Short Marvel Stories

you are unbreaking, (though Quaking, though Crazy).🕷🏳️‍🌈

Set after Age Of Ultron and before Civil Wat. Peter doesn't care about much anymore. He's too busy grieving over his Aunt and trying not to get evicted.
Spideychelle + Trans Peter.
This story is centred around mental health and peter has a lot of low, depressive moods (suicide is also hinted at). If that's a TRIGGER, skip.

Once, I thought I was observant.
This is not true.
Observancy isn't a trait or a talent; not like cowardice or ego or having a particularly solid tackle in high school football. Its not inherited from your mothers-mothers-mother or passed on by your great uncle. You don't have alertness.
You learn it.
You have to.
I notice a lot. This comes from a hundred sleepless nights and two hundred semi-awake, blinking at shadows across the street and wondering which one's gonna hurt. Observancy is taught in the space between the crack of a bullet fired and the scream as it hits you. It's the fine-as-a-hair wire between walking away scott free and never walking again.
So, naturally, I notice superheroes.
When I first clock him, Hawkeye is sixty or so yards to my left, walking down 112th Street and eating a mint choc chip ice cream. This is not the only peculiar taste he has- a garish purple jacket is zipped right to his chin. Fifteen minutes later, when I glimpse him crouched on the rooftop of North Boulevard station, I find out this is to cover his (also a regurgitative purple) body armour.
Something I've learnt in company with superheroes is that wearing armour always means you're expecting a fight.
I'm unsure of the etiquette- am I meant to walk over to him? Run away? Maybe flip him the bird?
When he doesn't let up through my entire patrol, I crack my knuckles and begin to climb.

He follows my spiral down from Skyline tower, kicking off a few dozen window sills as we pass. We're lucky it's late and almost dark or someone might be in one of the countless office rooms. But it's only my reflection that moves; he wouldn't risk chasing me under the public's innocent eyes.
This is not our first meeting.
In fact, it's actually their fifth attempt to talk to me.
The first was peaceful, a few S.H.I.E.L.D agents, an ask for a signature, a request for identification.
The second time they cornered me to the extent that I was forced off the edge of a rooftop (I was even credited with a speech!).
The third was far more alarming, with seventeen or so undercover agents, armed and stern. I think that's when I realised I was in deeper shit that I thought.
The fourth attempt, only last week, was led by Maria Hill with a fresh warrant of arrest. It took some wriggling and a hasty escape over a fire ladder to free myself from that particular situation.
And now they send Agent Barton, who is technically an Avenger as well as a S.H.I.E.L.D Agent, to put a pair of handcuffs on me. Me, Spider-Man, a petty crime guy from Queens.
What even is my life by this point.
So I try and be polite, knowing full well that my fear is childish. I try and be brave, be a man who is fearless and cocky and actually good at their job when in reality I'm none of those things.
I keep steadfast when I want to run away screaming, I adjust my footing and take a deep breath because otherwise I'll shout until my voice turns hoarse and I have nothing more left inside of me.
Because that's what Spider-man does, even if Peter Parker doesn't.
"Look," Mr Hawkeye begins. I resist the urge to roll my eyes- here we go again. "Spider-Man, I don't want to dick about. If you let me get a little closer I can show you the contract."
I station myself on a ledge still fifty meters or so from the ground and pause to watch Hawkeye dangle from his rope, bug-like and swaying in the breeze.
"I won't hurt you," He says, "Promise."
It's just like kindergarten all over again.
"You stay there and I'll pass you this piece of paper. You can read it over, see watcha think."
While he fumbles around in his pocket, I picture the list in my own pocket, scribbled on the back of a takeaway receipt. I know it word for word.
Pros of signing the accords:
-I get insurance
-Less difficult choices to make
-Less being hunted down
-House? (Maybe)
-No more hiding.

Cons of signing the accords:
-No more privacy
-No more friendly-neighbourhood-ing
-No freedom of choice
-Identity revealed to everyone
-No choosing who i save
-No more normal