with us. i assume you know my address already. :)
Peter let out a breath of relief, sinking back into the couch, before remembering the still spurting faucet in his bathroom and scrambling to call the plumber.
By the time he arrived on Kat’s doorstep, the sun had already set. He’d packed a fairly measly duffle bag with only a couple of changes of clothes, hoping against hope, he’d be able to resolve this quickly. His knocking was eagerly met and the door quickly swung open revealing not Kat, but her grandmother.
“Peter,” she smiled and he coked his head in surprise at her recollection of his name.
“Good to see you again ma’am,” he greeted, stepping inside.
“Oh please, call me Diane-”
“Gran, you’re eighty-six years old, he doesn’t want to call you Diane.” Peter felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate almost instantly with the appearance of the all too familiar redhead. “Mrs. Jennings is fine,” she continued, speaking this time in his direction.
“Can I get you anything, Peter? Have you eaten?” Mrs. Jennings asked, moving towards the kitchen.
“I’m all good, thank you,” he nodded in her direction before turning to Kat for further instructions.
“Come on, this way,” she motioned, moving through the living room towards the stairs leading to the second story made up of Kat’s room, alone. Stepping through her door felt like entering a different dimension. The lighting, much like the rest of the house, felt warm and inviting, with several lamps and strings of fairy lights brightening the space. The wall was spattered with posters and pictures in the few places where bookshelves did not dominate the empty areas and in front of the only window, sat an old writing desk, covered in notebooks and loose papers. And there, pressed against the left wall, was a single twin bed.
“There’s only one bed,” Peter stated, though that information was immediately obvious to anyone with two working eyes.
“Ah, except there’s not,” Kat held up a finger, moving to clear a couple of things off the floor, before pulling on what Peter had assumed to be a set of drawers beneath the bed. Out popped a second, twin-sized mattress.
“Ta-da! It’s a trundle,” she stated triumphantly, motioning the second available bed, now taking up the majority of the floor space.
“It’ll be like a sleepover every night,” Kat smiled, moving towards the small closet in the corner to retrieve a set of sheets and a blanket.
“Thank you again, for giving me a place to stay,” Peter emphasized, moving forward to collect the sheets from her, so as to make his own bed. Having made quick work of the linens, he reached for the blanket only to stop short.
“Is that-” Five smiling faces stared up at Peter as he unfolded the large piece of fabric.
“I won’t tolerate any judgment, I hope you know that,” she replied, without looking up from the book she’d occupied herself with while he made the bed. Peter struggled to hold in his laughter as he spread the One Direction memorabilia across his new bed.
“I didn’t say anything,” he assured her.
“But you were going to,” she replied.
“Listen, I’m really not complaining. I happen to be a great enjoyer of Harry Styles,” he said, moving to grab something from his bag which Kat had left untouched by the door.
“More of a Louis girl myself, personally,” she smiled, before marking her page and standing up.
“I’m gonna get ready for bed. You can stay up as late as you want, but if you need the lights on, you may want to move to the kitchen eventually, though I tend to be up pretty late. Wi-Fi password is on the box downstairs in the living room, but I think I might have a picture I can text you. Other than that, there really aren’t any rules. Try not to break anything. Stay out of my journals. Food is free reign, just lemme know if we’re out of anything or if there’s something you want. So, uh yeah, that’s it,” she finished, stepping over Peter’s bed to fish through the dresser for a set of pajamas.
Though Kat did, in fact, retire to bed fairly late, Peter didn’t mind the faint light emitting from the lamp beside her bed as she sat up reading. He finished some ongoing work on his laptop and around midnight decided to finally give in to the exhaustion that had been dragging him down since the early hours of the morning. Having seen him roll over, Kat switched off the lamp and resolved to go to sleep herself, her breathing slowing quickly after she’d buried herself beneath her quilt, in the dark of her room. Relaxing further at the sound of Kat sleeping peacefully beside him, Peter drifted into his first night of restful sleep all week.