"I don't know what you did"-MJ slammed Peter's locker closed, almost catching his hand in the door-"but undo it."
He sighed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
MJ laughed, a hiss of breath cutting out between her teeth as she shook her head. "That's funny, because that's exactly what (Y/N) told me. But you're both terrible liars, and I'm not an idiot."
Peter rolled his eyes, reached up and opened his locker, only for MJ to slam it closed once more.
"Would you stop that," he said flatly. He didn't even have the energy to be angry with her.
Usually, MJ wouldn't intervene when her friends had an argument. She much preferred to sit back and watch it unfold, offering the occasional vague, philosophical comment or sarcastic quip. This time, however, was different. She didn't have to be perceptive to see the effect the breakup was having on her friends. She could see (Y/N)'s anger bubbling, festering underneath her skin. Just days ago, (Y/N) couldn't look at Peter, out of fear she'd burst into tears. Now she stared daggers into his back, and MJ had to drag her away for fear she'd burst into flames.
And she had to have some sympathy for Peter. Dark shadows hung underneath his eyes. His hair was messier than usual, his clothes wrinkled. He was missing that life that was known to radiate from Peter Parker-the electricity that flew off him in sparks and set everything around him ablaze. That contagious restless energy was gone, replaced by a weight to his shoulders and a distance in his eyes that she hadn't seen in a long time.
"What the hell happened?" she asked.
Peter gave up on trying to get the books from his locker. He zipped his bag closed and threw it over his shoulder. "No offence, MJ," he muttered, turning and setting off down the corridor, "but I really don't want to talk about this. Especially not with you."
MJ followed, quickly falling into step beside him. "Maybe you don't want to talk about it, but you need to talk about it."
"No, I need to get to Spanish class."
"Do you?" MJ mused. "Because you've been skipping Spanish class an awful lot lately. Since the huge argument with (Y/N) that totally didn't happen? Yeah, don't think I don't know that you're going to spend this period in the tech lab hammering things and pretending your problems don't exist. Avoiding her isn't the solution, Peter."
"I'm not- I don't-"
MJ placed a hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop. She didn't say anything, simply held his gaze as students pushed past them to get to class.
"It hurts, MJ," he whispered. His eyes glistened with tears, his lips set in a firm line, their quivering barely detectable. He looked away, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't- I don't know how to fix this."
"Apologise," she said.
"You think I haven't tried?" he hissed. "She won't hear it-"
"Have you really tried? Have you told her that you're sorry? Or have you just done what every boy thinks is apologising when it's not?"
He scoffed. "And what's that?"
"Trying to explain why you did the bad thing instead of just owning up to the bad thing and saying you're sorry."
Peter pursed his lips, glancing at her through narrowed eyes. "I might have done that."
"I'm not surprised."
Peter huffed and set off again, feet scuffing the ground as he trudged towards the tech lab. "It doesn't matter now. She's finished with me. It's over."
"Peter, haven't you noticed that she's furious?" MJ asked.
He glanced sideways at her. "I noticed."
"No, I mean she's livid."
"Dude," he winced. "You're not helping."
"Aren't you supposed to be the smartest guy in school?" she asked. "How are you not getting this?" She paused as Peter threw his hands into the air in a dramatic shrug. "If she was really finished with you, why would she still be angry?"
Peter's brow furrowed and his mouth hung open slightly, waiting for the answer to come to him. It didn't.
"See? If it was over, she'd forget about it and move on. But she's mad. I mean, she's so angry it's frightening," she laughed. "You walked into homeroom this morning and I thought she was gonna take a swing at you-"
"How is this helping again?" Peter whined.
"Because I'm telling you that she hasn't given up. So you can't either. As long as she's angry, it means she still cares. And if she still cares, you have a chance to make it right. Don't walk away from this."
Peter was silent, letting her words settle before quietly saying, "What if you're wrong?"
She smiled. "First of all, I'm never wrong. And second, this isn't about me. It's about you. And the Peter Parker I know would never walk away just because things get hard. If I've learned anything about you over the years, it's that the harder things get, the harder you fight. Why should this be any different?"
MJ had expected Peter to ask what she meant by this. She had expected him to be confused. But the boy was oblivious to her hints, too caught up in his own head to register her words, the weight of them.
She wouldn't ever tell him that she knew. She'd let him tell her his secret on his own, when he trusted her, and not a second before then.
(Y/N) could kill Mr Harrington.
In celebration of their last big decathlon win, the coach had organised a trip to the Museum of Natural History for the team. There was no way (Y/N) could avoid Peter in a group that small all day. Since only eight students were going, Mr Harrington decided it was easiest for them to take the subway, so Peter sat just down the car from (Y/N), and he didn't even try to hide the frequent glances he threw her way.
He wasn't only looking at (Y/N), however. He was exchanging what he thought were covert glances with MJ. (Y/N) bristled in the seat beside her friend, knowing that they were conspiring but unwilling to unleash on her in public.
"MJ, what did you do?" she muttered, making a tight fist around the strap of her backpack.
"Nothing you won't thank me for later," she replied.
"If I don't kill you first."
"Abe," Mr Harrington called. He stood in the middle of the car, one hand on the bar to keep himself steady, the other clutching multicoloured flash cards. "Which species of dinosaur is on display in the fossil halls of the Museum of Natural History, spanning one hundred and twenty-two feet in length?"
"Patagotitan mayorum," Abe answered.
"Very good. Flash, what is the most venomous spider species in the world?"
Flash stuttered, eyes wandering to (Y/N) in the hopes that she could give him a clue. She shrugged at him, so Mr Harrington opened the question to the rest of the team.
"The Brazilian wandering spider," Peter answered, and if MJ hadn't put her hand on her friend's arm at the first hint of tension, (Y/N) might have launched herself at him. Instead she grumbled, settling back into her seat as the train squealed to a stop.
A few people filed into the car, standing and holding on to the poles as the train set off again. One man stood opposite the two girls, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, arm resting on the bag. His icy blue eyes fell on (Y/N) watching him and he grinned. Yellowed teeth flashed from behind tight lips as he winked at her. She shrank into her seat, shuffling closer to MJ.
The train picked up speed. It roared through the tunnel and underneath the heavy rattling of the car against the rails, behind the jostling movements of the passengers, (Y/N) felt it was safe to glance discreetly at Peter without him noticing. She laid eyes on the boy, and her stomach turned to ice. There was something in the way he sat bolt upright, perched on the edge of his seat. The way he stared down the train, eyes darting from face to face as if he was calculating some impossible equation. His eyebrows creased towards each other, lips pressed tight. He looked to be holding his breath.
(Y/N) was holding hers, too.
His head whipped around. He peered into the next carriage, as if he could hear something no one else could. Waves churned through (Y/N)'s stomach as she watched. He reminded her of her aunt's cat, who could sense a dog on the other side of the fence before anyone else knew it was there. Her back would arch, hackles raised, poised to face a threat only she knew existed.
Every part of Peter was tense, muscles drawn tight, coiled to spring. He threw a final glance at (Y/N). It was a look filled with concern and knowledge; her last clue that something was wrong before the train screeched to a violent stop, almost throwing her from her seat.
"I want to see all your hands!" the man with the blue eyes yelled as he tugged a bulky gun from his bag. It seemed to emit a purple glow, pulsing, casting a cold light over the man's face.
"This can't be happening," Mr Harrington mumbled. "Not again."
(Y/N) raised her hands, glancing up the train at the other armed men shouting instructions, waving their guns at petrified passengers. She froze as Peter looked from the men to the door at his end of the car. She didn't notice the other passengers slide from their seats onto the ground until she felt MJ tugging at her sleeve.
She glanced down at MJ on the floor and felt the blood drain from her face. To see her friend's eyes filled with terror and tears when she was usually so unfazed, so indifferent, ripped the air from her lungs. She slid shakily to the floor, hands raised above her head.
"Behave yourselves," one of the men warned, sliding the backpack from his shoulder. He unzipped it and held it open, walked towards the nearest commuter. "No one has to get hurt. Just give me all your wallets. I want everything: pocket change, phones, the works."
(Y/N) glanced from the man to MJ's bewildered face, then to the other end of the car, where Peter was crouching, inching towards the door between the cars. Her heart had already been racing; now it was sprinting as he reached up for the handle and one of the men began to turn towards him.
She took in a gasping breath, and as the armed men turned to look at her, she did the first thing to come to mind-she wheezed. She forced the air from her lungs through a tight throat, and dragged in another lungful, in a display that she hoped looked like an asthma attack.
"What's going on?" the blue-eyed man asked suspiciously. "What's happening to her?"
"I- I don't know," MJ stuttered, tightening her grip on her friend's arm.
"In... -haler," she wheezed dramatically, clutching her chest, as Peter pulled the handle. She coughed violently to cover any sounds the door made as it opened. He glanced at her, shaking his head in wonder. "N-need an... inhaler," she choked out.
The cold blue of the man's eyes pierced through her as he called out for an inhaler. Mr Harrington rummaged in his pocket, producing a small blue device. He handed it to (Y/N), who didn't have to fake the shaking of her hands. Adrenaline ran cold through her veins and she brought the contraption to her lips, catching the flash of Peter's jacket disappearing through the door as she pressed down on the trigger and took a deep breath.
The cool chemicals hit the back of her throat and she coughed them back, eyes watering. "Much better," she spluttered, earning a sceptical glance from the blue-eyed captor. She handed the inhaler back to her teacher as the man turned away, taking a radio from his bag.
"I didn't know you had asthma," MJ muttered, rubbing her arm reassuringly.
"I don't."
MJ narrowed her eyes at (Y/N), then glanced down the carriage to where Peter had been moments before. She exhaled shakily through her nose.
The blue-eyed man flicked a switch on his radio. Static crackled through the otherwise silent car, cutting out as he pressed down on a button.
"Car four is clear," he said simply as the other men collected the last of the wallets and phones.
"Ten-four," came the broken reply. "Standby."
"WILCO," he stated, and threw the radio back into his bag.
MJ squeezed (Y/N)'s hand, eyes roaming the train from underneath a furrowed brow. "(Y/N), these guys..." she trailed off.
"Aren't wearing masks," (Y/N) finished. "You don't think that means..."
MJ met her gaze, and her eyes betrayed the words she couldn't say. They weren't just hostages-if their captors had their way, they would be casualties.
There was no time to dwell on the thought as the train doors nearest (Y/N) were wrenched open and a familiar, yet uncharacteristically confident voice called, "Looks like you missed your stop. Never mind, you can get off now."
The blue-eyed man chuckled. "We figured you'd show up."
"Are you kidding?" Spider-Man cocked his head to the side. "A party on the C train? I wouldn't miss it."
The man fired off a shot. Spider-Man leaped across the cab to crouch on one of the seats, as the shot burned clean through the train, scorching the wall of the tunnel.
"Last chance, Spider-Boy," the blue-eyed man warned, turning his gun back to the hero. "Next time, I won't miss."
"Would you be willing to put money on that?" Spider-Man quipped, already moving, shooting a web and snapping the gun straight out of the man's hands. "I don't like your odds."
The other men moved to rush at Spider-Man, but their leader held up his hand, signalling for them to back off. "Very funny, Spider-Man, but don't you have somewhere to be?" His glacial eyes glimmered, his lips curled.
Spider-Man's huge eyes narrowed as he froze, perched on the chair, just as a low rumble shook through the car, growing louder and more violent with each passing second.
"Sounds like your cue," the man said, as a breeze began to sneak through the train.
The rumble grew into a growl which became thunder and Spider-Man's eyes widened. He threw himself through hole in the carriage and into the black.
Wind whipped at (Y/N)'s hair as she watched the armed men jump from the train, the car shaking and rattling so loud she could barely hear her friend yelling at her.
"What are they doing?" MJ screamed over the racket.
"Escaping," (Y/N) murmured. She turned to look at the end of the car. Passengers scrambled to their feet, panic carved deep into the creases of their faces. (Y/N) jumped back onto her seat, pulling MJ after her, as commuters stampeded towards the still-smouldering hole in the train. Flash was among the crowd as it got stuck inside the train, jamming when too many people tried to squeeze out at once.
"Everyone stay calm!" Mr Harrington cried uselessly, his voice a mere whimper under the cacophony. The stampede battered him, the current of people threatening to pull him under as they surged. (Y/N) reached down and pulled him up onto the row of seats, then squeezed past towards the now empty end of the car.
The small window reflected the terror in the car as she approached it. She had to press her hand to the glass, peering underneath it, to see into the black tunnel.
And there he was, waiting. The train barrelled towards him, eating through the darkness, rattling against the tracks. He braced himself, right shoulder turned towards the train, right leg bent slightly, anchored to the ground between the tracks.
Her heart slowed. Her body was numb. Everything around her-the noise, the movement-seemed to cease. There was only Peter Parker, her Peter Parker, silhouetted in the headlights of the oncoming train.
And then he was hit.
The front of the train crumpled, folded around him. His feet dug into the gravel and ploughed through it, carving deep trenches into the earth which the train mowed over. He turned, shot webs out to either side. They caught the walls of the tunnel and he held on, even as the train pulled him on, slowing, but not stopping. His muscles were drawn tight under the suit, stretched so thin she feared he'd rip clean in half.
Even over the squealing of metal, the shouts of passengers behind her. Even through the window. She could hear his screams.
She pressed her other hand against the glass, eyes welling, lip trembling. She catalogued every inch of him. She etched the scene into her memory as MJ pulled her from the window, and the two trains collided.
(Y/N) tapped her pen off her desk, staring through the notes open in front of her as her leg bounced underneath the desk. Goosebumps ran the length of her arms, even underneath the hoodie-Peter's hoodie-she had pulled over herself. She refused to shut the window. Just in case. With no phone, she had logged on to her laptop and messaged Peter dozens of times, across every social media account she had. He had yet to reply.
Images and footage of the attack flickered from the television in the corner of her room. The same footage that had been playing for hours on a loop. She was sick of watching the reporters stand in front of the wreckage, relaying the events in their distant, sterile voices. They read off the numbers of people injured or dying as if they were just meaningless statistics, as if they were side characters in a bigger story, while pictures of subway stations cordoned off with police tape flashed across the screen.
"Eyewitnesses claim that local hero, Spider-Man, appeared at the last minute, saving hundreds of lives and thousands of dollars in damage. The whereabouts of the masked crusader is currently unknown..."
The knot in her stomach tightened. There had been no sign of Peter, or Spider-Man, since he stopped that train. They had torn the wreckage apart looking for him, but he was gone. In (Y/N)'s mind, this left two options: he had chased after the men to stop whatever they were planning next, or he had retreated to a corner somewhere, hurt and alone, to recover from what had happened.
She wouldn't let herself consider a third option.
She felt so close to tears, so close to breaking. She had emerged from the subway with only a bruised elbow, but her entire body ached. After hours of staring at her homework, unable to distract herself, she curled up under the covers of her bed and let it sink in. She watched the recycled news clips through watery eyes, the grief washing over her. Is there any way someone could survive that-what happened to him?
"So you have asthma now, huh?" came a weary voice through her window.
He sat on her windowsill, leaning against the frame with one leg hanging over the ledge, the other bent up, knee tucked under his chin. He clutched his mask, his hair matted and falling at all angles.
"Oh my God," she breathed, and rushed at him. "What are you doing here?"
He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the mask. "I didn't know where else to go," he said quietly.
"A hospital, maybe would've been a good idea." She took his face in her hands and inspected every inch of him. He was covered in grime, with a small cut slicing through the end of his eyebrow.
"Jeez, your hands are freezing," he complained.
New tears welled in her eyes, forming out of joy and disbelief. "I didn't want to close the window," she whispered, brushing back the hair that stuck to his forehead with shaking fingers. "In case you came back."
"I had to check in," he said softly. "I needed to make sure you were okay."
(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows at him. "I'm fine," she dismissed. "Barely a scratch on me."
"Barely?"
She rolled her eyes, confessing, "I have the tiniest bruise."
"Show me," he said. She rolled up her sleeve, exposing the patch of skin on her elbow, red already beginning to bleed into blues and purples. His eyebrows knitted together at the sight of it. "Tiny?" he muttered as he traced his finger over the edge of the bruise, then stooped to brush his lips across it. It made her wonder how a boy who could stop a train with his bare hands could be so gentle.
"I'm sorry." He sighed, chewing on his lower lip as he gazed at her. "Can I come in?" he asked eventually.
Nodding, she moved aside, closing the window as he collapsed onto her bed. "Just keep it down," she said softly. "My dad's still awake. Watching TV." She sat down on the bed beside him. She'd forgotten how much she'd missed his smell; it had been days since the last traces of him had faded from her sheets.
"I screwed it up," he mumbled, voice breaking. He ran the mask through his fingers, refusing to look up at her.
"Peter, no"-she took his still-gloved hand-"you did everything you could. You can't save everyone."
"That's not what I meant," he said, and met her gaze, lip trembling. "I ruined everything with you. I'm so sorry-"
"It's okay, we don't have to talk about this right now."
"Yes we do," he said firmly. "We do have to. Because right now you're here and you're letting me sit on your bed and hold your hand but this morning you couldn't even look at me. And I want us to be okay again, but I need to make sure it's for real. I need to know that it's because you want to be with me, that you trust me again, and not because this horrible thing happened and we're both afraid. I have to know that once the cuts and bruises heal, you'll still want this. I want you to forgive me for real, but you can't do that until we talk this through.
"So," he sighed, shifting on the bed to face her, readying himself, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't important to me, like I didn't care. I kept this huge thing from you, and I guess the longer it went on, the harder it was to tell you. I was so afraid of losing you, (Y/N). It's no excuse, and I am so, so sorry."
Her red-rimmed eyes drifted about the room. He loved her like this-quiet and contemplating, chasing the thoughts racing through her mind-even if she was deliberating the fate of their relationship. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, fold himself over her and fall back onto the sheets. He wanted to kiss her tear-stained cheeks and feel her breath on his chest, slowing as they both drifted off to sleep.
"You could've told me, you know," she said as she traced the webbed pattern on his glove with her thumb. "It would've been better than not knowing."
Peter pressed his lips together, frowning slightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill onto his cheeks. His guilt twisted up his chest. It tied his stomach in knots, formed a fist around his heart and squeezed. "I should've. I wanted to. But after that day, the last time I was here, you were so hurt and I kept thinking about what you deserve-a guy who's always there, who doesn't rush out and leave you worrying. A normal guy. I can never give you that. So I figured maybe I shouldn't tell you. Maybe I should let you go."
She took a deep breath. "I don't want any other guy, Peter. It's not your place to decide who I deserve. Besides, we didn't end up here because you weren't enough for me. This all started because you were never around, because you would sleep here and be gone when I woke up. I never understood why. But now I do."
"I was so selfish, (Y/N)," he whispered, because he knew his voice would break if he tried to say it out loud. "I'm sorry. You made me so happy and I just kept taking and taking. I want to make it up to you. I want to be there for you, the same way you were there for me."
"Keep talking," she said softly, hints of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Disentangling her hand from his, she brought it up and placed it on his jaw, rubbed a patch of dirt smeared on his chin. He leaned into her touch gratefully.
"I want to start over, if you'll let me. I'll take you out more. We can declare Friday nights date nights, how about that?" He smiled at the prospect. "And we should have dinner with May. She's dying to meet you."
"I'd love that."
"I'll be better," he promised, his brow furrowed with certainty.
There wasn't a corner of her mind that doubted it. She pulled him forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He leaned into her tiredly, nose nudging hers. She could feel the sleepy grin on his face.
"It's late," she smiled, pulling away to stand up. "May must be losing her mind. You should go home."
"What?" Peter gasped sarcastically. "You're just gonna kiss me and kick me out?" He stood up, taking her hand to fiddle with her fingers.
"It was a thank you kiss. For saving my life."
"Hmm, which time?" he asked, grinning slyly, his tongue poking out between his teeth. "Either way, I think you owe me another."
He dipped his head, but she dived away before he could steal another kiss. "Idiot," she giggled, and pushed his chest, the spider emblem making an odd clicking sound under her hands. She narrowed her eyes as she took her hands away.
And his suit fell to the ground.
"Well, gee, (Y/N), if you wanted to get me naked you could've just asked."
She looked away (as difficult as it was) from his half-naked form, bringing a hand up to cover her smile as she giggled.
"(Y/N)? Are you still up?" her dad's voice called from the living room, wiping the smile clean off her face.
"You have to go," she hissed at Peter, and lunged at the door just as her dad reached the other side, knocking softly.
Peter stooped down and gathered his suit back up, pressing the spider to secure it around him again. "Not without that kiss," he grinned. He covered the distance between them and cupped her cheeks, pulling her forwards to press a delicate kiss on her hairline. "Can I come back later?" he whispered. "I miss waking up to this. To you."
She nodded, eyes half closed, and he let out a relieved sigh which tickled the hair above her ear. Then he set off across the room, clambering through her window. He kicked the lamp off her desk on the way out. "Sorry," he called sheepishly from her fire escape.
