With a huff, you catch other details you found pertinent to finding out the actual location and who “big boss” is. Once the three were out of sight, your hands worked quickly in pulling out your phone. This was the moment you were thankful for the irreversible trauma you experienced from the ages of 6 to 16. Not only did you have enhanced hearing but also enhanced strength and agility, making jumping from rooftop ledge to rooftop ledge as easy as snapping your fingers. Fingertips grazed the keys of your cellphone before pressing send, your book long forgotten in the messenger bag strapped to your side.

With a buzz, you gazed to the screen and a smirk played on your lips while you reached for your skateboard. Pushing off the concrete of Central Park, you made sure to swerve carefully between those walking in front of you. All you wanted to do was get back to the apartment you shared with your best friend, you had met when you transferred to the same high school as him when you found yourself creating a new beginning for yourself and fill him in on what you overheard in detail. The feeling of uneven pavement vibrated your legs as you moved from the smooth pavement to the roads made for those who were well off enough to keep their cars in the city and the annoyingly yellow cabs that littered ever block, swerving through traffic with protest from angry cabbies who blared their horns at any inconvenience that would prevent them from making money.

Shrill rings filled your ears which broke you from the serene thoughts that fluttered around your head like that one God awful PowerPoint transition that Flash would use for every. Single. Project.

  Parker. 

Couldn’t he wait until your home in 20 minutes? What did you expect? This is the same kid who spoiled The Force Awakens an hour before he was going out to see it just because he couldn’t wait for the redemption of his favorite movie series.

“Yes Parker?” your voice was soft and melodic against the bustling streets you continued to weave through, though some playful annoyance laced your tone. “What did you find oh so important that you couldn’t wait for my beautiful, ethereal presence?”

An airy scoff filled your ears before rambling and deep breaths. Peter knew to slow down the moment he heard a long pause on your end. It was a habit you both picked up after years of being in each other’s company. “Ok so,” a sigh, “I was already in the area and from what I’ve seen there’s..um..there’s about two dozen construction sites.” Your shoulders shrugged as you turned swiftly down the alley that protected you from anyone who may be listening to you. You could never be too careful in a city that had many characters that had varying intentions.

Peter continued on, the soles of your shoes catching the cobblestone and your free hand grabbing your skateboard before you continued your trek on foot. “5 of them are owned by different father and son companies that are located in the Bronx, 4 are family-owned businesses based in Jersey. The rest? Big name companies that are responsible for putting up those fancy new business buildings and multi-million-dollar apartments around Midtown. However, three companies are- hold on.”

Thwhips and thuds as well as the skidding of gravel on clothed feet signaled to you that Peter was home, you were close behind. A laugh left your lips as you looked up to the sky only to see a panicked red blur flinging off clothes and pulling on a different piece of clothing.

“Pete, I can see you. Go next to the water tower next time.” Pushing through the front doors of your apartment building, you quickly made your way up the stairwell before shoving your key into the slot of the handle. Pushing the door in, you caught your platonic other half hopping around the living room to fix his appearance. “Pete,” another laugh escaped you as you threw your bag to the sofa before patting his back and plopping on the beaten down leather couch beside your bag.

Peter Parker’s secret identity wasn’t so secret to you, especially after the death of his girlfriend and your other best friend, Gwen Stacy. You could sense his heartbreak from miles away and the way he folded into your arms that night confirmed everything to you. His guilt. His loss. The full empty feeling one would feel when losing the love of their life.

-

“I’m responsible for her death though. You don’t understand.” His voice waivered as tears flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks like his own personal waterfalls. Your thumb stopped the flow from dribbling down his chin and making even more of a mess through you didn’t mind. This was the same kid who introduced you to his family as ‘his super cool bloody friend’ because on your first day at Midtown High you decided to get into a fist fight with Flash after he said some unpleasant words about Peter and Gwen’s relationship.

“Pete, help me to understand, then. I want to be there for you.” You always regretted the words that left you next, he even knew that. “I know you. I know you hold things so close to you and worry that you’re going to stress me or Aunt May out but you’re not. You aren’t at fault for this just like you aren’t responsible for Mr. Stacy’s death and even more so for Uncle Ben’s. These are things you couldn’t stop.”

Chocolate brown hues darted up and searched your face, hurt and pain reignited in him and every bone in his body told him to run and hide and fight. Peter’s tense muscles and closed fists agreed with the screaming that filled his head. His inner voice, usually the one of irrational and impulsive decisions, seemed completely rational when it was strangling every thought of comfort that he used to usually soothe himself during his commonly occurring panic attacks. Yet, he stayed. His eyes screwed shut, his hands now opening and closing into balled fists as a way to help himself keep grounded.

“I’m Spider-Man.” He expected more than you gave. No gasp, no fright, no concerned look of ‘how the fuck did that happen?!’ Just understanding in that moment. Your arms tightened around him and brought his head into your shoulder. You allowed him to feel his feelings with no judgement, his tears for his lost love now turned to years of pent-up grief and guilt mixed oh so deliciously with relief. Relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore. Not from you, the person he JUST rented an apartment with.

-

“Okay so as you were saying on the phone,” pulling out the book that held all the notes you could fit into the margins, he plopped next to you and pulled his laptop to his legs and beckoned you to lean into his side. His fingers glided over the keyboard before his tech ran quickly and sectioned off the areas of Kingsbridge Heights that was being gentrified. “These few here are all coming from Fisk Enterprises. They helped build the OsCorp building and lost a good chunk of change when, well, you know, happened.” Swallowing hard, Peter pointed to a block near the Bronx School of Sciences while quickly pulling up local news articles and public social media posts from those who presumably lived in the area or went to the school the construction is taking place near.

“See, the public is against this. If their blueprint gets accepted by the city, then all they have to do is offer these landlords enough money that they see their new luxury lives and forget about their tenants who get nothing. Then Fisk Enterprises will move in, take down all those buildings just to create a new habitation for the wealthy.” Peter pulled over posts from a few different landlords who had already heard from lawyers that a heavy NDA may be put onto them if they sell their properties.

“But would people being against a future property warrant a crime spree with new weapons? Peter, I think they’ve created something new. This isn’t just a person with money upset that those who live in the borough are against their big plans. This is a person who has money, resources, and power who will do anything to get what he wants. We must investigate.” It clicked. Everything clicked. Whoever was behind the name Fisk Enterprises was going to do more than displace everyone in Kingsbridge. They were readying for war. They want to flatten the Bronx.

That night you and Peter perched on the ledge overlooking the project that initially raised red flags. With a mask similar to Peter’s over your face and a suit that had a matching grey-ish silver and black color scheme, you both noted the unusual foot traffic. “60 on the inside. 5 flanking each side, the other 45 are spread out.” You focused carefully to the different voices and patterns of speech that filled the ground floor of the base building’s skeleton. “Whoever just got there, they have the power. Everyone went silent. Heartbeats are through the roof.”

Peter only acknowledged your words with a nod and a knowing tilt of his head. Swinging around the backside of the location, you watched to make sure he wasn’t sighted before leaping to different rooftops and swinging yourself. Though you weren’t genetically modified by a spider like you friend, you did have similar abilities to the man as well as your secret weapon, so it made sense when, after you shared your secret with Peter, the next day you woke up to him holding a handmade suit with similar web shooters to his embedded in the wrists in front of your groggy face.

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