Hydra's newest experiment slips out of their grasp during transport. It sneaks under their searching lights, hides from their video detectors, and crawls up into none other than Peter Parker's apartment.
Peter's life changes forever after the spid...
The teen shut his eyes tight so as not to cry out as his heart raced. "Please don't move, please don't move, please don't move," his thoughts chanted as he cautiously pulled his hand and the item out from the closet.
What. The. Fuck.
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If Aunt May ever found out where he was right now, Peter Parker would be six feet under by dawn—without a proper funeral service. He needed to think. He needed space from the city's overbearing sounds, smells, and sensations.
So he threw on a hoodie and his worst pair of sneakers and ran. He ran along the sides of brick buildings and jumped between light poles like they were lilypads. When he neared the park, he hid in thick leafy canopies and skittered along the branches with the nocturnal critters. A precariously placed nest of mourning doves sat in his way, and despite his best efforts, the unstable branch snapped. Without thinking, Peter swung. He used his string like a vine and grabbed the delicate nest before it hit the ground, propelling himself back into the air.
The doves weren't as grateful as the teen hoped, pecking at him even after he put their home in a better location. But he didn't care, he was moving too quickly to register their nips. It was only when he neared the familiar sound of water that he slowed down enough to think. Peter barely broke out a sweat despite scaling miles of land. He dropped to the pond's overgrown bank, shuddering as he felt the tall grasses slip under his pajama pants and tickle his knees. His thoughts raced faster than his steady heart, cornering the poor teen in his own mind.
What are you?
Peter gasped, his gaze snapping to the opposite shore. He slid his hoodie off his head to nervously tug at his curls. That whisper was so soft... so personal. He could've sworn the wind carried it to him from just the other side, but there was no one there. He couldn't hear another heartbeat around him nor another set of lungs slowly pulling in the cool air.
Peter.
There it was again, calling to him like from a distant dream. An ache formed in his belly, like a longing that tugged him into the water. He wondered why the leaches wouldn't latch onto his legs but found himself too distracted to care. On the opposite shore, standing still as a ghost, was Uncle Ben.
Peter reached for him, tears scorching trails down his cheeks. "Uncle Ben!" he yelled, trudging through the thick cattails.
Ben shook his head, red blooming over his chest, his throat, his arms. He didn't take his dead eyes off of Peter. He didn't make that horrible gurgling noise that haunted his nephew in his waking moments—just stood there. Silent as the wind, distant like a memory.
Peter.
What did you see?
Peter's gaze dropped to the pond water, tears causing ripples to crash like waves against the overgrown shore. Red and black curled over the crests and morphed his reflection right before his eyes. Peter jumped back from the colorful dance, snapping his gaze back to Uncle Ben.
