The Witch and the Spider

    The danger was gone. The pond rested, its chill waters calm once again. The young man was beginning to relax too, dropping his arms to the ground and letting his whole body plop down, sitting in a haphazardly manner. He was sweating, his eyelids closing and opening in a slow tempo, his chest expanding and contracting in a steady cadence.

    Peter stood petrified for a pretty minute, trying to 1: let what just had happened sink in and 2: let the young… wizard? respite momentarily. That had taken him by surprise, he wasn’t gonna lie. But his friendly-neighborhood side was screaming at him that he had to take the victim out to a safe place, so he started walking towards him.

    As soon as the superhero put a foot closer, the magician's shoulders rose up, his whole body tensing like a bow again. He looked at Peter with uncertainty painted in his eyes. 

    Peter tried to appear as inoffensive as possible. He took his mask off in a very slow manner, with no harsh movements as to not startle his new acquaintance. His hands rose up, palms out, trying to convey his non-confrontational intentions. He must have succeeded at that, because the boy stood where he was and let him come closer. He still wouldn't take his eyes off of Peter, scared but too tired to run away. There was something else in his expression, but he couldn't quite read the young wizard. The spiderling decided he had to build a bridge between them. 

"That was really cool, dude" He knew he couldn't really understand what he was saying, but he still attempted to go for something that could give calming vibes. Then, he thought he should also try to do the most obvious thing when meeting someone. "My name is Peter", he said slowly while he put his palm on his heart.

    The young man's face shone with recognition, albeit a surprised one at that. He squinted his eyes, seemingly deciding if he should respond to that or not. Finally, he answered a strongly accented "Hail be thou". 

    The surprise volley bounced back at Peter, and he opened his mouth and eyes in a very accurate representation of the surprised face emoji. On one hand, THAT WAS ENGLISH!; on the other hand, was that English? Did he hear “Hail”? “Thou”?

    So, Peter was a scientist in the making. He had formulated a hypothesis earlier, at the beginning of the fight he witnessed, by which he could have somehow travelled back to the Middle Ages. That, or he had accidentally bumped into the filming of a movie and the director thought all of this was too amusing and had commanded the actors to keep acting not unlike a Borat film and oh God they had filmed his face while wearing the Spider-man suit and his identity was going to- No, the evidence so far didn't support that hypothesis very strongly. He would've heard, seen, noticed something with his enhanced senses. (His brain still liked to torture him with the possibility, though.) There were other plausible outcomes, but Peter didn't have enough data to come to a definitive conclusion. By the logic in Occam's razor, time traveling should be the last option, but now here he was, attempting at a conversation with someone who seemed to speak EARLY MODERN ENGLISH. Granted, anyone could learn it no matter the time they lived in, but… It still was odd. And, honestly, he had already traveled to another planet and fought a war against aliens. This wouldn't even be the weirdest thing he'd ever seen. 

    Peter suddenly realised he had been staring for too many seconds now and hadn't answered to… whatever that greeting was. He forced his brain to come back to *the communication skills zone* and actually engage in a conversation. "You understand English! That's great! Wait, no, that wouldn't be it in Early Modern English, would it?" He was, like always, speaking fast as a bullet. He tried again, slowing down a notch. "Doest thou… Uh, understand me?" Okay, that was cringy. He regretted not giving enough attention to his Literature classes before. 

    It seemed to do the trick, though. The wizard (witch? How did it work? Could men be witches?) made some kind of affirmative sound that sounded more or less close to "oui" (or did he say "oil"?), and then gestured with his hands something that could represent "small". Or little, Peter thought. This boy understood a little bit of (Early Modern) English. Finally, some small miracle had brought good news to him. Peter mentally celebrated it. Fuck you, Parker Luck. Not today. 

    Peter smiled at him and nodded, trying to say “it’s okay” in a way that was universal. The other boy looked like he understood and relaxed.

"My name is Baudran. Thou art… Piers?" 

“Pierre’s?... no, no, Peter" he exaggeratedly pronounced the t. "My name is Peter” He offered his hand, but it only startled Mark Baudran and made him look at it with clear confusion painted all over his face. Peter let his arm retaliate, clearly embarrassed. “Erm… Sorry, it just means “nice to meet you” -no, wait, that would be “nice to meet thee”? Thou?”

“But thou hast no…” he made a gesture around his forearm and pinched his long sleeve, which in turn confused Peter.

    He suddenly turned his head back to the forest. His finely tuned ears had caught some noise from where the brutes had disappeared after Baudran’s merciless wash-over. To be fair, it could be any animal or anything else wandering through the maze of trees, but he definitely didn’t want to risk it. He looked back at the witch.

“We gotta go- sorry, we have to go, we are not safe here”. Peter looked at his face, trying to gauge if he’d understood what he said. Baudran turned his gaze to the forest, and he seemed to at least have an inkling on the meaning of Peter’s request. He once more looked scared. “Let’s go”, Peter softly said as he approached him and tugged at his sleeve, urging Baudran to follow him in the opposite direction of where he was still looking at.

    They dove into the tree maze once more, and soon the young witch regained control of his nerves and led the way. He still seemed anxious, but apparently he wasn't on the verge of another panic attack anymore. Which, honestly, was a big win in Peter's book.

    They walked for some time. He was feeling a little bit weird, his Spidey sense going softly on and off in a pattern that didn't make much sense. And the deeper they went into the forest, the more Peter noticed that creepy humming he had heard after The Fall. It had changed, though, not only being louder (would that be the right term? He wasn't exactly hearing it, he just… knew it was there, he could sense it) but also more chaotic, like a myriad of voices inside a church, reverberating and flying freely from stone walls to colorful windows.

    Only this was made by the trees. In a forest. Or at least he thought it was the trees. At this point, if someone told him the fairies or some other weird stuff were the culprits, he would just think "yeah, alright, it makes just as much sense. Why the hell not". One would think he should be used to background noise, living in New York City of all places, but one would be wrong.

    That thought made him stop, lowkey startling Baudran in the process. New York. He had to go back home. As soon as he made sure the other boy was safe, he had to find a way back. He could ask him, he surely knew his way through this damned labyrinth, but how could he ask about it in a way that made any sense? "Hey, do you know the route to New York City, a place that may or may not have been founded yet?" Yep, no. "Would you happen to know what the heck was that vortex through which I came here?" That would be better, but the witch hadn't seen it with his eyes. Hey, but maybe he was responsible for that thing? May Baudran be the one that had created the… That?

    Speaking of witch, he was confusedly staring at him, his body slightly inclined backwards, as if he wasn't sure he trusted Peter or didn't think he was a stable person. Aaand he probably had asked something, but Peter's brain was too busy to notice. It felt kinda foggy in there at that moment. 

"Uuuh… Hey, I, uuuh, I came here through some kind of… Portal? Vortex? Tunnel… thing? and I don't know my way back home." Was that phrasing too complex to understand for someone new to the language? "I was in my city- town?, and then I was falling for some time, and I could see images, and I saw you, and then I landed on this forest." Baudran was definitely confused now "Eeeh… Do you know what it is? And how I can get back home?" 

    He definitely didn’t know what Peter was talking about. He probably didn’t even understand what he said, judging by his silent answer and his really unconvinced expression.

“Eh… nevermind, I’ll figure it out somehow”, he answered while making a negative gesture, and restarted the stroll. Baudran walked by his side, looking at his face like he was unsure of Peter’s dismissal.

“Thou art… mmmh, felinde sik?”

“Uuuh...” That startled Peter. It was the second time he had witnessed Baudran speaking. “Sorry, what?” It was still so bizarre hearing Early Modern English. No, wait, it was earlier than Early, right? Middle English? What went before "early"?

"Art thou sik?", he repeated. Peter finally placed the expression the witch had painted on his face: concerned.

"Am I sick…? Uh, no, I'm okay, maybe a bit… Nervous?", Peter said, trying to mimic with his hands his message. "But thank you for asking!" 

    To be fair, he was feeling a little bit off, but given the circumstances, he thought, he was doing well enough. Also, the fact that his Spidey sense hadn't stopped buzzing was driving him up the wall. He wanted to go back home soon and leave all of this behind.

    They kept walking for a while, Peter following Baudran through the wooden maze and wondering how he could find the right path when every tree looked exactly the same. The only reference he had was a shy murmur of a brook ahead, but he couldn't guess how far it was. The witch seemed to feel his uneasiness (maybe he could read minds?) and glanced at him, a small smile on his lips.

"Min hous is nere"

    It took Peter a few seconds to discern the meaning of his scarce words, but he got there. His brain cells were trying their best to cooperate. 

    He nodded in acknowledgement and, soon enough, they reached the brook Peter had been hearing. It was smaller than he thought, but he was grateful for a change in the environment nonetheless. They followed its stream down. Five minutes later, the forest cleared to present them a pond that was closely surrounded by trees, as if they were zealous of the crystalline waters. 

    There, at the right by the shore, stood a curious cottage. Made of timber, stones and probably some kind of miracle, its upper part looked like it was tired, crooked as it was, but it was sort of charming; it had an addendum that hovered over the garden, and the myriad of flowers and plants that surrounded the building made it quite the bucolic view. Peter knew a couple of people that would've loved to make it into a post or two of mood boards.

    Baudran seemed happy to finally be at home, and he looked so much more relaxed and safe. Peter wondered if it wasn't dangerous to live in the middle of a forest, especially after the incident with the thugs, but he guessed it wasn't his business and that he probably had thought it through. The young magician kept walking towards a fence with an entrance.

"Uuuh… Baudran, I have to go", Peter stopped him.

    The witch turned around, startled by the other boy's sudden disruption. He didn't seem to understand the words themselves, yet his face told he got the meaning behind them. He seemed undecided, but finally asked: "Doest thou… wante a…?". He furrowed his brow, trying to find the correct word, and ultimately gave up and made a gesture, imitating someone drinking from a cup. Oh, that was nice of him. Not many people offered him something for his help, but it warmed Peter's heart when they did. Nevertheless, he had to go back to his own home.

"Uh, thank you!", he squeaked shyly, "But I have to go back home. I'm sorry, but thanks!"

    Baudran seemed to understand what he meant, and he made a politely sad face at it. It looked, though, like he was trying to cover how he had relaxed a little bit more. He also looked like he needed a nap.

"Thanke thee"

    An awkward silence stretched between them, and Baudran seemed reluctant to give him his back, so he started taking some steps backwards. He shyly raised his hand and waved it. 

"Well, good bye. Stay safe!"

"God bwy yee", the magician replied with a small voice. 

    Peter turned back to where they'd come from, leaving Baudran standing alone by the fence, watching the peculiar boy with the peculiar outfit disappear between the trees.

The forest trembled, an unheard chant filling the air around the cottage.

    Peter followed the stream to the point where they had found it before, and then turned left as he remembered the path they had walked by. Before he could start going in circles, he fished his phone from his belt pocket and used the compass to guide him. He had begun the trek back with energy, thinking about the sandwich he was going to devour when he got home, his stomach doing a backflip from the thought, and these ideas were an attempt at keeping his anxiety at bay. But soon enough he started to feel worse, the spider-nagging at the back of his neck going crazier and crazier by the minute. The humming he'd been hearing since he fell into this place was growing in its intensity too, and that wasn't helping. By the time he put his mask on once again to ask Karen if there was any danger nearby, his hands were lightly shaking and his vision was having trouble focusing. Uh-oh.

"Karen? Hi, uh, is there any danger nearby? My Spidey-sense is going crazy, but I don't-"

"Peter," she answered in her calm, slightly inhumane voice, "you seem to be having a fever, and your vitals suggest that there is a health issue of moderate or high risk."

    He abruptly stopped, although the world around him kept moving. GREAT, his day was going GREAT. He had to go back home ASAP.

"Karen, can you run a diagnosis?", he asked and hated how wobbly his voice sounded.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm afraid I'm not equipped to do that." Just GREAT. "If I had to guess," she momentarily stopped, something she never did. He didn't like what that meant. "If I had to guess, I'd suggest entertaining the idea that you might have been poisoned." What. "At the fight by the pond about two hours ago, one of your enemies managed to cut through the suit, thus having an opportunity to get some poison on the blade to your bloodstream."

    Ooooh, no. No no no no. He remembered right there and then that it was at that moment when his sense had started working up. That didn't look good. Not good at all.

"Okay, okay…", he tried to calm his breathing to no avail. "Karen, what do you suggest we do?" 

    She stayed silent for some freezing seconds. Oh, no.

"I'm… Not sure, Peter. Maybe you should find the other boy, he might have some remedy or know someone who does. With your healing factor, your body probably just needs some help to get started. I'm sorry, I don't have any better suggestions."

    Right at that moment, that idea sounded just right. It was going to be awkward, maybe, "hey, remember that I just said bye not an hour ago? Well, hello again", but he was feeling like downright hell and he needed some help. And, if all went wrong and he didn't make it through, at least he didn't want to be alone. As much as he appreciated Karen's presence, he longed more than ever for some physical comfort. He thought of Ben. He thought of Tony. His chest constricted, his lungs gave up on trying to control the air inside them.

"Peter, you're hyper-"

    Before she could finish, the hair in his arms spiked violently, and he heard the footsteps of a group of heavy men and the clank of metal against metal by his left side. They were close, so close, and he cursed this damned potential poison for not letting him notice the danger until this late in the game.

    He shot a web to a tree in the opposite direction, but his arm felt like it was attached to a heavy rock, making him miss his mark and hit the trunk instead of a branch. There was no time to rectify, so he used it to catapult himself further away from the nearing mob. He landed haphazardly.

    The Not-so-fantastic Four from before appeared right where he had been, their eyes gleaming with surprise and ill-intended happiness. They started shouting joyfully, giving one in the group some vigorous pats on the back in celebration. The man almost fell on his face. 

    If Peter weren't feeling so sick, he would be really annoyed by the grizzly quartet. They behaved like very stupid frat boys about to commit some stupid felony and feeling stupidly proud of it. He had seen their kind before. He didn't like them too much.

    But Peter was feeling very sick at that moment, and the annoyance had to seclude itself below the incessant stream of panic and dread his mind was drowning in. His body felt heavy, heavier than before the spider bite, heavier than when he was clinging to a spaceship for dear life, heavier than when his parents left him in his uncle's house. He tried to hoist himself up to the crown of the trees, but only managed to get a hold of a branch and hardly stand on it. He heard the stupid not-frat boys laugh in joy. He had to get away from them, fast.

    The four thugs commenced their ill-fated march, step by step by step by step by step getting closer to Peter. He jumped forward, but his legs didn't respond as well as he hoped. He grabbed another branch, managing to break his fall, and landed a little bit further ahead. It wasn't enough, all of his movements slowed down, his brain fogged, his senses dazed. His blood froze in its path every bit of his limbs. His heartbeat and the crunch of their footsteps were now a symbiosis, permanently plugging his hearing.

    When a hard fist connected with his stomach, he didn't even hear it happening.

    Through the haze in his brain, in the following minutes he somehow catalogued a number of hits he had both received and given, almost like he was watching it from below the waters of a lake, distorted and mostly muted. Even Karen's voice was merely audible. But when one of them tried to pry away his mask, he violently resurfaced, his lungs burning from the effort. 

    It all hit him at once: the both sharp and dull pain over his entire body, the metal smell of blood, the burning and freezing feeling of his fever, the sick green of the forest mixed with the gleaming eyes of those vindictive and violent men… the familiar panic of his identity being revealed. That well-known fear took over his consciousness, and he instinctively kicked the brute in the face. He jumped away impossibly high from the circle they'd created and they looked at him in hardly veiled fear. He shot a web at a tree on their right and yanked with way more force than he thought he was capable of at that moment, adrenaline making his already inhumane strength come back for a moment. The roots cracked, the truck loomed over them with the calm certainty of a tsunami about to streak down. Right before it fell, Peter managed to back away from the danger, and he ran and ran and ran and ran…

    His body was going to give up sooner or later, but he hoped to get away from them as much as possible. With a little bit of uncharacteristic luck, he could even find the way back to Baudran's house and ask for help. 

He’d hoped in vain.