Queens
“Karen, what’s going on down there?”
Peter Parker was swinging off one of the skyscrapers in greater Queens when he saw the unmistakable yellow tape of a crime scene. The crowd was thick and densely populated so that Peter’s view was cut short, but anything worth capturing that many New Yorkers attention had to be a spectacle. The oddity was that Karen hadn't picked up anything... especially after he'd been swinging around for upwards of an hour looking for something
“No reported crimes.”
Peter did a double take mid-air, almost missing the light post he was going for and feeling his heart skip a couple beats at the prospect of impeding death.
“Wha---what do you mean? I see police tape right in front of me.”
“No reported crimes.”
Spider-Man stuck a landing on the side of an old brick building nestled into the corner where two alleyways connected. He was invisible to the unknowing eye here in the shadows, a perfect place to scout the scene. The police line was just a couple feet to his right, and while the bustle of people surrounding the incident made things a little harder, he could still make out a few important details.
“Karen, I can literally see blood.”
“No reported crimes, sir.”
Peter rolled his eyes at that.
“Yeah. Okay. Say hi to Mr. Stark for me.”
“Will do, Peter.”
He shook his head and jumped down to the shadows below. Double checking he was alone, the teenager pushed down on the spider emblem on his chest to de-compress the suit. Snatching his mask off his head he mumbled “traitor” while the rest of the latex slid off him in an ungracious manner. Luckily Peter had been too lazy to even take off his school clothes before he went all superhero, so the change from Spider-Man to Peter Parker was virtually effortless. With Karen’s allegiance in question, Peter would get more answers as himself, and with his hoodie pulled up, he joined the crowd at the east entrance.
No one had left since Spider-Man’s unknown first arrival, and he could really only see flashes of things when the taller people in front of him shuffled. Unfortunately, in his 'line of work' he was pretty good at guessing. Call him an optimist but he was really hoping someone had just dropped a whole lot of red paint.
“What happened here?” Peter asked aloud, turning to the closet person to him. Everybody was murmuring to one another, so Peter's voice didn't carry.
next to him was a man, probably late twenties with thick-rimmed glasses, and a pointed nose. His eyebrows were knit together in concern, and his discoloring was off suggesting his uneasiness with the crime before them.
He answered in a grim voice.
“Shoot-out. These people were just walking on the side walk at the wrong time.”
That hit a nerve. Peter remembers when the cops had described “wrong place, wrong time” to him, and how it did nothing to alleviate his pain. In fact, it probably made it worse. These people were apart of no bigger plan. Their death was not explained away by karma or the harbinger of justice, it was just bad luck. They had been out for a walk, or coming back from work, or hell just enjoying the day when the rest of their days ended. Their family could not use reason, or poor decision making to cope but only the horrors of unpredictable life.
How did this happen?
Specifically, how had this all occurred in broad daylight? Surely someone had to have called the stand-off in, and surely they had to respond? It's not like someone can just pull a gun and all the nosey New York pedestrians decided to handle it on their own.
“In the middle of the day? How did no one stop it?” Peter questioned. There was already one large black bag sitting idly in the ambulance. A second was still being attended to on the ground. Surrounding the scene were several people sniffling into their sleeves, and others callously snapping pictures; a troubling juxtaposition.
The guy gave him a knowing side eye.
“The police were called, but there was no way they could get here in time--- no killer waits to be caught.” The guy’s eyes were plastered to the scene ahead. He was probably a good six inches taller than Peter so he could see the whole scene. The police station was pretty far from this area. He definitely can't blame the response time, but he can't praise it either. “If you ask me, it’s those other guys to blame, anyway.”
Peter nodded along with that before registering that he didn’t know who was referenced.
“Sorry… other guys?”
Had there been more than one shooter? More than one response team, more victims?
“Yeah. The supers. Vigilantes and shit.” He scoffed sourly at the notion.
"What?" Peter couldn't help but feel stunned. Vigilantes help people, that's the whole gimmick. That's why he chooses to sling around New York all day rather than play video games, because he's causing a difference... right?
"You know what I mean. The vigilantes. Seems like every New York neighborhood's got their's. Ours is Spider-Man."
Peter was momentarily stunned, choosing his next words carefully. Had this dude seen him fly in?
“I uh---- I didn’t think Spider-Man was here.”
“Yeah, exactly. When is he ever here for the real stuff? How many graffiti artists did he catch while these people bled out on the street? If he’s gonna play superhero, at least be a useful one.”
Peter’s mouth opened, but no response formed just yet. He was afraid if he spoke he would use “I” instead of “Spider-Man” or with how uneasy his stomach was feeling maybe just get sick. He didn’t know! He’d asked Karen relentlessly what was going on and nothing showed on his scanner for the past hour. Agreeably, it was his own fault for not patrolling the busy centers but even he could not be everywhere at once. Selfishly what bothered him most was the question of whether this was really public opinion.
“I-I’m sure he would’ve been here if he knew.” He countered shakily. He’d been slowly building himself back up after Thanos, but these people didn’t have time to wait for Spider-Man to grow some courage.
The guy snorted at Peter’s comment.
“Yeah well, I’m sure that’s what he tells himself. But tell me this, when’s the last time Spider-Man, or Daredevil, or any number of those Avenger wannabes did any real heavy lifting? They stake their claim in a city, stop the kingpin, get all the gangs angry, and then step back when everything goes to shit. They're saying the dudes here were apart of whatever gang Spider-Man pissed off on that Staten Island Ferry that sunk. Pity someone else had to pay for that dude's mistakes.”
The crime scene was slowly clearing itself. The body bags removed, and now just a few loose ties to string up. People who Peter assumed were present at the time were being held back for questioning, and off to the side of the road sat two young girls with red-rimmed eyes. He hadn't known.
“Hadn’t thought of it that way.” Peter mumbled, feeling eerily light headed. He’d blame it on exhaustion, but really it felt more like the symptoms of the flu. Stuffy head, light fever, fatigue… he really needed to lie down. His head felt fuzzy and he was moments from altogether throwing up in the middle of this crowd. He was supposed to be the good guy.
The doors to the ambulance shut with a boom that rocked Peter back to Earth. He felt weirdly surreal right now, like this was all a nightmare and he’d wake up soon enough.
But in his nightmares he was usually unmasked, or falling from a great height. It was true, he was no stranger to criticism. Being a public figure meant every bad tabloid article about how no heroes are saints, or ‘what could have been done differently’ became commonplace, but seeing the evidence of his failure, and hearing the confirmation that it was Spider-Man effectively nailing the coffin was a new experience.
“Anyway.” The dude stuffed his hands into his pockets and made a motion to leave. “Watch your back kid. Doesn’t seem like anybody else will.” He shrugged, and walked off like they had just finished chatting about what a great year the Rangers were having. Peter however, was rooted to the spot. People started filing out once there was no show to be seen, time clicked by, and it took a couple of hours before Peter could muster the courage to go home.
X
Peter arrived at the compound the next day, more skiddish than ever. He knew he’d told Tony that he would help last night, but after his conversation with that man outside the crime scene, he really hadn’t felt up to much. Foolishly, he’d turned to the web to see if that guy was a singularity, or a representation of the population.
There were some posts about all the good he’s done. People on that school bus he’d saved down in Bushwick, and stragglers who’d been staring down a mugger when Spidey came to save them. But for every praising article, there were several damning ones. People from that Staten Island Ferry who said they’d be dead without Iron Man’s help, and people who ranked Superhero’s on their practical ‘usefulness’ that had Spider-Man dangling at the bottom. There were infinite articles going in depth about how their talents were wasted on petty crimes, and how none of Spider-Man’s antics would be allowed if not for his Avengers backing.
It was all a bit much.
So he’d gone to bed that night with a head full of insecurities. School went by in an unremarkable blur, and finally when he could dodge the texts no more he went to see Tony.
The teenager input his pin, and the door to the lab slid open. Instead of entering immediately, Peter leaned against the frame of the door.
“Peter! Oh thank god, help me lift this will you?” Tony Stark was dressed in his typical black STARK INDUSTRIES t-shirt and old sweatpants as he lifted up a hefty barrel that Peter could only assume its use. Usually Peter would play eager puppy to help Tony out but today he was feeling excessively drained. There was too much on his mind to wok today, and if he didn’t get these questions out now he was afraid he never would. Some of the articles described Spider-Man as 'Iron Man's dead weight' and if he was causing nothing but problems to the one person whose opinion he valued most in this world, he wasn't sure what he would do.
“Pete? Could use a little Spider strength.” He sounded strained, and Peter’s hazy thoughts almost clicked back into reality before his mouth blurted out what his brain couldn’t filter.
“Are you only nice to me because you don’t think I can handle this on my own?” It came out in a rush, and like one insecure, run-on word but he’d said it nonetheless and had no other role but to stand his ground now. He may not have liked how he said it, but it was out there for the world to see now.
Tony, his eyes wide with shock and confusion gently set down whatever pipe he was messing with, and continued to stare at Peter as if he had just told him he was actually growing six more legs like an arachnid.
“Excuse me?” If he was reading the scene right, Tony even seemed a little ticked. Rational Peter would’ve back tracked now, not wanting to upset the man on his day off, but this new, post-crime scene Peter didn’t seem to care. He pushed farther.
“All of this----“ He motioned to the labs and everything surrounding them, “the internship, the labs, you being so nice to me… is this all because you don’t trust me? Because you think I’ll fail if you don’t?”
He's not sure what answer he wants, but he knows he wants the truth.
“Please don’t lie to me.” Peter added hastily as a disclaimer.
The billionaire looked like he was about to ask for a hearing aid with how stumped he came to be. Peter wouldn’t repeat himself again, it was embarrassing enough the first time. Either he got his answer now, or he would bottle it up forever.
“Kid…” Tony started, wiping his greasy hands with a towel and throwing it unceremoniously onto the table. He walked towards Peter slowly, as if stepping into a trap. Against all odds Peter was actually quite afraid of his response. What if, since he’d been found out, Peter’s role was done? What if Tony got upset about how ungrateful Peter was being and it was goodbye compound and newfound life? There was an endless string of possibilities as to why Peter could be kicked to the curb, and only his fear kept him rooted to the spot.
Tony responded after a beat.
“Believe me, you could never make as many mistakes as I did when I was your age. And then some twenty odd years after, too.”
That wasn’t an answer. Past mistakes don’t mean you don’t want to fix people who could follow your footsteps. Maybe Peter was just the ‘what if’ experiment Tony had been dying to test out.
Clearly Tony could tell Peter wasn’t buying it. He took the last few steps to cover the distance between them, and his hands found their way to either side of Peter’s arms. While he didn’t necessarily want to be coddled right now, he would take it if Tony just answered the question directly. His pointed look gave Tony the ‘go on’ signal.
“No. Okay? There are a lot of things in my life that I would fix, or maybe even change if I could, but you are not one of them. I ask you to hang around here because for whatever reason, I like having you here. You’ve got a good brain, and most importantly a good heart.”
OK… if this was a lie then it was a damn good one. Tony’s eyes shone with nothing but a steely reserve.
Tony shrugged, signaling an afterthought. “When it’s not wrapped up in these conspiracy theories.”
Peter rolled his eyes at that, but remained silent. He believed him. Call it a character flaw, but he earnestly believed Tony would tell him nothing but the truth. This may not solve all his questions about how good Spider-Man was at his job, but it at least answered the one he’d feared the most. Whether Tony cared about him out of love or pity.
His silence only paved way for Tony to continue.
“Look, if I wanted a fuck-up, I’d be mentoring Deadpool, okay?” Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that, cutting the tension with a hot knife. Tony and his personal vendetta against the vigilante never ceased to pique his interest.
Tony smiled at peter's laugh before adding, “Now does that answer your question?”
“Yes.” Peter answered bluntly. Adding a “thank you” when he thought of it. He’d been feeling so anxious about this very exchange that now that it was out there, he felt exhausted. Tony’s hands left his arms and Peter turned to leave. On his way out, Tony’s voice followed.
“Hey.” Peter stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his mentor. “What do you say tonight, we forget the labs and call it a movie night? Your choice.”
Peter smiled. Peter had read countless articles about how Tony Stark's only heart was his arc reactor, and if they were so wrong about that they maybe they were wrong about Peter too. He'd have to believe in himself, even if it was unpopular.
Peter nodded, said “sounds great” and with that they parted ways.
He had the full intention of at least getting some homework done tonight. It was a Friday, so technically he could slack off as much as he wished until Sunday but he’d still made a mental note to do something. However as soon as he found his bed, he flopped down into it and his eyes closed peacefully. He would do better. For that random guys’ sake, and Tony’s, and hell the whole city, he would do better.
But first, Spider-Man needed an upgrade.