Holding To The Ground

Nearly a week had passed since that day.

Besides the new curfew, not much had really changed between him and May. He was glad for this fact; even though he had cost her her husband and her youth, she still cared for him each day. Something warm but heavy glowed deep in his chest at the thought. He was loved, and no matter how comforting it was, he knew somewhere deep down that he didn’t truly deserve it.

But she still had not told him I love you.

He pushed the thought deep down as he swung between buildings and power lines. There was no time for guilt when people were in trouble. No time to feel insignificant and alone.

An abrupt shriek pulled him out of his head. It was high and clear, and did not give out after a few seconds like an adult’s would. This was the terrified scream of a child.

Peter turned himself towards the source of the sound and swung as quickly as he could. Concrete and iron blurred past him so quickly he began to feel sick, but he persisted, even when he misjudged a web and clipped his shoulder on the side of a building. Hot blood began to stream down his arm and fling droplets into the air. He kept on.

He landed on a rooftop. The impact of the concrete underfoot sent an ache shouting through his entire body, but he ignored the pain. At the sound of his landing, both the screaming child and the man trying to toss her off of the ledge turned around.

Maybe Peter had never been abused. But he knew people who had. And he had read books about the topic. He knew enough to recognize child abuse.

And this little girl, her blonde curls matted with blood, her My Little Pony dress torn to shreds, her wrists and cut and bleeding with the red marks of rope burn showed every sign he could think of.

He didn’t say a word. He simply aimed his webshooter at the little girl and shot.

The webs wrapped around her body and she cried out in either fear or pain. Peter drew the webs back in until she was drawn away from the ledge and by his side. He swept her behind him with one arm, the other aimed on the man, whose face was contorted in fury.

”Are you her dad?” He asked.

The man didn’t answer. Peter started to repeat his question when the man rushed forwards, fists balled. The child behind him whimpered, and almost on instinct, he shot another web at the man. It bound his arms and legs together, and one more web stuck him to the ground. He struggled fruitlessly against his bindings.

Peter turned to the girl and crouched down to her level. Her face was tear-stained and blotchy, wisps of hair caught in the snot running down her face. “Hey,” he said gently, careful not to startle her. “What’s your name?”

She drew in a shaky breath and said in a tiny voice, “Alyssa.”

”Alyssa? That’s a nice name.” She nodded but didn’t smile. “Alyssa, did that man hurt you?”

Slowly, hesitantly, Alyssa nodded again.

“How long has he been hurting you?”

”A couple of months, I guess.”

”Yeah? And was he the only one?”

Alyssa nodded again, her eyes on the man as if she feared he would break free and punish her.

”Is that your dad?”

Alyssa didn’t answer. She was too focused on the man. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale. Tears started to well up in her eyes.

Peter touched her face gingerly, guiding her eyes back to him. “Hey, Alyssa, you’ve been so brave, alright? You’ve done so well, I’m so proud of you. I’m a superhero and I couldn’t do what you’ve done.”

”What did I do?” She asked, and Peter’s heart ached.

”You survived,” he whispered. “And you’re here now. And I’m proud of you.”

A small smile bloomed on her face, and Peter found himself returning it beneath the mask. “See, that’s a pretty smile! But I just need to ask you another question, okay?” At first She didn’t answer, so Peter lifted his mask up to his nose and stuck out his tongue. She giggled and did the same.

”Okay,” she said, gaining a bit of confidence.

Peter secured his mask back over his chin. “So, can you tell me who that man was? Was that your dad?”

”No.”

”No? So who was he?”

“My daddy’s boyfriend.”

Peter started to relax at her answer, but kept his guard up anyways. “And your dad didn’t know about this? He’s always been nice to you?”

Alyssa smiled just talking about her father. “No, daddy’s nice. He didn’t know what Mr. Pat was doing. But daddy always hugs me.”

Peter felt relief flood his veins. Alyssa wouldn’t have to go into foster care. Peter could simply call the cops and return the girl to her father.

”Oh, that’s good. Your dad sounds like a nice man. Where is he?”

”Um, he’s been gone on a busy-ness trip.” Peter smiled at her awkward speech. “But he’s coming back today. That’s why Mr. Pat tried to get rid of me.”

The relief vanished into thin air. Dark anger took its place, black and hot. “Get rid of you?” He repeated, eyeing the still-struggling form on the ground.

Alyssa nodded, oblivious to Peter’s hatred. “Mhm. I live in this building.” She gasped as an idea came to her, a high, joyful sound. “Oh, Spider-Man, do you want to wait with me? I can show you my Barbies!”

Peter’s smile returned once more. “I would love that. Just give me a second to call someone to take Mr. Pat far, far away, okay?”

Alyssa nodded and skipped away, humming to herself. Peter had no idea how children had such resilience, but he was thankful they did. After a near death experience, this little girl sang her favorite song like it was nothing.

He stood and walked over to the man.

”Karen?”

”Yes, Peter?” Replied the voice in his mask.

”Can you send the NYPD to this building and forward them all the footage from the past ten minutes?”

”Of course. Anything else?”

”No, thank you.”

Peter heard her shut herself off. Pat snarled up at him. Peter gave him one final kick, then followed Alyssa to her apartment.

——

A key clicked in the door just as Alyssa’s Barbie was about to marry Peter’s Ken. The door opened and someone called from the foyer, “Pat? Alyssa? I’m home!”

Peter stood up as Alyssa’s father walked in the room, his doll forgotten. “Daddy!” Alyssa called, her face split open in a wide smile. He ran over and hugged her father’s legs. His eyes, however were focused on Peter.

”Hey, baby,” he said absently, setting down his briefcase. “Who’s your friend?”

Shs tilted her head up to look at him. “Oh, that’s Spider-Man! Mr. Pat tried to throw me off a roof and he saved me! And then he came in and played Barbie with me!”

”Wait, hold on, Pat did what?”

Peter cleared his throat and gestured to Alyssa. Taking the hint, the man said, “Hey, honey, why don’t you go play Barbie in your room?”

”Okay, Daddy!” She said, and flounced to her bedroom.

Peter approached him slowly. He made his voice as professional as he could and said, “Sir, there’s no delicate way for me to put this but...I’m afraid that your boyfriend has been abusing your daughter.”

The man gasped. His eyes opened wide. “Wait, What?”

”I said—“

”No, I heard what you said, I meant—God, where is he now?”

”Probably on the way to the police station.”

The man shook his head. “Okay, hold on, just—just explain this to me from the beginning.”

And Peter did. He told the man how he found Alyssa on the rooftop, what she recounted about the past months, and described the evil look in Pat’s eyes. Tears welled up in the man’s eyes as the story went on. When Peter describes the moment Alyssa told him Pat’s plans for when he came home, they began to spill over.

By the time Peter wrapped up his retelling, the man had begun to shake in his seat. “How did I never notice?” He asked himself, his voice ragged.

”It’s not your fault,” Peter soothed. “Most people don’t notice until it’s too late. You just need to be glad Alyssa’s alive.”

The man nodded. “I am,” he choked, his voice thick with tears. “I am.”

Then, with no warning, he lunged forwards and wrapped Peter in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into Peter’s shoulder.

”It’s just what I do,” Peter said.

The man sobbed into the fabric of Peter’s suit. Peter just let himself be held. This wasn’t the first time. Far too many children died before he could reach them.

Then, a small voice asked, “Daddy?” Alyssa had come out of her room to play, but her baby doll hung forgotten at her side, her eyebrows knit together in concern.

The man immediately pulled away. “Yeah, honey?” He said, wiping his face clean.

”Are you okay?”

The man smiled and walked over to her. He picked her up and balanced her on his hip. She giggled as he bounced her, and her corkscrew curls bounced along.

”I am now.”

Peter took that as his cue to leave. While Alyssa and her father we’re absorbed in one another’s company, Peter slipped quietly out the door and made his way back to the roof.

Pat was no longer there, and the residue of webs was the only sign he had ever even existed.

But something was off. The Sun was already down, the sky getting darker by the second.

Ice cold fear flooded Peter’s veins as he checked the time in the corner of his vision. The tiny clock read 9:18 pm.

Peter swore and swung in the direction of home as quickly as he could. Despite his relatively strong night vision, he grazed his arms on buildings so many times that by the time he landed home, the skin on both sides was all but gone.

He changed as quickly as he could and ran into the living room, where he found May sitting on the couch, staring blankly on whatever rerun played on the television. All other lights had been turned off, and Peter noticed with a flip of his stomach that her right hand held a near-empty bottle of red wine.

”Hey, Aunt May,” he said carefully.

She took a long swig from the bottle. “You’re late,” she said simply.

He rushed to explain himself. “I know, but there was this little girl who almost died and I had to wait with her until her Dad came home. I really didn’t mean to stay out so late, it was just so overwhelming that I lost track of time. I promise it won’t happen again, I really do.”

Peter waited silently for her answer. For a moment, the only sounds came from the television’s tinny speakers and the swishing of the liquid in May’s bottle.

”...May?”

Finally, her eyes still trained on the screen, she said, “I thought we’d agreed on a curfew.”

”I know, but that girl really needed me—“

”And what about me?”

Peter blinked. May continued, “Did you even think about how worried I was? Two hours past your curfew and you still weren’t home? I thought you were dead. Did you even care about how I feel? Do you care about me at all?”

Peter didn’t answer. What could he say? 

That was a mistake. Finally, May twisted to meet his eyes. Peter was taken aback; her gaze was shockingly vacant, without any familiar warmth he had loved so much for so long. Instead, somewhere deep within them, a spark of rage smoldered beneath the layers of ice.

”But maybe I shouldn’t have worried.”

Peter openly flinched at that.

”I mean, you can handle yourself, right? You’re an adult, you have superpowers. You don’t need anybody else. You’ll leave your aunt all alone with her cold dinner just to stay out for another hour, being some kind of hotshot.”

Peter’s lip started to twitch. “No, May I’d never.”

”But obviously you would!” She shouted, jumping to her feet. “You just did! You think random strangers are more important than the woman who keeps you alive even after you killed her husband!”

Tears spilled over Peter’s face at the mention of Ben as his Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He felt like he had just been stabbed.

”God, Peter, you’re so selfish! You only do what you want to do and you damn the rest of us. When will you realize that the world doesn’t revolve around you?”

The next breath Peter let out shook his entire body as the tears began to drip down his chin. He felt like someone was grabbing his stomach and squeezing as hard as they could.

”You know what? Maybe you should have stayed out! Putting yourself in all that danger, you’re bound to get shot one day. Then maybe I’ll get some goddamn peace around here, and I won’t have to look at the little shit that my dead husband’s brother left behind!”

May threw her bottle to the ground and it shattered, sending shards of glass flying around the room. By now, Peter’s entire body trembled, and he flinched violently as the bottle exploded. He began to sob openly, his body heaving.

May sniffed. “Pick this shit up,” she commanded. Peter waited for her to leave him to it, but she stayed, lording over him. He walked to the closet to find the broom, but May said, “No broom. Use your hands. See how I feel picking up your messes.”

Peter stared at her with wide eyes, disbelieving, almost asking her to bust out laughing and admit it was all a long joke.

That moment didn’t come. Slowly, hesitantly, Peter sank to his knees. He picked up the biggest shard carefully and held it in his hand. Then the next. Then the next. With shaking fingers he filled his right hand with sharp shards of glass, barely touching them to keep his skin in tact. He rose to his feet to throw them away when suddenly, May coughed. He flinched, and his hands curled into fists against his will. His hissed; the corners of each shard split open his skin. Blood began to pool in his palm and spill over his skin.

“Don’t you dare stain my carpet,” May said, her voice hard. Peter nodded quickly and rushed to the trash can, dripping the blood-stained glass into the bag. Holding his hand over the can, he tore off a paper towel and pressed it to his wounds.

He expected May to let him rest, but she said, “Keep going.”

He stared at her incredulously, but her hard gaze never wavered. He sunk back to the floor and continued his job.

He cried out whenever a new shard would prod his already-healing cuts, and had to sweep his hands over the floor to pick up any minuscule glass pieces, but eventually finished. When he looked up from sweeping the last pieces of glass embedded in his skin into the trash, he saw May swaying in place, tears running down her cheeks. 

“May!” He exclaimed, rushing over to her. He pulled her body to rest on her shoulders. After a moment, her downcast eyes focused on his face, vulnerable and open, a stark contrast from the hard authority she held before. “May, are you alright?”

She sniffed. “I’m a terrible person,” she said.

”No, you’re not. You’re just sad. It was my fault for staying out past curfew.”

”It was, right?”

With her propped over his shoulder, Peter started to guide them both to her bedroom. “It was. It was just me, it wasn’t your fault. I should have listened to your rules.”

May nodded along. “Yeah. You should have.”

She looked down at Peter’s bloody skin, staining her already-stained pajama shirt. “Oh, baby, go bandage your hands.”

”I will. Don’t worry about me.”

As he led her to her bed and helped her lay down, he said, “I’m sorry, May. I’m sorry for breaking your rules.”

”I forgive you,” she mumbled, crawling between the sheets like a child. She let Peter tuck her in, her tears slowly dying. Relief began to make his body sag. May issued a punishment and forgave him. Everything would be right again by the morning.

Peter stood in the doorway. “Are you gonna be okay?” He asked.

May, her eyes closed, mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

”May?”

She took in a deep breath and said, “You should have been on your parents’ plane.”

The color drained from Peter’s face. He froze, unable to believe what he had just heard.

”What?” He asked, all relief sapped from his veins in favor of cold horror.

May didn’t answer. She was already fast asleep.