darkest before the dawn

August 2nd, 2016

10:45 AM

Ned Leeds always adored superheroes.

Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow, Hawkeye. He spent his childhood fantasizing about meeting even one of them. Just catching a glimpse of the Quinjet or Iron Man flying to Avengers Tower or Captain America jogging around Brooklyn was enough to make him beam for weeks. They were superheroes! They saved the world. They saved New York. And Ned was lucky enough to live only a subway ride away from where they lived, out of seven billion people in the world.

Flash got to meet Iron Man once. And he had gushed and beamed and left Ned behind to be friends with other people. They still talked, yeah. But they never hung out anymore. 

Michelle didn’t like the Avengers. She called them war profiteers and useless when it came down to things that actually mattered. Like human trafficking or robberies or child abuse or gang violence. She preferred the vigilantes, like Daredevil or Luke Cage or Jessica Jones. The ones she said actually helped people.

Ned didn’t care. Superheroes were superheroes. He thought they were all cool. But they all worked in Manhattan. Daredevil never came into Queens. Jessica Jones was a PI, not a vigilante. Luke Cage worked in Harlem. Iron Fist stayed in Chinatown. The Punisher came to Queens, but his mama had quickly and firmly shut down any inquiries about the vigilante, insisting that he was not a superhero and not someone to look up to. So Queens never really had any vigilantes, just the shiny red A in the distance and the fear of a skull and a devil coming kept any real bad things from happening.

And then Spider-Man arrived.

And Ned’s heart had nearly burst with excitement at the thought of a superhero living in the same borough he did.

His mama had been distrustful of the vigilante, but his mom had shrugged and said that a lot of people down on their luck trusted him, so mama let it go.

School lit up with even the smallest rumours that Spider-Man existed. Gossip ran around the school and people were swearing up and down that they had seen him just last night, swinging around buildings. Flash had managed to get a picture of him, albeit very blurry and instantly became the most popular kid at school. Michelle had a journal filled with theories and sketches, a list of sightings and a map dotted with each of his appearances. Liz and Betty gushed to each other about having a superhero and wondered if he was cute. 

Ned hoped he would meet him.

He just-

He just didn’t think he would meet him while sitting in a rundown apartment with an upstairs neighbor that was definitely smoking weed, sitting down on a ratty couch in his Han Solo t-shirt holding a box of legos while said superhero, sits across from him in a pair of men’s boxers and a Lord of the Rings shirt, stitching his left leg up because it has three gigantic gashes stretching across his thigh.

He also didn’t think it would Peter Benjamin Jonathan Parker, the outcast of Mills Middle School and his sort-of friend.

When Peter first stepped foot into the classroom for the first time, it was like a gunshot firing a single round and scaring everyone into silence. He wasn’t that scary, not scary at all. He had brown hair and brown eyes and was the size of a mouse. He wore plain t-shirts and grass-stained jeans with beat-up shoes that constantly looked like they were going to fall apart. He wasn’t a scary person, he was the youngest out of all them, he skipped a grade. He shouldn’t have looked like a threat.

But he did.

His brown eyes were often frozen in a glare that could have freezed Hell eight times over. His hands were clenched into fists with knuckles that were bruised and bloody. He spit out single-syllable words as if they were venom, never talking to anyone. He held himself like a live wire, tense and volatile. His chest was often hunched over and he nearly snarled when the teacher called him the wrong name. There was a deep score on his face, running from his cheekbone to hairline and Ned heard Michelle whisper that it was a bullet wound. 

Needless to say, there were rumours.

Someone managed to dig up information on Peter, and it wasn’t fun. His dad was in Rikers, imprisoned for life. His mom was missing. He lived with his Aunt in Queens. His uncle was dead. They used to live in Hell’s Kitchen and everyone assumed that his family had ties to a gang, that that was why his uncle was dead and why he had that bullet wound. Despite the fact that his uncle had been a cop.

Nobody talked to him. Even Michelle preferred to watch him from a distance. He was the new kid, he was scary. He got into fights. He stood up to bullies and didn’t take crap from anyone. He would sit in class and do better than everyone else, correcting the teachers over and over again until they said the right name. 

Flash said he was creepy. 

Liz said he was troubled.

Cindy said he was mean.

Betty said he had a dark past.

Michelle rolled her eyes and said he probably went through a lot of trauma and it was normal for kids like that to act like this. 

He told his moms about Peter and they had exchanged a look and sat him down. They told him that not all kids got to live with nice people and sometimes they got hurt by their parents. And when that happened, it made the kids scared and they acted mean so no one could hurt them again. His mama had kissed his head and told him that Peter was just a scared kid in a new environment and he just needed help.

So Ned tried to be friends with Peter.

Peter did not want to be friends with Ned.

Ned did not take no for an answer. Ned grew up in a big extended family, his mama and his mom and his Lola and his cousins and aunts and uncles scattered across the east coast. There was always someone to talk to and always someone in his corner. He grew up loved and in comfort, always a safety net under him if he ever fell.

Peter didn’t have that. Hadn’t had that.

So Ned wanted to help.

Then in March, Peter changed.

He shot up about five inches, now a clean 5’0 instead of 4’7. He stopped picking fights and became more of a background figure. He answered teachers politely instead of snarling answers and just became-

Normal.

That was around the time the Punisher came around Queens and vanished again. Everyone had been gossiping about it and Michelle had told Ned that Peter seemed really tense whenever he was brought up.

And then Spider-Man showed up.

And everything went on in life.

And then Ned had walked down to Peter’s apartment building, knocked, unlocked the door like Peter told him too, called out for Peter, didn’t get an answer, walked into Peter’s room and seen Peter curled up on his bed with a giant bruise on his face and bandages wrapped around his leg, wearing the Spider-Man suit.

Peter was not happy.

Peter finished stitching one gash and moved on to the next. “Well?”

Ned cleared his throat. “What?”

Peter didn’t look up. “You’re staring. What?”

“You-you’re Spider-Man!” Ned blurted out, “You’re a superhero!”

Peter scowled. “I am not.”

“You are! You’re a vigilante! You fight bad guys and-and you took down the Rhino!” Ned’s so excited. “That’s so cool!”

Peter shrugs. 

“But-but you’re twelve, right?” Ned asked, confused. 

“Thirteen in a few days,” Peter told him, needle sliding through his skin. “But yeah.”

“How do you fight?” Ned stares at Peter, “Do you have superpowers?”

Peter sighs. “Yeah. I’m strong, and I can stick to walls. Also really flexible. That’s it.”

“How’d you get them?” Ned inspects Peter, looking for any sign of powers, “Are you a mutant? Are you like the Maximoff lady? Like Jessica Jones?”

“Remember the field trip to Oscorp in February?” Ned nods and Peter continues, “I got bit by a radioactive spider. It wasn’t a part of the experiments done by Oscorp, though. I think it was one of those guys meeting with them.”

“So you became Spider-Man,” Ned breathed out, “And fight crime. That’s how you got those. Was it from a knife?”

Peter inspects his handiwork, which is really neat and orderly. “No. Cannibalistic creature.”

“So cool,” and that might’ve been the wrong thing to say because Peter’s face goes sour, like he’s sucking on a lemon. Ned tries to backtrack. “Um. How do your webs work?”

Peter shows him what look like two bracelets with black circles in his palms. “I made them myself. I just click it and swing.”

Then Peter yawns, and he nearly stabs himself with the needle. Peter curses in some very colorful language as Ned tries to make sense of what’s going on.

Peter is Spider-Man.

Spider-Man is Peter.

Peter has powers.

Peter fought the Rhino.

Cannibalistic Creature running around New York.

Peter is a superhero.

“Peter, you’re a superhero!” Ned can hardly believe it. It seems like a dream. Peter is a kid, younger than Ned, and he’s beating up criminals and saving people just like the Avengers. He’s got powers and a suit, even if it does look like he found it in a dumpster. It’s just like the beginning of a comic book, like when Bruce Wayne puts on the cowl or when Barry Allen first got his powers and became the Flash. 

Does Peter know the Avengers? Daredevil? Does he have an origin story, like in the comics? Is Peter going to be a part of the Avengers one day? Is he going to stay Spider-man forever? 

Peter stops swearing and squints at Ned. “M’not. More of a vigilante.”

Ned waves a hand. “It’s the same. But, like. Dude. Do you know the Avengers?”

“No. I don’t know anyone else, either.” Peter finishes stitching his leg and wraps bandages around his thigh. “Just to let you know.”

“Does your aunt know?” Ned asks, unable to help himself. “Does she know about, y’know, this?”

Peter goes tense. Unmoving. A solid force. “No.”

And, because Ned does not have any self-preservation instincts, he asks, “Are you going to tell her?”

Peter raises his head and Ned is sure that if looks could kill, Ned would be dead eight times over. “No. And if you tell her Leeds, I’ll-”

“Can I help you?”

The threat that had been on Peter’s lips falters. Peter jerks back, confused. “ What?”

“I want to help you,” Ned repeats, leaning forward on the couch, “With being Spider-Man.”

Peter shakes his head. “How?”

“By being your guy in the chair.”

Peter goes ghost white and his hands clench into fists. “No.”

“But I’ve already helped you,” Ned argues, “With the library, remember? I hacked into the database for you.”

“I don’t need help,” Peter spits out, and Ned is reminded of the twelve-year-old boy he met with a red scar on his face wandering into the school with thorns on his lips. “I don’t need you in my life, I don’t need another person trying to help, I don’t need-”

“Peter,” Ned says, completely unflinching, “I really want to help.”

Peter just glares at him, so Ned pushes on.

“You save people,” Ned says, trying to get Peter to understand, “But I can help you. I don’t need to be in a suit, I can just look things up for you so you don’t have to. I can focus on one thing while you can go beat up bad guys. We can be a team.”

Peter’s silent. 

One minute, two minute.

Three.

“Give me a second,” Peter says, standing up on his injured leg and walking with barely a wince. He goes into his room. Ned stays on the couch, heart thumping in anticipation. Peter stays in his room for a few minutes, complete silence throughout the apartment aside from the TV softly playing the 24 hour news. 

Peter emerges from his room, red eyed and clutching a small, plastic dinosaur. Ned thinks it’s a velociraptor. “Rules. I’m in charge. If I say we’re done, we’re done. You can’t tell anyone, and if you do, we’re done. Also, you stick to solely getting information. If I think it’s something dangerous, then we’re done. Get it?”

Ned beams. He’s going to help a real-life superhero. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. “So when do we start?”

Peter scowls. “By taking a nap.”

And so he does. Curling up on the couch and not falling asleep, but watching the news and generally ignoring everything. 

Ned pokes him. “What about the cannibalistic creature?”

Peter hisses. “I can’t do anything about that. I can’t track it. I can only wait to see if it reappears again. Same thing with the arm dealers. I have to wait to see if they reappear again.”

Ned pokes him. “Arm dealers?”

“Laser guns. Sonic blue thingys that make my ears bleed. I actually have one of them in my room. I’ll look at it later.”

Ned pokes him and Peter bats it away. “ What?”

“Are we friends?”

Peter looks tired. And beaten down. His voice is so flat and void of emotion. “Sure. But I regain the right to back out of it any time.”

Ned has a friend. 

Mission accomplished.