Spiderman Oneshots

Permanent (1)

10 years

It had been 10 whole years since the event that had rocked Peter Parker's world.

Now there was no Peter Parker at all.

Spider-Man let his cheerful façade drop as he walked away from the family he'd saved and began to swing home. Without friends, without a family of his own, his role as a superhero weighed heavily on him. He'd stop if he could, but he didn't exactly have that option.

He'd been Spider-Man now for almost 13 years. Others had come and gone, villains and heroes alike. It was so stupid. Nobody even remembered the name of the villain that had caused all of this. Spider-Man did. He would never forget.

The only permanent thing in his life seemed to be the villains he fought. Not specific ones, but the inevitable chain of selfish and cruel humanity that would always be there. But even they had evil friends, corrupt little families of their own to go home to - all except Hju, anyway. Spider-Man had forfeited those things. Hju was a supervillain that Spidey fought regularly, and talked to often during their battles, although not so much in recent months. He, like everything else, was moving on.

Hju was like Spider-Man in one sense, though. He had no escape, having had his identity revealed early on. He couldn't stop his crimes - as soon as he stopped fighting, the police would lock him away. He'd already lost his friends and family, angry friends of his victims taking out their pain on them. It had been quick, at least.

Spidey landed on the wall of his apartment, and slid open the window. There was no use being subtle. Everyone knew he lived here. He closed the window behind him, and ran a hand over the top of his mask as if to tousle his hair. Somehow that habit still hadn't faded after so many years.

Spidey didn't call out that he was home. There was nobody to tell. Besides, the flat still didn't feel like home. He'd decorated, if you could call it that. First aid kits lay in easy-access places. He'd pinned thank-you letters and drawings to the walls; selfies Spidey had taken with famous people he'd saved. Nothing personal. No hidden photographs or secret momentos. There was nothing left to remember.

Briefly, the thought ambushing him whilst he was distracted, Spider-Man wondered how the people in his old life were doing. Just as quickly, he pushed it away, but the sting lingered. After the incident, they'd tried to keep in touch. But Spider-Man couldn't go to school, for obvious reasons, and a hero had no time to hang around with civilians he didn't know. He and Ned had stopped texting after the second year, when their dwindling list of things in common finally ran dry. May... He'd pushed her away entirely. He'd known that if she had insisted on talking to him, he would have broken. So he'd cut all communication. It had been three weeks since her death when he finally found out. He hadn't been able to cry.

As for MJ. There was nothing to push away there, really. They hadn't been that close. She'd never known his identity as Spider-Man, before. Now, there was no point in telling her. They could never be together. He thought she might have suspected, but the death of Peter Parker turned those suspicions into mourning.

It had been so easy, faking his own death. An unstable building. A well-timed text. A missing persons investigation. The text found. The building searched, but they never found the body. Probably devoured by the flames. Spider-Man mustn't have got there in time. A shame. Mistakes happen. Maybe that was why he became full-time a few weeks after?

It hadn't been so easy making that decision. He'd thought long and hard about it, searching for another way out of the disaster his life had become, falling apart around him. But there hadn't seemed to be another way. Not to protect everyone.

It had been so fast, the event that had changed his life. Barely noticeable. He doubted the villain even knew what she'd done.

He was meant to graduate high-school. Improve as a hero. Go to MIT, maybe intern at SI if he was lucky. He was meant to be the child genius. Maybe he even would've managed to get himself a date.

One patrol. Wrong place, wrong time. A wannabe supervillain, an electrical one. Not easy to take down, but hardly a challenge either. As he knocked her out, she'd gotten one last blast in. Something about the frequency of the shock had changed him. His powers. His strength increased, his spider sense became more accurate. His stickiness had gone haywire. His suit had fused to his body. His mask became his new face. Peter Parker was gone. Only Spider-Man remained, with nothing but time to spend as a hero, improving. At least he'd achieved one goal.

Spidey opened his fridge, took out a drink. Threw some clothes over his suit and sat down. At least the spandex could stretch as he grew. It was the small things he had to focus on. The positives. Not the fact that the fridge was almost empty, that he could barely pay for the flat and that the cheap clothes he'd bought three years ago were getting tight and threadbare. After all, it's hard to get a job when you're Spider-Man. Even the money his Aunt left in her will hadn't gone to him when she died. How could it, when Peter Parker was dead? He had to make do with the meagre money he could make by publishing scientific theories and documents online. He kept the floor clean, though. He'd bought the flat with his university fund and intended to look after it. Mopped up the blood on the bad mornings. There were fewer of those, though. He'd had plenty of time to practise. The villains moved on. He couldn't.

He turned on the TV. There were mainly soaps on - no mention of the giant battle he'd had today. Spider-Man had become such a common sight that he'd begun to blend into the scenery. Even J Jonah Jameson had moved on. Well, he'd retired, but it was the same idea.

He turned the TV back off again. The room was dark without its harsh glare. He'd already read all the books in his flat three times, and Spidey couldn't exactly walk into a library. People thought heroes had it all. They were so wrong. He should work on his latest design for the website that paid him, but he was so tired. Still, he didn't want to sleep.

There was a knock at his door. Spidey frowned. Yes, when his address had first been 'discovered', there was an influx of fans and tourists. He hadn't minded. He liked the company. But they had moved on, too.

Spider-Man thought about ignoring whoever was at his door. He could hear them shifting, about to leave. Why not? He had nothing left to lose. He went to the door and opened it up. The person who had just started walking away turned, surprised. Spider-Man stared at the man. It took him a minute to place the face - after all, he usually saw it in a mask. But he'd seen the articles on the news those years ago. Recognised the face.

"Hju?" He asked, hesitantly. The man inclined his head.

"Hey, Spidey. I can leave if you're busy?"

Spider-Man shook his head. "Not busy. Why are you here? Because if we're going to fight... can we take it elsewhere?"

"I'm not here to fight. Unless you call the authorities. Gods, this is so sad but... I need to talk to someone who understands. You're the closest thing I have to a friend." Hju gave a bitter laugh and turned away.

"Wait!" Spidey caught Hju's arm. "I'd like to talk. I think... I think I need it too."