The spider family was gathered at Aunt May’s for their usual Sunday morning post-sleepover brunch. Sleeping spots were scarce so rooms had to be shared and personal spaces invaded but most of them had gotten used to it. However, Peter B. Parker, who shared a room with Gwen had a problem with it.
“Hey, uh, Gwen. If it’s not too much effort, could you stop screaming in my ear in the middle of the night so that I could, you know, get some goddamn sleep once in a while?” said a rather grumpy-looking Peter from the head of the table.
“Sure thing. I’ll just erase all the memories from killing my best friend and get rid of the PSTD in a snap. Dickwad.” Gwen said rolling her eyes. The gang was used to Peter’s inconsiderate side and usually just let it slide, but there were some topics they wouldn’t take shit from.
Peter picked up his spoon from his cereal bowl and pointed it as Gwen, spilling milk all over the table. “Maybe do something about it?” Peter snarled.
“Seriously? This coming from a guy that can’t get up from bed for several days?” Gwen snapped at him.
“I get tired. I am extremely old, I think I’m entitled”, he said defensively.
“Peter please, I think we can all agree that even a blind person could see that it’s not a secret that you have depression”, Gwen looked for support around the table. However, no one had time to say anything before Peter stormed off the table into the upstairs.
Miles got up and followed Peter up the stairs. “I got this”, he said to the gang.
Peter was laying on his back on the bed with his eyes closed. Miles sat down next to him. “Gwen is right, you know. We just hate to see you like this”, Miles started. Peter didn’t open his eyes. “Last thing I need is pity from a bunch of damn pre-teens”, Peter muttered.
“Then maybe do something about it? Go to therapy, get meds, exercise or just go out and get some sunshine once in a while,” Miles suggested.
“Therapy is expensive, the meds make me fat, I am out of breath even from the stairs and the sun never shines in this godddamn shithole”, Peter said.
“There is no reasoning with you when you’re like this, huh? Let’s get back to this when you’re done feeling sorry for yourself”, Miles said before leaving the room.
The next day Peter was moping around his apartment when the doorbell rang. He considered pretending he was not home but knew that the knocker’s spider sense would reveal his presence. So he got up and opened the door for Noir.
To Peter’s surprise, he was without his mask and realized, that he hadn’t seen the man’s face completely before. The resemblance was shocking, expect for the light eyes which he couldn’t tell if their color was blue or green because of Noir’s monochromic nature. They could’ve passed almost as twins, if Peter wasn’t older, little taller and generally leaner except for his pudgy gut. There was also a difference in their surrounding atmosphere, as Noir had this very formal posture whereas Peter was always slouching like he was about to collapse on the floor at any second.
“What are you here for?” Peter asked.
Noir was a man of few words, so his only answer was a bottle of whiskey that emerged from behind his back.
“Oh, okay”, Peter said and stepped aside from the door that Noir could get in.
They sat in almost complete silence on Peter’s couch and drank. A common, often overlooked factor among all the Peters was that they were all prone to hit the bottle when they felt bad.
Suddenly the silence was broken by Peter’s ringing telephone.
“Mmyeah?” he answered.
“Hey, it’s Peni. Just wanted to check up on you, to see if you’re doing okay”, she said.
“A day at a time. Noir is here with me.”
“You guys been drinking? You know you shouldn’t.”
“Maybe. What do you know about anything? You’re like, what, ten?”
“I know you. And I know you’ll be feeling like shit the next morning.”
“Language, Peni. I appreciate your concern, but I am gonna hang up now.”
“Peter, wait…”
Click.
The next morning Noir was gone and all evidence that was left of his visit was an empty bottle and a pounding headache. Peter opened his eyes with great effort and was scared half to death by this cartoon pig in his living room-slash-bedroom.
“Heard you were being a little shit”, Peter Porker said tilting his head and staring intensively.
“W-Why are you here? How did you get in?” Peter stuttered in a daze.
“That better be the last time you hang up on Peni, you XL-insect. They say I’m the pig, but you should seriously look in the mirror”, Porker said and poked his stomach.
“I probably deserved that. Noted. Now could you leave since I need to vomit and or make a Bloody Mary.”
The next weekend Peter didn’t show up at Aunt May’s house for the sleepover. It was one of those weeks again, they all thought in their heads. He was either too drunk, hangover or in a general state of vague sadness to bother to leave his apartment. He woke up later in the evening and turned his phone on. One message received.
“May told you’re fucking your life up again. Maybe do something about it? XXX MJ”