Spiderman Oneshots

Identity Numbers (2)

Peter couldn't stop thinking about the kid until he got home and took off the suit, at which point he promptly realised he'd totally unloaded everything onto a child and probably traumatised the guy for life.

Luckily, he didn't have to go hunting to apologise. Next time he was out on patrol, the kid was there too.

"Mr Spider-Man, wait!"

"It's fine, kid, I'm waiting."

"Thanks," the newbie took a second to catch his breath after the clumsy swinging. Peter would have to teach him how to swing properly- no. Bad Peter, no encouraging child vigilanteism. "I wanted to apologise for last time if I offended you."

"I wanted to do the same, for being so harsh. I guess I've just been doing this for so long I've forgotten why. Ultimately it's your life, and your decision. I can't make that for you - I know if anyone had tried when I was starting out I definitely wouldn't have listened to them. But it is risky, so I'd rather you felt you can come to me for help than struggle alone."

"Oh," the kid took a step back. "Well... thanks. I just- Being a superhero isn't the riskiest, you know? My dad's a cop, he's in danger every day. Doing this isn't that different."

"My uncle was a cop," Peter couldn't help but say, surprised by the similarity. "Makes you want to help people too, right?"

"Yeah," said the kid, relaxing slightly. "To be honest, I'm not even sure if I want to be a superhero or not yet. I guess I feel a bit guilty having these powers and not using them?"

"You owe the world nothing. If you don't want to do it, don't. If you can't decide, no pressure. I'm always around to talk if you need to."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Check you're okay. You seem... I don't know. I wanted to make sure you were okay." The kid slumped, but Peter felt his heart melt a little. At the same time, it began to ache. Nobody was supposed to care about him. People who cared about him wound up dead.

"Honestly, kid, no. I'm not okay. But I'm alive, and I'm going to keep going. Every day I make someone else's life a little better is worth living."

"That's not what I..." the kid sighed. "Can I show you something?"

"Sure." Peter followed him to an alley whose walls were covered in graffiti, the most impressive one covering almost an entire brick wall. To Peter's surprise, it was this painting which the kid pointed wordlessly at. Peter stepped closer.

The wall was mostly a pure black, dark as night. Whole bricks had been completely left out of the design, giving it an abstract feeling. In front of the painted wall sat a dumpster, full. Bulging black bags sagged against its sides. On the wall, cleverly painted so it looked like they were sat on or among the trash, was the white silhouette of a figure with their knees pulled up against their chest, head bowed, shoulders curved in. Above, about halfway up the wall, what looked like a large dark-grey cloud at first glance was actually a word. The top part of the word seemed to burst into sunlight. Beams of golden shades and vibrant rainbow patterns exploded from its borders, the black wall fading to white the higher it went. Birds, drawn as the simple v shapes children used, seemed to fly upwards from the letters, black and becoming bolder as the wall lightened beneath them. Below the letters, white paint dripped downwards like rain, coalescing into thick, uneven droplets that spread and formed a cage around the seated figure. 

The word was 'safety'.

Peter's breath caught as he examined the art. It captured an emotion that didn't have a name, and he understood why the young spider had brought him here. How did a child somehow understand him better than he understood himself?

"Do you... Do you get it?" The kid was pretending not to be nervous, but his twisting hands gave him away.

"Yeah. I do." And he did.

The kid nodded. "Good. Are you... can you tell me what happened? Or at least let me help?"

Peter swallowed. "No. Or... not today. Maybe someday." Another nod. The kid kept fidgeting. He seemed almost self-conscious. Peter glanced back at the art. 

"Hey, did you- did you make this?"

The kid gave a wonky shrug. "Maybe."

"It's really good. I've seen similar ones around the city - you have a real talent."

"Oh. Thank you. Um. Mr Spider-Man?"

"Just Spidey, kid."

"Right. Well, like I said before, I don't know if I want to be a hero yet, but I do know I have these powers, and I don't really know how to control them. I think- if you want to, of course - it would be really helpful if someone could show me the ropes."

Peter thought about it. A child following him on patrol, learning the best ways to swing. How to pull his punches so he didn't hurt anyone. A child following him into danger, into media attention, learning how to lie and live a double life. A gunshot. Ben, bleeding out. A scream. MJ, falling. An explosion. May, pretending she was fine.

The words, 'it's too dangerous', choked Peter, and he looked again at the painting. The person caged by safety. He thought about what kind of art the kid could produce if he learned how to stand on walls and dangle upside-down from ceilings.

He sighed. "Swinging efficiently relies on quickly judging angles and momentum. How good are you at math?"

"Spidey, dude, I am awesome at math."