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Chapter Text

The cold winter air hit you in the face as soon as you stepped foot out of the airport, sighing heavily and readjusting the bags on your shoulders and hands. After a nine-hour flight from Sydney to Hawaii, a stressfully short layover, and then another ten-hour flight from Hawaii to New York, you were complete and utterly exhausted. Your shoulders felt heavier than ever as you called a taxi and jumped in, tiredly giving the driver directions to your apartment and promptly dozing off afterwards.

It was silent in the one-bedroom apartment when you stepped inside, dumping all the bags on the floor and sighing in relief as the door closed behind you. At long last, you were home. The sounds of the people and cars on the streets filtered through your thin windows, and you could faintly smell whatever food your downstairs neighbor was cooking, but it was home regardless.

After the past three weeks and a half living and working in an Australian farm, you would take what you got.

It was a slow process, unpacking everything and dusting every surface, but you forced yourself to do it anyway, knowing it would take twice as long if you procrastinated. Plus, taxi nap aside, you didn’t want to risk falling asleep and succumbing to jet lag, since it was still the middle of the day.

You ended up making yourself a strong coffee and checked your phone for the first time in three weeks, not surprised to see the huge amount of texts piling up. Several of your closest friends had apparently been blowing up your phone, despite knowing you would be unavailable during that time, and you had several missed calls from different people.

Scrolling through the messages didn’t help ease your confusion. There was a lot of excited all-caps text, but some messages seemed to be missing, which made no sense. It was all about how something unbelievable had happened and I can’t believe you’re missing this!! with no explanation about what exactly had gone down. So, you did the only thing you could think of, and dialed the number of one of your closest friends.

“Oh my god, are you back already?!” Excited yelling came from the other side, making you smile unconsciously.

“Hello to you too, Jo,” you took a sip of your coffee, wincing when it was a tad too hot. “And yeah, just landed like two hours ago. I’m tired as hell.”

“I bet,” Jo laughed, not unkindly. “You have to tell me everything! Are you free tomorrow? We can go have a coffee or something.”

“Sure, but before that there’s something I wanted to ask you,” you replied. “I was checking my messages and you were like, super excited about something? What the hell happened while I wasn’t here?”

Jo made a confused noise at the other end of the line, which didn’t reassure you in the slightest.

“I’m not sure I remember… when did you say I sent these texts?”

“Uh… hold on,” you switched to hands-free and started scrolling through the texts, until you found the first one. “The day after I left, it was a Sunday I think.”

“Ahh… yeah, I think that Saturday I went clubbing with Sai and Charlie, we probably had a bit too much to drink because I can’t remember half the night or the day after,” Jo laughed again, sounding lost in thought. “Weird, I never have memory holes like this… eh, must have been the tequila.”

Your shoulders relaxed minutely. Jo’s explanation made sense; it wasn’t uncommon for your friend group to go clubbing and go overboard, and it explained why you also had messages from Sai and Charlie, as well as the group chat. There was still something nagging at the back of your head, but you were too tired to care about it, focusing back into the conversation as Jo started talking about next day’s plans.

Several hours later, you decided to prepare for an early night at last. You had managed to scramble some dinner made up entirely of frozen meals and had spent the entirety of the evening staring at the television without really seeing anything. Anything to avoid falling asleep earlier than necessary. You had just reached for the remote to turn off the TV, when the local news called your attention at once.

“…reports of the masked hero Spider-Man placed him earlier today at Queens stopping a bank robbery. Despite the Daily Bugle’s insistence of the vigilante’s criminal intent, several witness reports confirm that he managed to get all the hostages out unharmed, and handed off the criminals to the police without further trouble…”

Your eyes widened with every word. How could you have forgotten? He had been a constant in the back of your mind for the past three weeks and a half, a tiny voice that you had tried hard to suppress constantly nagging you about his well being, but the long trip and your tiredness combined had made that voice almost disappear.

Now, it was back in full-force, and you wanted nothing more than to meet your unlikely friend and see how he had fared during your absence.

With renewed energy, you turned off the TV and stood up from the sofa, grabbing a light jacket before opening the window and climbing outside into the fire escape. You had told him exactly which day you’d be back, but odds were he had forgotten, so your hopes weren’t very high as you climbed up towards the rooftop where you had been meeting on alternating nights for the past few months.

The late evening air was chilly against your uncovered face, making you regret not bringing up a scarf as well, but the view more than made up for it. From the rooftop of your building, you could see the sun dipping in the horizon, casting everything into a golden hue that reflected off the skyscrapers’ glass windows and painted them with an ethereal glow. You leaned carefully against the edge, taking in the view with a smile, fingers itching for your beloved digital camera to capture the moment.

It didn’t take long for the familiar swinging figure to appear between the tallest buildings, fluidly moving through the air almost as if he was flying. You smiled and waved, as per usual, and watched him come closer.

The first thing you noticed was that there was something odd in his posture. Not odd as in gravely injured and hiding it (which had happened more than once, much to your displeasure), but in a new, unfamiliar way — Spider-Man almost seemed wary. He stood a good ten feet away from you, regarding you with hesitance. Almost as if you were a complete stranger.

It was reminiscent of the first night you met, and it made your smile waver.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me, Spidey. I’ve only been away for three weeks,” you tried to tease, hoping to ease the weird tension.

Much to your delight, his shoulders relaxed minutely, and he took a small step forward.

“Three weeks and a half,” he corrected — and there it was, that smug tone you had grown used to, muffled behind the mask. There was some other emotion in his voice though, something almost vulnerable.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand and smiled brightly, opening your arms. “Missed me?”

He crossed the distance between you in two inhumanly fast steps, embracing you tightly. When you hugged him back, you could swear his breath hitched.

You stood like that for a short while, relishing on the comfort of each other’s presence. It was relieving that, despite the initial awkwardness, your favorite masked man was the same as always.

“It’s been a long three weeks without hearing anything about the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” you mumbled, earning a wet laugh from him. “I hope things have been going well?”

Your question was met with silence and a tighter hug, so you chose to simply pat him in the back, knowing that sometimes some things were hard to talk about. The both of you stood like that for a while, until a sudden cold breeze made you shiver, and he released you.

“You should’ve brought something warmer up here, it’s freezing,” he chastised you lightheartedly.

“It’s summer in Australia,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Of course you weren’t,” he chuckled and leaned against the edge, much like you had done before.

You mirrored his position, staring off into the distance. The sun had just barely sunk in the horizon and everything was already much darker, even with the light pollution a city like New York had. Below in the streets, the lights of the cars looked like tiny pinpricks, but the faint sounds of the city still reached your ears from between the narrow buildings.

“I missed this,” you said honestly without looking at him. “Australia was cool, but… it wasn’t here.”

Spider-Man sighed. “It’s probably for the best that you weren’t here anyways.”

That caught your attention, making you tear your gaze from the horizon and turn towards the vigilante.

“What happened?”

He hesitated before answering, his muscles taut beneath the suit. Going off body language alone, you feared something really bad had happened.

“Just… some villains, making trouble,” he finally said, not looking at you. “People died, and I’m glad you weren’t one of them.”

His voice held such raw emotion that it made you almost want to cry. Someone close to him had died, and you hadn’t been there for him. Without thinking twice, you embraced him again, rubbing your hands across his back. He gripped you back tightly, not enough to bruise but just so that you knew he was clinging into you, struggling not to break down.

This time the hug lasted much longer, enough that you felt dizzy with tiredness and your entire body ached from the position. When Spider-Man released you, seemingly calmer than before, you smiled tiredly at him. A yawn slipped from your mouth without permission, making him chuckle.

“You should get some sleep,” he said softly. “The jet lag must be getting to you.”

“Yeah… you’re right,” you agreed reluctantly. You didn’t want to leave him alone just yet, not after seeing how sad he was. “Anytime you need a hug, I’m here.”

He climbed down with you all the way to your window, just to make sure you didn’t fall asleep halfway, and the ‘good night’ he gave you was warmer than any blanket you could burrow under. As you finally rested your head against the pillow and fell into a deep sleep, a smile stayed on your face.

Chapter Text

The next day, you woke up still feeling tired but a bit more refreshed, and quickly got ready to meet with Jo. She was already at the café when you arrived, all bright smiles and wild purple hair, and you couldn’t help but match her happiness as the two of you hugged tightly.

“Things have been so boring without you,” Jo complained once you had sat down at a table with your orders, toying with a strand of her colorful hair. “I mean, yeah, we went clubbing a couple of times, but I had no one to help me with organic chemistry! And Sai was being a little bitch again, complaining about their boyfriend all the time…”

You smiled and listened to her rant about everything and everyone, already used to her brusque nature. Jo never meant any harm with her words and liked to rant to you, her closest friend. She went on about every single thing of note that had happened, waving her hands around to accompany the explanation. Your heart swelled with happiness at the sight of her.

“But enough of me!” She said after a while, dropping her hands, “how was Australia? Did your aunt give you a hard time? I mean, three weeks and no wifi, only farm animals, I would’ve gone insane…”

“It wasn’t that bad.” You laughed at her incredulous face. “Really! It was like a mental health retreat, and you know I did it by choice. My aunt was alright, and I learned a lot of things about chickens and cows.”

“I bet you did,” Jo scoffed lightly, then furrowed her brows in concern. “Are you… alright then?”

The words dampened your mood a little, reminding you why you had gone to Australia in the first place. It wasn’t pleasant to think about, and, while your mental wellbeing had improved, there still was an invisible weight over your shoulders whenever you thought about it too much.

“Yeah… I think so,” you finally said, trying to smile, “I mean, it was no magical cure, and I still have to go to therapy, but it did me a world of good. I’m no longer like… that.”

Jo placed her hand on top of yours and you felt grateful for the gesture. She was one of the people that had always been there for you, no matter what. After what happened… happened, you had needed her the most, and she had been the best friend she could be.

The rest of the conversation held a much lighter tone, with you recounting several anecdotes from your aunt’s farm that left you both in stitches and showing her the pictures you had taken with a disposable camera. The friendly, lighthearted mood lasted you until well past the time you said goodbye, and the weight on your shoulders eased a little.

Once you had eaten a deli sandwich for lunch and yet another coffee to stave off the creeping exhaustion, you got to the second order of the day: your job. Somehow, before leaving for Australia, you had managed to get an extended three weeks of vacation days (not really, since you probably would have to work some extra hours to make up for them, but still), and now it was time to report back to the office to get your assignments. As a junior photographer and sometimes reporter for the Daily Bugle, your hours were pretty flexible, but there was a fixed number of assignments you had to complete each month.

You liked your job. Photography had been a hobby of yours practically ever since you could hold a camera and, even though you had eventually chosen to major in something else, it was nice to have a part-time job dedicated to it. Even if it was under J. Jonah Jameson and his pseudo-tyrannical methods.

The Daily Bugle building gleamed under the afternoon sun, standing proudly over the people and cars that traversed the street below. You stared up at it for a moment before crossing the double doors, walking the familiar path to the elevator and then your little cubicle.

Jameson’s secretary, Betty, helpfully explained the pile of files precariously balancing over your desk and when they were due, having the decency to look apologetic for the disproportionate amount of work you had to make up for. A lot of it was Spider-Man related, although for some reason there seemed to be quite a lot of blank files tucked in between the rest, which didn’t make much sense. You quickly got to work regardless, sorting them into piles and trying to decide what exactly to tackle first.

“Oh, and we have a new hire today, Jameson said you should show him around.” She tacked on at the end, almost as an afterthought, making you pause.

“An intern?” You asked, dreading the thought of a clueless teenager who didn’t know what he was doing.

“No, but he’s part-time. I think he’s a photographer as well?” Betty looked thoughtful for a moment before sparing a glance at the clock hanging on the wall. “Oh well, he should be coming in soon. Don’t worry, you’ve got this.”

And with a last smile and a wink, Betty left you alone.

You suppressed a loud groan, dragging a hand down your face and sitting back on your chair. More work, just what you needed.

A hesitant knock on your cubicle wall made you look up, pulling you from your thoughts. Standing there was a young man about your age, with short brown hair that curled at the ends, an awkward posture and a camera hanging from his neck. You quickly took notice of his modest clothes, ratty shoulder bag and worn-down shoes, and felt relieved that at least it wasn’t some stuck-up prick. He looked taken aback for a moment as you locked eyes, but quickly masked it with a tentative smile.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker. They told me to find you?” He introduced himself uncertainly, holding out a hand for you to shake. The voice was familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it.

You quickly stood up, not wanting to be rude no matter how much you dreaded the extra work, and shook his hand, saying your name back. His eyes lit up and the smile became more genuine.

“Betty told me you were here as a photographer,” you said, eyeing his camera. “I’m one of the few we have on the team, so I’ll walk you through the process. Do you have any previous experience?”

“Only some personal projects. I used to sell pictures of Spider-Man sometimes, but nothing too professional.”

The words sparked some recognition in your mind, and you turned around with wide eyes, seeing him in a new light.

“Wait, you’re that guy? Jameson was on my ass for months because of those pictures! Said they were better than mine,” you blurted out. Peter at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah… sorry about that.”

You cleared your throat and turned again, gesturing towards the files on your desk. “Well, we have some stuff on the spider guy over here, if you want to do some of those reports later.”

It took the better part of an hour to explain the inner workings of the office to Peter and to show him around, answering his many questions about everything. He had been timid at first, but as time passed, he turned into a curious guy who smiled brightly every time you answered something. Strangely enough, his mannerisms felt somewhat familiar, and you both fell into easy banter eventually, quickly warming up to one another. You got the impression he was just one of those people made it very easy to get along with them.

Peter was also helpful, willing to take on part of your workload and proposing to establish a line of communication between reports so that everything could go smoothly and neither of you got in the other’s way, so to speak.

“It’s nearing Spider-Man’s usual patrol time,” you said after a while, glancing up at the clock, “we should go and see if we can get some pictures. I think he works mostly in Queens, so let’s go there and look around, shall we?”

Suddenly, Peter looked uncomfortable, averting your gaze and fiddling with his camera as he spoke:

“Uh, yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

The ride to Queens was silent, both of you intently staring at your phones looking for signs of the masked vigilante. You had long since learnt that people often liked to live-tweet sightings of Spider-Man and were camping the usual tags, while Peter listened for police reports on a little radio and browsed the news pages.

“We should split up, cover more ground,” he suggested as soon as you stepped off the train. “I’ll text you if I find him, okay?”

You shrugged. “Alright. Meet back here in two hours?”

Peter nodded and you took off in different directions, camera in hand. The streets of Queens were familiar to you because of the many times you had to search for Spider-Man over there, but it had been a long while since you had walked down those streets with your camera. It felt good.

Much like all the other times, it didn’t take long for you to find Spider-Man. He was currently stopping a car crash, using his raw strength to prevent the vehicle from colliding with a van that had run a red light. You made sure people were already calling emergency services and quickly texted Peter before snapping several pictures from different angles, already writing the report in your head. Surely, Jameson would try to spin it into some other crazy story where Spidey was the bad guy, but you tried to capture the true nature of the incident in your pictures anyways.

The vigilante swung away from the scene shortly after, once he made sure everyone was alright, and so the chase continued.

One hour and a half later, you had pictures of three different instances where Spider-Man had been helping civilians. The sun was already starting to dip below the horizon and you were pretty satisfied with the results, so after the third incident you chose a random alleyway to stop and regain your breath, checking your phone for texts.

Strangely enough, Peter hadn’t said anything, but you chalked it up to this being the first time he was doing official field work and didn’t think much of it. Maybe he had found the vigilante as well and, in the haste to snap pictures, had forgotten to text, or maybe he was still trying to find him with no luck. Either way, you trusted he would be at the station at the appointed time.

“Hey there, photographer,” said a voice, startling you from your thoughts, as a certain vigilante landed right in front of you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be stopping crime?” You arched one eyebrow at him.

“It’s quiet right now, thought I’d stop by and say hi.” Spider-Man shrugged and leaned against the wall next to you, head tilting upwards to stare at the sky. “I saw you taking pictures earlier, can’t wait to read the Daily Bugle exclusive tomorrow.”

“Save yourself some time and don’t,” you scoffed, fiddling with your camera. “Jameson will probably spin it so that you’re the bad guy somehow.”

“Yeah, that’s why I read them. It’s funny,” he replied. You swore you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You laughed at that and leaned your head back as well. The sky was a mixture of pinks and oranges, casting everything in a pretty hue. An idea popped into your mind.

“Can I take your picture now?” You asked, holding up the camera tentatively.

“Now?” Spider-Man asked, bemused.

“Yeah, it’s candid.”

“Alright, sure,” he relented with a small laugh.

Quickly, you positioned yourself so that the hero was the focus of the picture, backlit by the entrance of the alley and the dusk colors. It wasn’t a picture Jameson would approve of, but you liked it regardless. It felt personal, and most importantly, it was yours.

“It does look candid,” Spider-Man agreed as you showed him, a smile dancing in his voice.

“I can send you a copy if you like,” you offered, “physical or digital, I don’t mind.”

Spider-Man hummed. “Maybe next time.”

There was a brief silence as you looked at the picture once again, appraising the lighting, and then Spider-Man suddenly straightened up, cocking his head slightly. You could vaguely hear sirens in the distance.

“I’ve gotta go,” he announced. You nodded, already used to it. “See you tomorrow?”

“Depends on my schedule, but I’ll try to be on the rooftop after dinner,” you promised.

The vigilante nodded and, with one last look at you, reached out with his right arm and shot a web to the nearest building’s wall, quickly swinging away from sight.

You smiled softly and left the alleyway as well, leisurely walking towards the train station.

When you got there, Peter was nowhere to be seen. You waited for another half hour past the agreed upon time and texted him a couple more times to no avail, growing frustrated. It wouldn’t be the first time a coworker had ditched part-way, and even though Peter hadn’t given you that vibe, you weren’t going to rule out the possibility.

Finally, almost three quarters past, a text arrived.

[Peter Parker]: Sorry, family emergency came up. I didn’t get any pictures. See you tomorrow at the office?

You sighed, texting back an affirmative reply and tiredly preparing to board the train on your own. If anything, you would chastise him the next day, after a good night’s sleep.

Chapter Text

The first time you met Spider-Man, you had been about to jump off a roof.

It had been an especially low day for you, your head filled with flashbacks and bouts of depression that hadn’t let you sleep well for the past week, only making you more paranoid of everyone and everything, cutting off contact with your friends and leaving you with barely enough energy to get out of bed in the mornings and go through the motions automatically.

Generally, you were used to it, having been experiencing a huge contrast of high and lows emotionally during the past few months — a direct result of trauma, your therapist said. However, this time the ‘low’ part was especially low, and after a big argument with your closest friends where no one had really been in the right, you couldn’t take it anymore.

So, face filled with tears and limbs shaking, you stood on the edge of your building’s rooftop, wind whipping at your hair and clothes. The skyline of Manhattan could be seen at the horizon, behind the city landscape of your home borough. The streets were still busy with activity below you, people going home after work, cars honking and stores selling the last wares of the day. Probably no one thought that there was someone watching them all from above, taking in their last moments before jumping.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, ready to take a step forward.

“Hey, you alright there?”

A sudden voice almost made you lose your balance, but you regained it pretty quickly, cursing under your breath as you turned around to see who had dared to interrupt your private moment. No one should be at the rooftop at that hour, especially none of your neighbors, you had made sure of it. So then, who…?

“Spider-Man,” you breathed out, eyes widening at the sight of the masked vigilante.

Clad in his trademark red and blue suit, he was leaning against the water tank, looking completely at ease with the situation. Below his apparent calm, however, you could see a certain tension to his shoulders that made you realize he was ready to act at a moment’s notice if you did decide to go through with your plans.

“The one and only,” he replied, and you could swear he was grinning under the mask.

You wanted to turn around again, ignore him and jump towards the sweet release of death, but found yourself rooted to the spot. His eyes were fixed on you, watching you carefully, and you felt strangely naked, like he was taking you apart bit by bit, slowly figuring you out.

“You know, there’s no going back if you do it,” he said softly, taking a step towards you. “Everything can be fixed for the better, everything except this. Take a moment to think about it, please.”

His words made you snap out of your momentary trance, and you turned back towards the edge, feeling your throat tightening up as you watched the streets below. Not even Spider-Man could save you from your own mind.

“I can’t come up with any reason to stay,” you eventually said, voice worn and tired.

“I would miss you,” he immediately replied. You scoffed.

“You don’t know me at all. How could you miss a complete stranger?”

“I would remember you,” the vigilante insisted.

The sheer honesty resting heavy beneath his words took you by surprise. Just a minute ago, you had been completely certain that no one cared enough to miss you if it came to it, that everyone would be better off without you. When Spider-Man said those words, you felt an inkling of doubt.

Spider-Man came to stand next to you, maintaining a comfortable distance but making sure you were within arm’s reach. He seemed rather used to the whole situation, as if talking down people from jumping was routine. With a start, you realized that it probably was, and made a mental note to check later the suicide rates in the past few years compared to before he started swinging around.

When have I started thinking about ‘later’?

“The view’s pretty nice tonight,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts.

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

The both of you stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating the view. You could feel his eyes on you every so often, probably checking if you were going to suddenly jump, and it made you feel… cared for.

Where there was only despair, a small ray of hope had appeared, and you found yourself rethinking your actions. Maybe he was right, maybe things could be fixed.

“Let’s make a deal,” Spider-Man said, head still angled towards the horizon. You tilted your head towards him, showing you were listening. “I’ll come visit you here a couple times a week, check in on you. We can talk, or I can give you a ride around the city, and in exchange, you will try to keep going. How does it sound?”

You considered it. At a point where you felt you had no friends who cared, Spider-Man was offering you his company, and possibly his friendship. He had said before that he would remember you, and you didn’t want to add that load on his already heavy shoulders, after everything he did for the city.

“I… I don’t know…” You bit your lip, uncertain. “I’m not sure I can do that. Keep going, I mean.”

Carefully, he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. It felt warm under the glove.

“I know a couple of good therapists, they will help. Little by little, it will get better. I promise.”

You sighed and nodded. His words were sincere, and he was saying exactly what you needed to hear. You couldn’t let him down now.

“Okay,” you accepted, and that was how your friendship started.

The next day, you sat on your desk at the Daily Bugle as per usual, sorting through documents and preparing to write about the latest news Betty had sent you. You mainly wrote on the newspaper’s website, usually short sensationalist articles following the pointers given by Jameson through Betty, and tried to keep engagement to a maximum by collaborating with the social media team.

A Spider-Man article was the first one you wrote. There were generally several of those per day, since the vigilante was so active, reporting on either the previous night’s events or the early morning ones. The one thing you hated about it was that you were forced to paint him in a bad light, even if he was merely saving a kitten from a tree. On the bright side, you always got a good laugh reading the articles out loud with the vigilante himself at night.

“The Spider-Menace strikes again by manhandling a defenseless old lady in lower Manhattan,” you mumbled, reading the suggesting title penned by Jameson. Apparently, helping little old ladies cross the street was ‘manhandling’ in his eyes.

With a sigh, you started to type. There was only a blurry picture to accompany the article, taken by a bystander and uploaded to social media, so you linked the tweet and tried to get the most out of it.

Right as you were finishing off the article, a notification made your phone buzz on your desk. You glanced at it, eyes widening when you saw it was a news alert you had set specifically for Spider-Man related events.

Spider-Man dives into a burning building, five people still missing inside, said the headline, and it was accompanied by a clear shot of the red and blue suit disappearing between the flames. Your heart sank at this, remembering how he had talked about sewing the suit himself. That suit was most definitely not fireproof.

The rest of the article reported the location of the building and testimonies of nearby witnesses, and as you googled the address, it turned out it was only a couple of blocks away from the office.

In a split second, your decision was made.

“Tell Jameson I found an exclusive!” You informed Betty while hurriedly walking out the door, camera clutched in one hand, coat in the other.

You didn’t wait for her answer and quickly stepped out into the cold street, hurriedly shrugging on your coat. People didn’t look at you twice when you started running towards the address, camera in hand, the sound of sirens approaching telling you that you were on the right track.

By the time you got there, the flames had grown bigger, and three new people had joined the crowd outside, coughing and covered in soot but otherwise okay. The newly arrived firemen assisted them, while the police started to establish a perimeter. You took pictures of everything, and anxiously waited for a sign of Spider-Man.

“My sons are in there!” Someone —a father— was yelling desperately, tears flowing freely down his face as a police officer tried holding him back from re-entering the building. “Please!”

“We are doing everything we can,” the officer tried to reassure him, but he wasn’t very effective.

Suddenly, a chorus of shouts made you tear your eyes away from the scene and look back towards the flames, where a soot-covered shape was sluggishly stepping out from. Even from your distance and amidst the dark smoke, you recognized him instantly.

“Spider-Man!” you gasped, readying your camera.

There it was, the triumphant shoot of the hero walking from within the flames, a kid in his arms and another on his back, exhausted but victorious. People swarmed closer to the perimeter and the father was finally released, able to reunite with his two coughing sons. The firemen squad kept hosing down the fire, and an ambulance reached the scene as well. Spider-Man seemed to be regaining his breath, head and shoulders hung low from exhaustion. There were burns all over his suit, light smoke coming out from some of them.

You noticed movement beside you. The police officer that had been previously restraining the tearful father had now his eyes fixed on the vigilante, one hand moving towards the handcuffs attached to his belt. Your eyes widened, and you immediately knew what you had to do.

“Spider-Man!” You shouted, louder than everyone else, and the vigilante’s head shot up, finding you instantly.

Satisfied you got his attention, you jerked your head towards the policeman, who wasn’t being all that discreet now that he had pulled out his gun and kept advancing towards Spider-Man.

He got your message straight away. A web shot out from his wrist towards the nearest building, and he swung away, quickly disappearing into the New York skyline.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” The officer turned to you angrily. Time to put on your best innocent act.

“I just wanted to get a picture!” You explained, holding up your camera. The smoke was starting to get in your throat, giving you the urge to cough, but you strained to maintain the innocent expression. “I work for the Daily Bugle, sir, I needed the exclusive.”

“You drove him away!” He snarled. Now people around you were watching the both of you. “Are you helping a vigilante? Huh? What’s your name?”

You quickly raised your hands defensively, letting the camera hang limply by the string around your neck. Your eyes watered from the smoke.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear! In fact, I wanted the exclusive interview, but he ran away before I could get it,” you tried to sound bummed. Just in case, you added: “Besides, shouldn’t you be aiding the people here? Someone might run back into the building.”

The police officer looked offended at that, especially when you smiled innocently at him, but it was true. Everyone around was now sending him dirty looks for harassing a young reporter instead of doing his job, and peer pressure always won.

“If I find you aiding vigilantes again…” he threatened, wagging a finger, pissed at knowing he had lost.

The moment he turned around to actually do his job, you surrendered to the smoke, coughing and wiping the tears from your eyes. People asked if you were okay, crowding around you, but you shrugged them off and walked away from the scene, your coughs slowly remitting.

Once you were sufficiently far from the fire, almost at the door of the Daily Bugle, you composed yourself and decided to take a look at the pictures you had taken, to see if they would be good enough for the article you already had in mind.

There were several pictures of the burning building, a couple of the tearful man being restrained by the cop, some shots of Spider-Man with the kids among the smoke and one last accidentally good shot of the angry officer looking at the vigilante disappearing between the buildings. A headline came to mind almost immediately. You smirked to yourself.

“Did you get a good story?” Betty asked as you walked inside again, smiling kindly. You coughed once and then smiled.

“Had to swallow a bit of smoke, but yeah. It was Spider-Man in a burning building, two blocks from here.”

“Sounds cool,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “everyone got out okay?”

“Yes. He made sure of that,” you assured her.

“Good. I wonder how Jameson will spin the story then.”

You both laughed at that. The man certainly had a challenge before him, although your idea of a headline might appeal to him.

The second you got to your desk, you started typing everything on a blank Word document, regretting not having brought your notebook along with you for the finer details. Thankfully, with the incident fresh in your mind, you could remember almost every detail.

NYPD OFFICER MISSES HIS CHANCE TO ARREST THE SPIDER-MENACE, FORGOES TENDING TO RESIDENTIAL BUILDING FIRE VICTIMS

A smirk stretched across your lips as you typed the main topics that the article would cover, including right away the picture of the angry cop. You almost wished he was shaking his fist at the sky, just to make the image more comical. Below it, you added the picture of Spider-Man carrying the kids, even though you knew Jameson might not like how heroic it made him look.

With a couple of comments about your line of thought and the direction you wanted to point the article towards, you sent it via email to your boss, knowing he was currently in a meeting so you couldn’t go to his office straight away. Pleased with yourself, you laid back on your chair.

You hoped Spider-Man was alright. He had seemed exhausted after getting the kids out, and inhaling so much smoke at once, plus the heat of the flames and the burns, couldn’t be good even for an enhanced individual like him. Everyone on Twitter was talking about the fire and the rescue, but no one seemed to have seen him after his escape, which was good. Probably. Most likely.

There were even a couple tweets about you, you noticed with a blush, talking about the brave reporter that had warned Spider-Man and fended off the police officer.

The sound of someone stepping into the office made you put down your phone and turn around. Peter Parker smiled at you from the door, a certain weariness at the edges. His hair was ruffled and he seemed to be favoring his right leg, but apart from that, he looked exactly like the previous day.

“Hey there, you’re like half an hour late,” you said as a greeting, hoping your relaxed tone told him he wasn’t actually in trouble. “You’re lucky Jameson has been in this meeting all day.”

Peter chuckled awkwardly, waving at you and mumbling some excuse or the other as he walked towards his assigned desk, a tiny, rickety thing that no one else wanted. You thought you caught a whiff of smoke as he passed by.

Huh. Weird.

Chapter Text

That night, you waited on the rooftop of your apartment building for Spider-Man as per usual. There hadn’t been any more sightings of the masked vigilante after the incident that morning, and you assumed he was most likely at home nursing his wounds or doing whatever he did when he wasn’t fighting crime, so you had left the Daily Bugle in the early evening, satisfied with your work for the day.

Jameson had ended up approving your article idea, albeit begrudgingly. It had taken two other senior editors agreeing that they liked it to convince him it was good enough for the newspaper, even if it probably wouldn’t be on the front page. You were happy with that. It was a good story, funny, a little bit snarky and, most importantly, truthful.

You tried to imagine the police officer’s face as you waited for the subway to arrive and had to bite the inside of your cheek to avoid laughing out loud like a maniac.

As you unlocked your front door, you pulled out your phone to check the web’s evening articles. Peter Parker had been in charge of a rather unimportant one, he had been working on it when you left the office, and you were pleased to see it finished already. The pictures were good, taken from improbable angles and managing to depict the events that the article talked about, but the text needed some work. You made a mental note to offer him some help the next day.

Now, finally in the solitude of your apartment, you relaxed.

There were enough ingredients for a quick ravioli dinner, so you got to it and enjoyed the food while scrolling through Twitter once again. It was a bit of a bad habit, you knew, but it was difficult to stop using the app, and it wasn’t like there was anyone else in the room to see you.

A tweet caught your attention: “Spider-Man at Queens this evening! He waved at me :D”. Attached were two blurry pictures of the vigilante himself, one had caught him swinging between buildings, while in the other he was crouched on a rooftop with a raised arm, waving at the person who took it.

You chuckled, saving the second picture to your phone with a smile, then looked at the half-eaten pasta bowl.

It wasn’t weird to eat on the roof… right?

Less than ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on the roof, the bowl on your lap and two apples to the side, over a napkin. You ate slowly, watching the sunset and snapping a couple of pictures of it.

Spider-Man landed soundlessly soon after, crouching for a moment before straightening up and walking towards you. You could imagine the questioning look under the mask so, with a small laugh, you offered him the bowl with only one sad ravioli left.

“I’m actually starving, so thanks!” He said with a laugh, stealing your fork to take the food and lifting only the bottom half of his mask to eat it. You got that flash of familiarity again but didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t the first time he had eaten on the roof with you, and his chin and mouth looked generic enough to be just about anyone.

“How was the crime tonight?” You asked, leaning back and tossing him an apple. Spider-Man caught it automatically, as he always did.

“Eh, only a couple muggings here and there. Nothing I couldn’t stop,” he replied, then took a bite of the apple. “Oh, this is good! Where did you buy it?”

You shrugged. “Store down the street.”

“Noted.”

There was a pause as you both finished off your apples, and then Spider-Man leaned back with you, head tilting up to look at the darkened sky.

“Thank you for this morning, by the way,” he said, voice soft. “I mean, he probably wouldn’t have been able to do anything to me, but… it was nice of you. I’m sorry it got you in trouble.”

You waved a hand, making a ‘pssh’ sound. “Don’t be, I’m fine. And I got to write a kick ass article about it, so…”

Spider-Man turned his head towards you, and if you could see his face, you thought he would be arching one eyebrow.

“Really?” he said, interested, “I haven’t seen it yet.”

You pulled out your phone, happy to show him. It was one of the very few articles that focused more on antagonizing someone other than Spider-Man while also featuring the vigilante, and you were proud of that. He took the phone and started reading it, expression hidden by the mask.

It used to unnerve you, how he could read you completely like a book but you couldn’t even see his face, until you slowly learned to read him as well. The tilt of his head, the slope of his shoulders, even the way his hands clenched into fists when angry and do wild gestures when excited. All of those things helped you map out Spider-Man’s personality and feelings, and gave you a good idea of what he was usually thinking.

Now, the shake of his shoulders made it clear that he was laughing silently. It made you smile.

“This is… this is pretty great, yeah,” he said, chuckling out loud and handing you back your phone. “I’d love to see his face when he reads it.”

“That’s what he gets for being a dick,” you replied smugly.

As you grabbed your phone, your thumb accidentally touched the screen and dragged, refreshing the webpage. You went to exit the news app entirely, but a headline caught your attention.

NYPD RESPONDS TO DAILY BUGLE ARTICLE: “WE TAKE VIGILANTES VERY SERIOUSLY”

“That was fast,” you mumbled, before reading the short article. You felt a presence hovering over your shoulder, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Spider-Man also reading the text on the screen.

The New York Police Department gave an official statement this evening in reply to the Daily Bugle’s latest article: a piece on officer Jack Colton’s failure to apprehend the masked vigilante known as Spider-Man. Their statement, defensive and vindictive, says the following:

“Here at the New York Police Department we take vigilantes very seriously. Aiding and abetting such law breakers is punished by law, and so is obstructing an officer, even if the individual is a reporter at the scene. These so-called vigilantes take justice by their own hands and can result in more violence, such was the case of the Punisher in Hell’s Kitchen not long ago. Because of this, the NYPD strives to end the streak of self-righteous super powered individuals and bring justice and peace back to the city.”

With this, the NYPD positions themselves above the vigilantes crawling around the city, their statement serving as a clear warning to them and to anyone helping such people. Reporters at the Daily Bugle are, apparently, not exempt from that.

There was nothing of real interest in the remaining paragraphs, only speculation about your motives and Spider-Man’s true identity, so you scoffed and turned off the screen. The vigilante leaned back a little, seemingly deep in thought.

“Wow,” he said, “they didn’t waste time, that’s for sure.”

“Trust them to be fast when it matters the least,” you laughed, a bitter edge to it. Both of you knew that what you had read was a load of bullshit: Spider-Man existed precisely because of the NYPD’s failure to do its job. “If anything, they are the self-righteous assholes.”

“I just hope they don’t target you,” Spider-Man said, his tone a tad worried. “The stuff they were speculating about… it’s not good if people know you’re connected to me.”

“I’ll manage,” you smiled at him, in what you hoped was a reassuring way, “I write for the Daily Bugle, probably no one takes me seriously anyways. And this other paper is just an online medium, with even less credibility. Officer Jack Colton will move on, I’m sure.”

“I’m worried about more than the police,” he mumbled, and you pretended not to hear.

“Anyways,” you changed the subject, leaning back again and breathing in the crisp night air, “have I told you about my new coworker? His name is Peter… something, I can’t remember it right now.”

He shook his head, and you went on, talking about how Peter was a cool guy if a bit weird, and a really fast learner. Spider-Man seemed amused as you went on, but you ignored it, launching eventually on a rant about Jameson and his absurdly short temper.

Before you knew it, an hour had passed, and the vigilante had to leave. He thanked you for the apple and the help again, then gave you a salute and swung out of the building, waving until he turned a corner and disappeared. You waved back with a smile on your face. It never got old, seeing him swing so freely around the city.

Then, you gathered your things and went back to your apartment, tiredness seeping into your muscles and bones. You deserved a good night’s rest.

Later, as you laid in bed and closed your eyes with a sigh, a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. Everything had changed so much in the past few months, you thought, and happiness swelled in your chest. You owed it all to Spider-Man.

A week later, people had finally stopped talking about your sudden beef with the New York Police Department, and you continued on your job as normal, publishing several new articles about unrelated things in hopes of diverting the attention further. You also made plans again with Jo, this time with Sai and Charlie tagging along, and had a really fun time drinking in a bar and dancing ridiculously to the music they played.

Now, stumbling on the sidewalk as you tried to mentally map the route home, you were having fun all by yourself.

You might have drunk a little bit too much —your friends were a horrible influence, you knew— and once you had to get home all by yourself, after swearing up and down you could, it proved to be a difficult task. The numbers of the streets were blurry as you tried to focus on them, and it was hard to remember which way was the correct one when all the buildings looked just a tad unfamiliar in the darkness.

There was no way you could afford a taxi, though, so you pressed on. The cold night air made you feel a little better, the fog in your mind dissipating ever so slightly, and you thought the street looked familiar enough, so you kept walking, checking your phone every so often for the correct route.

“Hey, you!” A voice called from behind, and you were stupid enough to turn your head.

It was an older man, broad on the shoulders and way taller than you. His face was contorted on a creepy smile, eyes staring at you like you were his grand prize.

As you turned back, two more men of similar builds started walking towards you. Whether they just wanted to mug you or… something else, you didn’t know. What you did know, however, was that you didn’t want any part of it.

“Come on, don’t ignore us! We just want to chat!” Another of the men jeered, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand up on edge.

There weren’t many viable options: either you jumped onto the road, which was full of taxis, and tried to cross the street without dying or causing an accident (unlikely), or you ran into the narrow street to your left and prayed that it wasn’t a dead end.

The second option won, because apparently when drunk you made stupid choices. And, lo and behold, it was a dead end. You crashed against the wall at the end, hitting it with your fists in frustration. The fog in your mind cleared completely as your anxiety levels skyrocketed.

The three men crowded at the mouth of the alley, laughing loudly and nastily, and you felt your heart beating fast and loud, pumping with adrenaline and fear. You knew you wouldn’t be able to fight them off. Curse your stupid drunk brain.

“Please, I don’t have much money…” you tried, putting your hands up in surrender. The men laughed even more.

They were practically on top of you now, and the one that had approached you first slapped your hands away roughly. Before you knew it, the palm of his hand made stinging contact with your cheek, once, then twice, and you felt the taste of blood in your mouth while his buddies jeered and taunted you from behind him.

You weakly tried to throw a punch at him, just for your wrist to get grabbed in a painful grip. He reared his arm back and you closed your eyes, bracing for the pain.

It never came.

Suddenly, your wrist was released and you heard a punch, but didn’t feel it on your skin. Your eyes flew open just in time to see the man fall to the floor and the other two men crowding someone, blocking you from view. Some more hits were heard and soon they were on the floor as well, a person standing over them in the dim lights of the alleyway.

You were more than familiar with the slope of those rising and falling shoulders.

Before you could say anything, however, the man closest to you sprang to his feet and tried to lunge at him, but he missed his punches and received a couple of other ones, both of them falling to the floor with your rescuer on top of him, punching him several more times for good measure.

Once he was finished, he looked up at you, and your breath hitched upon seeing the Spider-Man mask in the shadows. It was a good bit more threatening than on the roof, especially after he had beaten up three grown men to save you.

“Are you okay?” He asked immediately, hurrying to his feet and standing next to you in a flash of superhuman speed. You nodded weakly, a metallic taste still inside your mouth.

“Y-Yeah, thank you.”

Spider-Man raised a hand towards your face and you involuntarily flinched. He dropped it.

“Sorry,” he said, voice filled with emotion. “You’re bleeding.”

You touched your lips lightly and, sure enough, they were bleeding. The whole side of your face stung. Suddenly, tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice cracking. “I was stupid and drunk, didn’t avoid them in time… I’m so stupid, I swear.”

He shushed you, slowly telegraphing his movements as he lightly touched your face with his hand, wiping the tears softly. It only made you cry more.

“Let’s go home, come on,” he said, putting one arm around your shoulders. It felt strong and safe.

Spider-Man walked you all the way home as you cried into the crook of his neck, quietly reassuring you that everything was okay after calling the police on the three men that were still lying unconscious. He left you at your apartment lobby to take the elevator by yourself and promised to meet you at your apartment’s fire escape, if you were comfortable with it, to avoid being seen by neighbors. You followed his instructions somewhat numbly, opening the window as soon as you got home.

Instead of climbing out, you left it open, an invitation for him to come inside.

He did so, silently closing the window behind him and looking out of place for a moment before focusing on your face once again.

“Let’s take care of that first, hmm?” He said, gesturing towards your face. You nodded weakly, wiping off the last of your tears.

“Okay…”

You showed him to the bathroom, pulling out your first aid kit (admittedly, it wasn’t very big) and letting him examine your lip wound for a moment under the bright bathroom light. His expression was unreadable under the mask, but you could feel the tension in his frame, the barely contained anger —not directed at you, thankfully— and the worry emanating from him.

Softly, he dabbed disinfectant over the wound, wiping the blood and holding your head in place so you didn’t squirm away when it stung. His grip was strong but secure, and it made you feel safe.

“A band aid will do,” he surmised after a moment, putting the disinfectant away and releasing your chin. “Just make sure not to aggravate it, maybe disinfect it again if it keeps bleeding. Or call me.”

He was very close. The two of you stood in your tiny bathroom practically chest to chest, his hand still brushing over your lips where the cut was. You felt a bit dizzy at the close proximity, or maybe it was the last dregs of alcohol still pumping in your veins.

“You’ll get a bruise,” he mumbled, and you guessed his eyes were focused on your cheek now, where the man’s hand had made the biggest impact.

You closed your eyes tightly for a second and opened them again, sighing tiredly.

“Yeah, I guess I will.”

Spider-Man stayed with you for a little bit longer, making sure you were alright. He made you drink a couple glasses of water, claiming that they would help with the last of the alcohol, and he looked around your apartment with curiosity, not even making an effort to be discreet in his snooping.

After a while, you yawned loudly, and he took that as his cue to leave, not without one last check-up over the injury and a warning to be careful. You thanked him again, sleepily smiling at him, and he maybe, probably, smiled back at you before climbing out the window and into the night.

Chapter Text

Perhaps getting drunk on a Sunday night hadn’t been the brightest idea, you thought morosely on Monday morning as you sat in class and tried your hardest not to fall asleep. The teacher droned on and on about something or the other —you hadn’t been paying much attention to the subject in question— while you sluggishly tried to find the correct file and open it in your laptop so you could somewhat attempt to follow the lesson.

Maybe you should’ve followed Jo’s example and skipped the lesson altogether, you thought bitterly, seeing no trace of your friend in the classroom.

“Your lip is bleeding,” the classmate sitting on your right suddenly said, pulling you from your thoughts.

He was right. You swiped a hand across your mouth and frowned at the blood stain. It had been hard enough covering the bruise from last night with concealer, you didn’t want to deal with blood staining your stuff as well.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, before hastily cleaning it with a tissue.

Someone asked a question and the professor launched into a long tirade to answer it. You decided to just give up on the lesson altogether and pulled up a news portal on your laptop screen, idly scrolling through the latest articles.

There weren’t many crime reports from the past night, but one of them caught your attention. Apparently, a group of robbers had tried to break into a warehouse by the pier, but had been derailed by a known vigilante from Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil, the article called him. You wondered if Jameson would want some articles about him and decided to read a little about him just in case.

According to civilian testimonies, the vigilante known as ‘Daredevil’ has a tendency to patrol at night and only inside the perimeter of Hell’s Kitchen. There have been no known sightings during the day, nor any collaborations with other known vigilantes. The true intent behind the mask is still unknown, but everything points to a personal grudge against Wilson Fisk […]

You raised an eyebrow, taking a mental note to ask Spidey about him later. Not five minutes later, the class was dismissed, and you quickly closed all tabs and shut off your laptop, prepared to leave as fast as possible.

The Daily Bugle offices weren’t far from campus, so you had a slim window of time for lunch and commute between classes and work. There was a bodega about halfway through that you liked to get a sandwich from, and today was no different. It was nice to go back to your routine after having been away for so long.

As you finished off said sandwich, your phone buzzed with a notification. You unlocked it with interest, eyes narrowing at the text when you saw its contents.

[Peter Parker]: can you covertfor me today pls just say im sick or smth

[You]: Sure. Did something happen?

[Peter Parker]: nono dontw orry

[You]: lol ok

Weird. Now that you thought about it, there were some strange things about Parker that didn’t quite add up…

A sudden news alert notification distracted you, all thoughts of your coworker vanishing when you saw the headline.

Spider-Man involved in police chase — criminal tries to escape bank robbing in a stolen truck

“The bastard!” You whisper-shouted under your breath. Was he seriously asking you to cover for him at work so he could steal the exclusive? What an asshole.

Peter Parker had greatly underestimated just how tenacious you could be if he thought you would just ignore a story like that. Checking the approximate location of the police chase —it looked like it was heading towards your area, nice—, you swallowed the last bite of your sandwich and left the bodega, rushing up the street with your phone in hand.

The good thing about police chases was that you could hear them coming a mile away. A myriad of sirens and skidding wheels reached your ears as you ran up the street and saw the truck trying to squeeze past the cars in a series of reckless maneuvers. You immediately pulled your camera out from your bag and started taking pictures, smirking at the sight of Spider-Man swinging next to the police cars.

You failed to find Parker amid the crowd of civilians watching, strangely enough, but that worked all the better for you.

The truck managed to speed past the intersection and started down your street as pedestrians tried to jump out of the way. Spider-Man was shouting something from above, probably telling people to be careful and run away, but you ignored him and kept taking pictures, already thinking about the story.

“Out of the way!” The criminal suddenly shouted, and you heard a screeching sound as he maneuvered the truck onto the sidewalk, almost running over a poor woman and her groceries.

“Fuck,” you cursed out loud. It was coming your way.

The sirens grew louder as the police caught up and you hastily started to run away. Someone had dropped a purse on the ground, however, and your foot snagged on it, making you tumble down.

To your horror, your ankle crunched painfully as you tried to stand up to keep running. The truck kept coming your way, not getting any slower, and you gritted your teeth. You were sure as hell not going to die because of some random criminal.

Suddenly, a red and blue blur dropped down between you and the truck and, in a show of massive strength, managed to hold the moving vehicle to a stop. You watched, stunned, as the vigilante panted and groaned loudly, both him and the truck finally stopping mere inches from where you were still trying to stand up. Around you, the police left their cars and started shouting, but Spider-Man only had eyes for you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sounding out of breath. You nodded and his shoulders sagged in relief. The police kept approaching.

Leave now, you mouthed, not wanting to get accused of aiding a vigilante when you couldn’t run away.

Spider-Man gave you a nod, then turned towards the criminal, who seemed to have been knocked unconscious and was just starting to stir. He shot a couple webs towards him and then another to a nearby lamppost, which he used to swing up and away into the skyline.

You watched him go, wondering how you could ever hope to repay all the times he had saved you.

When you walked into the Daily Bugle offices the next day after classes, using a crutch to avoid putting much weight on your bandaged foot, Peter Parker was sitting on his desk, tapping away at his computer. He didn’t look any worse for wear, if only a tad too tired.

“Didn’t see you in the chase yesterday,” you said, still feeling a little resentful. His shoulders tensed (and didn’t that remind you of a certain someone?), but his expression was tentatively confused as he looked up at you.

“The chase?”

He was a terrible liar.

“Yes, yesterday’s police chase, with the truck,” you rolled your eyes, lowering your voice, “I know you skipped work to go get the scoop before everyone else.”

A look of realization dawned on Peter’s face and he averted his eyes sheepishly.

“Sorry…”

You sighed and waved a hand at him, turning to sit on your desk. “It’s alright, just tell me next time. I got some good pictures, too.”

Peter coughed and avoided your eyes.

“You were there?”

“Peter, if you really think I’m going to ignore any of Spider-Man’s news alerts you clearly don’t know me at all.”

You walked away from his desk and decided to turn your attention towards your work, logging onto your computer while leafing through a report Betty had left on your desk. It was nothing special, but you busied yourself with it nonetheless.

Around noon, Jameson stormed out of his office, shouting something over the phone. You exchanged glances with Peter, who looked torn between amusement and concern, and shrugged.

“I was thinking of telling him about another vigilante we could write about, but I guess it’ll have to wait until the storm has passed,” you told him, once Jameson had walked past.

Peter raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Another vigilante? Who?”

You looked at him skeptically, hesitating a little.

“You won’t steal the idea from me if I tell you, will you?”

“Of course I won’t!” he said, having the gall to look offended.

“… Right,” you levelled him with a look, and then pulled out the article from your pile of papers, having printed it just in case. “They call him Daredevil, apparently he operates mostly on Hell’s Kitchen. Sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”

Unexpectedly, Peter’s eyes widened as he read the article, muttering to himself. When he turned towards you, you were taken aback by the concern in his eyes, totally unwarranted in your opinion.

“No,” he said firmly, shoving the article back at you. “Not interesting at all. Jameson probably won’t like it. We should stick to our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

You frowned and crossed your arms.

“Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, Spider-Man is cool, but he might start being old news if we don’t freshen up our articles with other superheroes or vigilantes,” you insisted stubbornly. “I'm sure Jameson will think so too.”

Peter sighed, then glanced around the office and, seeing that no one was paying the two of you any attention, leaned forward to talk in a lower tone. A shiver ran down your spine at the closeness, and you tried to focus on his words instead of on the rich brown color of his eyes.

“Daredevil is a dangerous man, and not nearly as nice as Spider-Man. He won’t like having reporters poking into his territory, especially ones like us that will paint him in a bad light. It’s not safe.”

“Then we won’t paint him in a bad light,” you decided. Peter huffed in annoyance, but before he could say anything else, you cut him off sharply. “This is my idea anyways, so why do you care so much? Stick to your job and I’ll stick to mine.”

“Why won’t you listen? I’m telling you, this is dangerous.” His hand came up to your arm with a firm, but not painful grip. You shoved him off immediately.

“I’ve been doing this for longer than you have, Parker. It has nothing to do with you, so leave me alone,” you hissed angrily. A shadow crossed his expression, so fast you almost missed it.

“Fine.” He grumbled, backing off at last. “Fine. Don’t come calling, then, when the Devil doesn’t take kindly to your presence.”

“Why would I ever call you?” You questioned, mystified, but he was already stalking away and out of the office.

“Leave him be,” Betty supplied from behind you, apparently having caught the tail end of your argument. “He’s probably mad he didn’t think of it first.”

“Must be, yeah,” you mumbled, unconvinced.

Peter Parker was definitely a strange guy, you thought as you sat back down on your desk, unsettled by the whole ordeal. Why would he be so against writing about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? It didn’t make any sense, he was usually happy enough to report on Spider-Man’s activities, and they were roughly the same thing — outlaw vigilantes who stopped crime and helped civilians.

With those thoughts in mind, you started typing your proposal for Jameson, determined to follow through with your idea, if only to spite Peter.

Several days later, as you watched Daredevil take on five armed men only with his fists, you realized just how wrong your initial assessment of him had been. That man was nothing like Spider-Man; instead, he was a violent, powerful force of nature with a certain kind of barely-restrained rage simmering under his skin as he tossed his opponents to the ground like they were nothing.

You had been tailing the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for a while already; at first, following the scarce reports you could find online, and then, once you caught sight of him, it was disturbingly easy to follow the trail of unconscious bodies he left behind. There weren’t many, mind, but he seemed to be on a sort of rampage that night, tearing through an organized group like a hurricane.

“Tell me the name of your leader.” You heard him ask one of the men, voice rough and unforgiving. The devil cowl atop his head would have probably looked a bit goofy in broad daylight, you thought, but at that moment —and especially when paired with his bloody fists— it was downright terrifying.

“I-I don’t know! He never told us!” The man whimpered, positively trembling as Daredevil fisted one hand on the front of his shirt and lifted him up. “I swear!”

“One of you has to know. Who could that be?”

“I don’t—!”

“If you say you don’t know again, I will break your arm.”

The trembling man muttered something unintelligible after that, which seemed to satisfy the vigilante, as he was dropped to the ground unceremoniously.

Yo snapped a picture covertly, although nothing much could be seen between the darkness and the swift movement of Daredevil, and tried to follow him. All that time following Spider-Man through rooftops for an exclusive picture was finally paying off, it seemed, even if the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen were different to the ones you were used to.

The Devil disappeared inside narrow alleyways and dark streets, leading you on a chase that left you breathless but only fueled your determination to get at least one good picture of him fighting crime. He slowed down after a while, melting against the side of a building as if in wait.

You frowned, leaning closer to the edge of the roof trying to catch a better look at him, and in doing so missed the thwip that came up right behind you.

“He’s toying with you.”

The sudden voice startled you so badly you almost fell off the roof, but something sticky and firm caught you square in the back, pulling you backwards and causing a twinge of pain to go up your very recently healed ankle.

From your position, sprawled face up on the gravelly floor, you caught sight of a very familiar red mask. You couldn’t see his face, but could feel the judgemental energy rolling off him in waves.

“Hello to you too, Spidey,” you said tiredly, quickly standing up and brushing off the gravel from your clothes.

“Daredevil is testing you,” he repeated in a serious voice. “You should go home now.”

“I’m just trying to get a picture,” you retorted defensively, holding up your camera for him to see. “One picture, maybe a whiff of a story, and I’ll be out of here. I’m not trying to cause trouble for him.”

“Listen to me,” Spider-Man hissed, and, to your surprise, he took a step forward into your personal space. He was taller than you, but you refused to feel intimidated. “He doesn’t want people taking pictures of him — he’s not a daylight hero, like the rest of us. It could be detrimental for him if some crucial information got leaked.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, searching his masked face for— for what, you didn’t know. His words sounded eerily similar to Parker’s in the Bugle office almost a week ago, and you briefly wondered if there was such a thing as too much of a coincidence.

“I won’t leak any sensitive info,” you retorted. “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.”

“This is dangerous,” he insisted, tacking your name at the end. You narrowed your eyes.

“You know, you sound like—”

“He’s right.” A new voice suddenly interjected, drawing the attention of the two of you.

Spider-Man cursed under his breath, so low you weren’t sure you hadn’t just imagined it. Your blood felt frozen in your veins. In being so preoccupied with Spider-Man’s admonishing, you had forgotten to keep track of the other vigilante, who had been hidden in the shadows below.

Said vigilante was now lurking on the rooftop, a menacing shadow in the corner that seemed to be looking straight at you.

“I don’t want the Daily Bugle to publish any pictures of me. It’s bad enough that some got leaked in the Bulletin,” he went on, voice low and grave.

You crossed your arms, feigning a bravery you certainly didn’t feel and trying to keep your heartbeat steady.

“I won’t publish anything incriminating,” you promised. “Just some general information about what you do, how you help the community — it might make people more amenable to you, perhaps even get the police off your back for a bit. Did you know that public opinion still mainly regards you as a threat?”

There was a beat of silence. To your surprise, Daredevil seemed to be considering your words carefully, cocking his head pensively. Next to you, Spider-Man was still as a statue, watching the two of you.

“Stick to your word, reporter, and we won’t have any trouble,” the Devil said at last, a threat clear in his voice, before melting back into the shadows.

You let out a sigh of relief and released your unconscious hold on your forearms, fingers almost numb with how tightly woven they had been. Slowly, your features melted into a smug smile, and you turned to look at Spider-Man with one arched eyebrow.

“See? The Devil’s a reasonable man, it wasn’t difficult to make him understand.”

Under the mask, you couldn’t quite discern his expression, but you were ninety-percent sure the vigilante was rolling his eyes at you.

“Things could have gone very wrong had I not been here with you,” he said, crossing his arms. You tried very hard not to focus on the muscles flexing in his arms, it was not the time for that.

“You didn’t even say anything,” you pointed out.

Before he could retort, you turned on your heel, ready to leave, but suddenly his hand grabbed your arm firmly, keeping you in place.

“Wait,” he said, and his voice held the kind of seriousness that made you keep still and listen. “I think I hear the police coming.”

Sure enough, not five seconds later you heard the tell-tale sound of sirens approaching, fast, and any relief you could have been feeling after the avoided confrontation with Daredevil vanished immediately.

“They’re following the trail of bodies,” Spider-Man tugged on your arm, and you felt panic creeping up your chest. “We have to go before they see us.”

“Okay,” you grabbed his arm back, using him to steady yourself. “Let’s go.”

You held onto Spider-Man as the two of you soared through the air, the feeling of weightlessness making your stomach swoop. His free arm was around your waist, warm and secure, while police lights flooded the streets below.

He swung the two of you all through Hell’s Kitchen and deep into Manhattan, making sure the police didn’t follow you. At last, Spider-Man dropped you on the familiar rooftop of your apartment building, gently lowering you on the ground.

“Careful with the ankle,” he said. You nodded.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost healed now.”

As you straightened out your clothes and attempted to fix your hair —a losing battle, given how badly the wind and all the swinging had messed it up—, Spider-Man regarded you with quiet contemplation.

“You were lucky tonight,” he said at last. His voice held a note of fear that made you look up with surprise. “Please, don’t push your luck like that. I might not always be around to help you.”

“It’s not your responsibility,” you muttered, feeling guilty and annoyed in equal parts.

Spider-Man suddenly grabbed your shoulders, the dark eyes of his mask boring into yours. Not for the first time, you wished you could see his expression, if only to understand him better.

“It is!” He said, agitated. “If something happens to you and I could’ve prevented it, that’s my responsibility. I need you to understand that.”

“I make my own choices,” you replied stubbornly. “I know we’re friends, but I think you should back off.”

Your words had an immediate effect on him. His hands dropped from your shoulders, muscles tense. When he next spoke, there was grief and defeat mixed in his voice, not exactly what you expected.

“Just be careful. Please.”

With that, he turned around and swung off the roof, leaving you behind with the sinking feeling that you may have made a mistake.

Once again, you were failing miserably at not pushing people away.