anti-hero ━━ peter parker

00. overhead

prologue
midtown, nyc

"Stop following me."

It was a demand of the dark, because Brenna Banner didn't beg.

The rooftop was cold. She stood with her toes on the edge, teasing a stories-high drop. Distant sirens and bustle of nightlife made it difficult, but she listened for the soft footsteps.

It was a game she was getting tired of playing, the same, drawn out dance. The footsteps were coming closer, until they abruptly stopped.

Brenna was joined at the edge.

"I can't."

"Can't, or won't?" She turned, expression unreadable behind the black gator she wore, pulled up over her nose.

"Won't."

He was always short with her. It didn't make sense. Maybe he shed it all at night, only cracking a smile with the dawn.

That was something she could understand.

His goggles made her laugh when they first met. It wasn't the hand-stitched suit, or the way his voice sometimes got too high, or the way he'd overshoot when he swung—nearly free-falling into Midtown traffic.

     "Eat a pile of flaming garbage, Spider-Freak."

He crossed his arms in a huff. "You're really mean," he decided, sitting on the edge.

"Everyone says that. I don't think I'm mean, I'm honest."

"Well, you honestly hurt people," he replied crisply, swinging his legs a little. "I can't let you. That man—he's still in the hospital, you know. You don't care." It wasn't a question.

"He's a bad person. He would've hurt someone else." Brenna reminded him, reaching for the phone in her pocket. It was set to a police scanner, humming and buzzing. She turned it up. "...have a 503 in progress. Suspect is headed East on 42nd in a grey sedan, partial plate Bravo, Tango—"

     Her phone flew from her hand. White, silky webs clung to it.

     "You can't do it, I won't let you."

     "Give it back." It was uncharacteristically calm. "Or they'll have to peel you off the sidewalk."

     He gripped it tightly. "Why are you doing this? It's not your job."

     "Really? Someone has to do it. That's the problem with Spider-Man." Brenna spoke his name like a curse. "You help little old ladies cross the street and feed pretzels to pidgins. You're YouTube famous, do you know how fucking stupid that is? You've never lost a fight because you avoid them. Cameras aren't rolling, so drop your Boy Scout shit. It's pathetic."

     Her words cut like a knife. There was a moment of silence, Spider-Man tilting his head ever-so-slightly. "You're super mean," he concluded. "But, hey, good luck without this." He held out her phone, bouncing it like a yo-yo on a webbed string.

     Brenna's fist ground at her side. It built slowly, a bulging of her veins and blood rushing to her head. She grabbed his arm and twisted, before sending him flying across the roof.

     Spider-Man crumbled against a brick wall, coughing as he struggled to stand. A small water tower loomed overhead.

     "C-Can we talk about this?"

     Brenna charged him, fist raised to strike. He seemed to know just when to duck. She punched straight through the brick. "I don't want to talk. I want you to shut up!" she growled.

But, Spider-Man had found higher ground. He was perched like a bird on the railing of the water tower. "You're slow."

It was as if smoke was curling off her. "By the time I'm done with you, you—"

"What?" Spider-Man piqued. "I'm gonna wish I hadn't met you? I'm gonna need to get wheeled around? C'mon, it's always the same with you. At least Kraven's a good conversationist. This thing's getting stale."

"Oh, I agree with that."

"You think you can do the police's job for them. You can't." Spider-Man bounced her phone with the web again. "That guy was a bad guy, but—"

     Brenna started to climb, scaling the ladder on the side of the tower. "That guy, again? Seriously? He's a scum bag. He hit that lady and kept driving. The police wouldn't have got to him in time. H-He thought he could away with it. He needed to know what it felt like." Brenna stepped onto the platform, fist forming at her side.

"What what felt like?"

She swallowed, hard. "What it felt to be powerless. To know he couldn't escape what he'd done." She could feel the wounds on her knuckles opening up again, flesh stretching and tearing as she made the fist. "It felt good."

"You're monologuing," Spider-Man said. "Villain behavior."

     Brenna took a few steps forward. "I can be your villain, if it makes you feel better. You know what would make me feel better?"

     "Crushing my skull?" Spider-Man guessed in a quiet voice, while Brenna backed him into a corner.

     "Oh, yeah." Brenna took a swing. Spider-Man was quick—though, not quick enough. Her punch missed, but managed to grab him by the fabric of his suit. She panted heavily, holding him out over the edge of the roof.

     Spider-Man squirmed in her grip, before hanging limp. "Why are you so angry?"

     That was the question. It had followed Brenna for as long as she could remember, paired with the hesitancy in people's eyes: the fear. If she could see behind Spider-Man's stupid goggles, that same fear would be reflected back at her.

     "I was born that way."

𐄂