A Really Good Lawyer [Spider-Man]

Chapter 10: A New Responsibility

Growing up as a city kid, Peter had always figured that it's impossible to see the stars in Queens. Hell, he'd believed that it had been impossible to see the stars from anywhere in New York City, save for the corners of Staten Island or from a perch at the height of the Brooklyn Bridge, until the day of the Incident.

(The sky had cracked in half above Avengers Tower and exposed a jagged scar overflowing with Chitauri and cosmic energy. Aunt May had grabbed him by the collar, hoisting Peter into her arms like he hadn't been almost eleven years old and far too big to be carried. Huddled in the cement laundry room of their apartment building, Peter had thought of the stars-- bright and glittering-- in the chasm far above, Aunt May's murmured prayer hitting his ear in shaky puffs. Into His hand I entrust my spirit, when I sleep and when I wake. And with my soul, my body too, the Lord is with me, I shall not fear.

He and May had never been religious; that had been Uncle Ben's faith. But he hadn't been there to pray for them, so May had prayed for him.

A plea for Uncle Ben, somewhere in Midtown for work that day, while they'd waited for death or salvation to come. Heroes had won that day. No blood had yet stained Peter's hands.)

There's another place he can see the stars now. The end of Hunter's Point, right where Peter's apartment building looms over the East River. It's nice. A new place to get away from it all, when the world and his stuffy apartment becomes too much. It isn't like he can go back to the roof of Midtown High anymore. He's up there an hour after Matt finally calls, his low voice loose with relief, and scratching at the stiff fabric of his Spider-Man suit. He'd found it hanging in the shower, wrinkled and devoid of the tell-tale trickle of pink water. No copper scent had hung in the air. Mentally, he'd filed it under the growing Things to thank Matt for list in his head, and let it hang until he'd worked up the nerve to leave the apartment.

(He hadn't found that nerve until his phone had started vibrating on the coffee table.)

His mask is a crumpled bundle in his hands. It had taken some stealth to sneak back to the tenement building, hiding his face inside a still-damp hoodie from his backpack, but he'd found his mask in a puddle, the dry edges fluttering like candy wrappers in the breeze. Resting his chin on a propped-up knee, Peter watches the stars. Far in the distance, there are sirens. There are always sirens in Queens. After the spider bite, he'd been able to hear them from streets away. His hands tighten into fists. Technically, he hadn't promised Matt that he'd take the night off. Matt had advised it, but Peter hadn't exactly... verbally agreed. Surely his lawyer would know all about loopholes like that. But Matt had given him refuge-- soft clothes, food, and someone to listen-- and spoke like a man who'd understood the weight of what he was asking. And Daredevil would know.

You're allowed to rest.

But is he allowed? Can he afford to? Somewhere in his city, Ned and MJ are at home or work or wherever they'd be on a Wednesday night. But they could be out, walking the streets and talking about Mr. Harrington's final project, and somebody could mug them. Pull a knife and decide that a better payment than some wallets are his best friends' lives. Somebody could hurt them and it'd be Peter's fault for letting his guard down. Even if he can't be a part of their lives anymore, he has a responsibility to keep them safe. He has a responsibility to be Spider-Man.

(He knows that better than ever now. In her final moments, Aunt May had made sure he knew that.

That's not my responsibility, May.