The Actual Beginning
It started, as most things did, with a box of chocolates, a cold burrito, and a secret admirer.
Well. Peter supposed most things didn’t start off quite like that.
But in his world of wacky villains, alien invasions, and superheroes with social media accounts, it was pretty par for the course. Plus, years later, when sat in front of a little girl who looks so much like the love of his life it hurts, Peter will start the story that way because it always puts a smile on Ellie’s face to hear about how her Papa and Dad first met.
It was like any normal Monday night. Crime was slow, so patrol went slow, because no one ever has the energy to steal things on Mondays, not even the scum of the city.
Peter, dressed as Spider-Man, was sat on the roof of his favorite Mexican joint, fighting the urge to go down and grab a few nachos—he still had to pay his phone bill and rent that week, which meant he couldn’t afford to spend all his money on takeout. He had his lab notebook in his lap, phone in hand, as he copied the lab directions down for his BioChem class the next morning.
It was the smell that got his attention first.
After the spider bite in Oscorp, five years prior, his senses were on overdrive, meaning he could smell spilled blood from very long distances.
He was up on his feet in an instant, swinging down and away from the restaurant, headed south, towards Hell’s Kitchen.
He was sure Daredevil would be at the scene of the crime and would likely already have the situation under control. But the night was slow, Peter was bored, and he was kind of lonely. Besides, he and Matt had always been friendly, if a bit one-sided conversationally speaking sometimes, and he was sure that, if nothing else, this would be an excuse to put off his homework for just a bit longer.
When he got to the alley where the strong smell of freshly spilled blood came from, Peter wasn’t expecting to find Daredevil crouched in front of three men tied up with what looked like packing tape, as they slowly bled out from serious looking injuries.
“Didn’t take you for the kind to nearly beat people to death,” he said as he cautiously approached Daredevil. For all he knew, it was a clone. Or an evil, multi-verse traveling version of Matt. Anything was possible at this point.
“This wasn’t me,” Daredevil answered as he stood. He turned around and pointed at Spider-Man. “They’ll live. But apparently, it was done in your honor.”
“What?” Peter asked, so shocked by Matt’s words he almost didn’t catch the card Matt shoved into his chest.
“Looks like one of your fans wanted to take justice into their own hands,” Matt said. “They apparently only loosely understand the definition of justice.”
Peter looked down at the card, which read “Happy Mother’s Day, Grammy” on the front.
Frowning, Peter opened the card, only to see neatly blocked handwriting written in red crayon, which read: I hope you liked the presents! The three baddies tried to rob an elderly woman, so I stopped them, like I know you would. I figured you’d like the chocolate and tacos too—you could review them on your channel! XOXO Your secret admirer.
“Tacos and chocolate?” Peter asked Matt as he looked up from the note. “What?”
Matt hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at a gift basket that sat innocently on the fire escape above the group of men, as he said, “it seems like there’s nothing left for us here. I just finished calling the cops. They should be here soon.”
Peter rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze drifted from Daredevil, to the three men who were tied up, to the basket of food he smelled now, as his nose adjusted to the scent of drying blood.
“Oh. Well. Okay then,” Peter said as he took a step back, clutching the card in his hands. “I’ll take a closer look at the card in the morning. You pick up anything about the ‘secret admirer’?”
“Not really. They were careful,” Daredevil answered. “Highly trained. I’d be cautious until we can figure out more, Spider-Man. Your enemies tend to be…”
“Yeah. Awful. I know. And I’ll be fine.”
“It’s curious that your admirer didn’t place these…presents closer to your home turf.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Posted an update on Insta with a picture of a pigeon. They must’ve seen that or something. They’re clearly a follower.”
“Well, nothing to be done now,” Matt said as he cocked his head to the side. “The police are close. We’d better go.”
Peter looked back at the gift basket. His stomach growled.
Daredevil let out a low sounding chuckle then.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything off with the food,” he said, making his way out of the alley. “I’m sure you’ll be fine if you take it. I’ll call you later if I find anything.”
“Thanks,” Peter replied absently. “See ya around, Devil.”
He grabbed the basket of food and swung back towards the Mexican restaurant he’d been sitting at, before everything had happened, in order to grab his things. His mind was a mess of what all of the new information could mean for him. Clearly whoever had beaten those men so badly wasn’t particularly good. And clearly, they followed him on YouTube and Instagram, which meant that he’d have to be careful about his posts for the next few days.
He sighed when he finally crawled into the safety of his small apartment a few hours later. He’d thought that the social media would be good exposure for Spider-Man, so people would stop seeing him as the menace the Bugle liked to paint him as, but if this kept up, people were going to get wind that Spider-Man had a homicidal fan on his hands.
If he happened to drown his rising anxiety and worry with the chocolate and cold burritos from the gift basket, then no one was the wiser.