usm . story dump

Your Fault [ ]

Just by reading the title, the fluff has melted into a monster called angst. Ahh, yes. Pre-USM events will play through this oneshot, so bare with me--!

Also, this will be a little longer than usual because I have to go on a little trip (which sadly means no phone to write-- ;w;), so I hope this could compensate for the sudden disappearance and possible drop in uploads.

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Peter had only just finished his nightly patrol of the city. A bank robbery followed by a house burning down. He wasn't able to save everyone. Perched onto a building, replacing a gargoyle that had yet to be replaced, Peter attempted some excuse to cancel a sleepover with Harry, but Aunt May would be suspicious as to why the boy cancelled a plan he was itching for all week.

It was a dreary night, rain pouring from the darkened skies as the roads populated themselves with an assortment of coloured umbrellas are vehicles. He could spot the occasional speeder, but he was sure the NYCPD could handle the smaller crimes like that.

He wasn't supposed to be here anyway.

Despite the Big Apple looking so colourful down below him, Peter found that the world had lost its colour. The hustle and bustle of the city had faded to white noise, a deafening ring in his ears as he recalled attempting to save everyone from the burning building.

He nearly laughed. How pathetic: he couldn't save them all. There was just an innocent schoolboy caught in the crossfire, shot in the head all because Peter couldn't shoot a web fast enough. And three children who died within the inferno. The worse punishment for any parent would be to bury their child, or what's left of them anyway. That guilt felt like a weight suffocating him, wrapping its arms around his throat and squeezing whatever will to live he had.

Despite the city being blanketed in a cover of darkness, New York still shined as bright as a star in the sky. Despite it being a little past a time where families come to meet for dinner or a time where children should be in bed, the city was still alive with the honking of any vehicle and the busy chatter of people running by. Occasionally, the odd police siren would begin to run along his ears.

He was snapped back into the cold reality when his phone started to vibrate in the pocket (well, not really) of his suit, the rain pelted daggers onto his back and head as he checked the ringing device with an almost annoyingly loud ring tone. He looked at the Caller ID, recognising that it was just Harry calling. He answered the call, waiting for the caller to speak.

"Yo, Pete," Harry's voice rang over from the other line, almost audibly dripping with worry, "do you need a ride? Where are you? MJ and I've been waiting for the past half an hour."

Peter nearly chuckled at Harry's concern. He almost felt as if he didn't deserve it. "I'm excited for tonight, Harry," he answered, "just a little held up in the rain."

There was a short beat before another familiar voice answered. "Well, get here, the pizza's almost gone," MJ's voice responded, answering with hidden concern.

"Pizza's almost gone? Save some for me!" Peter replied in a faux jokey tone before hanging up. It was about time he brushed his guilt away; it wasn't a good time for that.

He sighed a little, taking a deep breath before getting up from the ledge he set himself by. Turning around, he leaned back and started to fall. The feeling of wind brushing past Peter's body, attempting to stop him from falling too fast, was one that he had always enjoyed; it reminded him that even if the air wasn't sentient, it did help, or attempt to anyway.