The Butterfly Effect: a Peter Parker Fan Fic

Part 2; Suit Up, Butterfly

My philosophy is: if you can't have fun, there's no sense in doing it. ~Paul Walker <3

After storming out of the bodega, I shove past the countless amount of bodies buzzing about on the streets. My height provides a disadvantage and my heart rate begins to increase rapidly. I have to get out of here.

I find a gap between the flood and take the opportunity to flee into an alleyway. Using the rubbish bin as cover, I collapse onto the floor and try to control my trembling. Everything hits me like a bus. My dad might die and I'm just sitting my stupid ass here thousands of miles away from him when I should be in Miami supporting him. I'm a failure to him as a daughter. I need to find a job or find a way to get that money. I can't just sit in class and study as he deteriorates. 

A tear slides down the side of my nose and drips onto my lip. It tastes salty. I haven't broken down in ages and now I'm vulnerable to many things in this moment. 

My eyes drift down to my watch that isn't just a watch. I lean my head against the brick wall and the smell of the trash next to me wafts towards me. My nose scrunches up in disgust. Then, my gut sinks. My sixth sense, another side-effect from the chemical leak.

There's someone in the alley. Someone unwanted. 

Without even thinking, I stand up, shielding my face, and press my watch up to my mouth. "Suit up," I whisper. Instantly, a dark gray mesh begins to spread from my watch and wraps itself around my arms, my torso, my chest, my legs, my neck and enough of my face to hide my identity. I hold my hands out in front of me and admire my new suit.

Dad made this for me, the technology, the design and everything. "Use it only for good," he said. This can be considered as good.

I snap my head around to see a man standing behind me, chuckling relentlessly. He takes a step towards me and the lighting shows his horrendous face even more. His eyes are bloodshot red and wide open. A worn-out, red flannel shirt hugs his bony torso and a pair of dirty black tracksuit pants cover his legs. He looks homeless and old and... creepy.

He smiles a toothy grin, exposing his missing teeth, "you're one of those super humans aren't you?"

"I'm not a hero," I snap.

He puts his palms up in defeat, "my bad, Princess."

I hiss, "don't call me Princess, asshat."

"Well a pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone here," he snickers, "let me take you home, sugar."

"I'm warning you..."

What are you going to do? Hurt me? I'd like to see you—"

I take a long stride towards him and activate another button on my watch. A dagger extends from my sleeve and into my palm. The man stumbles back in response and his jaw drops.

I cock my head, "you were saying?"

He scoffs, "you aren't going to hurt me."

"Oh yeah?" I say menacingly. His face falls as I grip the collar of his shirt and shove him up against the brick wall. His teeth chatter with fear and I chuckle harshly.

I hold the dagger to his throat, "don't ever try things like that again, you hear me?!"

He licks his lips, "you're hot when you're mad."

That's it. I reach inside his mind, preparing to plant an image. Despite me not being able to read minds, I can feel how perverted this man is. His mind is disgusting and I just want to get out of there! But there's something I have to do first.

The fascinating thing about a human mind is that it can be deceived in many different ways. I tickle the knife down his throat softly so it doesn't cut him but the image of blood pouring down his neck appears in his mind.

He begins to howl in pain. Human minds are too easy to control. I pull away from him as he falls to the ground and slaps his hand to his neck, only to see that there is no blood.

He looks up at me in confusion, "how did you do that?"

"Do what?" I say wittingly and tower over him, "you'll never do that again."

I take a few steps in front of him so my back is facing him, ready to deactivate my suit without revealing my identity.

I press my watch to my lips and whisper, "suit o—"

I'm interrupted by something. The next moment happens in slow motion. The man runs up from behind me and snatches the dagger out of my hand. By the time I turn around, he is grinning like a Cheshire Cat and has the dagger held above me. I want to react, but I can't move.

He brings it down and suddenly, a blur of red and blue comes past and shoves the man to the side. The dagger scrapes my arm, the pain sharp and piercing. I groan and look down at my arm. It's painful, but it's not deep. A bandage will do. My eyes dart to the fight happening next to me. It's that Spider-Boy. The one who caused the fire at Delmar's. He sprays his silly string from his shooters and slams the man against the wall. He has it under control.

"Fly away," I mutter to my watch. A pair of black, intricately patterned wings sprout from the back of my suit. I pick up my dagger and don't even prepare for take off, I just do it. My legs boost me off the ground and I'm mid-air. I'm... flying. Another addition to the suit that my dad had added. I trialed it a few times in Miami, but it was never real like this. The air tries to force me back down, but I'm too strong. I feel free, free away from all of my troubles and all of my insecurities and all of my fears.

I want to fly all the way back home. All the way. But I haven't even scaled this moderately tall building yet when I start to feel woozy. I sigh and land clumsily on top, falling on my butt as I begin to tend to my injury.

My arm is covered in blood. It's shallow, but it's a long cut. It dripped down onto my suit as I flew up, dying it with stains of red. I put pressure on my wound and exhale deeply.

A pair of footsteps thud behind me and I scramble around, panicked. It's the Spider-Boy in his red and blue spandex.

He puts his hands up reassuringly, "I'm not going to hurt you."

I let go of the breath I was holding and stand up. "Are you alright?" he asks, his masked eyes travelling to my arm.

"I'm fine," I murmur.

He grabs my arm gently and I want to fight against it and pull away, but it just... it feels right. His warm fingertips run across the scratch as he inspects it.

"You should get this fixed," he insists.

I roll my eyes, "it's just a scratch, Spider-Boy."

"Spider-MAN!" he moans.

I shake my head, "you're clearly a boy." 

He begins to protest but I block it out. Instead of listening, I reach inside his mind, pure and innocent as could be, and patch my wound up with a fresh bit of skin. He drops my arm in shock and I take this opportunity to walk to the edge of the building and prepare to fly off.

"How did you do that?" he says incredulously.

I smirk and hover above the ground, "do what?"

"Are you a good guy or a bad guy?" he asks.

My head swivels around for these one as my forehead creases. To be honest, I didn't know the answer to this. I don't want to have the lives of others in my hand, whether it's hurting them or saving them. I don't want that to depend on me.

I shrug, "I'm a... fun guy."

"Can you at least tell me your name?" he calls out.

This answer will brand me for the rest of my life. I'll be known to members of the public as this name. I smile to myself but don't turn around as I answer, "The Butterfly."  

And I take off, pressing my fingers to my still open wound.