5. "Could you hold my hand?"
Okay, so this is a cute prompt, right? With the huge possibility for some fluff to ensue? Right? Well, iloveyou3000peter I do very much thank you for the request. Here's one of my own to all of you: please don't hurt me (I already did that to myself)
Side note: I wanna see who gets some references I made. Some are more tricky than the others. Hint: I've already made one
The library had become one of your favorite places since you came back. It was quiet, filled with knowledge, and always air conditioned.
The library at Midtown School of Science and Technology in particular was a place you spent most of your free time in nowadays. You always got to the school early in the morning and always stayed hours after the school day was over. Every since The Blip, it had become your second home; it was the most familiar place you could go to. A place where you could re-adjust to the world you grew up in and catch up on the five years of history you missed.
Currently, there weren't many people in the library with you, since school wasn't set to start for another month. But the administration always left the doors open for the book club and Decathlon team. You weren't in either, but as long as you still followed the rules, you were always welcome.
The library was a safe place. No one ever bothered you, and you could always get what you wanted to get done done.
You were friends with the librarian. You even helped out every once in a while. Being surrounded by so much information and stories helped you feel at ease. Helped you feel like you weren't the only person with the loss of them. Like you weren't the only one out of the loop.
With a book open in front of you--about how the world dealt and built itself back up after half its population suddenly disappearing--you tried your hardest to understand how the world functioned when you were gone, having been one of the people that disappeared.
It was a hard thing to wrap your mind around, believing that you had been gone five whole years. Everything just seemed like a blink to you. One second, you were scared for your life, wondering if Iron Man and Spider-Man were ever going to come back from following that alien spaceship into the sky. The next, you found yourself on the floor in a bedroom that wasn't yours, but at the same time was. One second, you had been sitting in dead silence, the next, the air was filled with the ear splitting yell of a young girl, screaming at you like you were an intruder in your own home.
You were.
In what felt like a blink, an entire five years had passed on Earth. Had passed everywhere. People grieved. Then people moved on with their lives.
You, among hundreds of thousands of other people, had to find new homes. New jobs. It was hard to believe that you were thrust five years and two months into the future, when just a second ago, you had been in 2018.
But of course, you knew the entire world couldn't be playing a giant trick. That against all probability, it had actually happened. You had to believe it whether you wanted to or not. This was your life now.
Just as you were getting settled, some boxes in your new room still unpacked, your parents urged you to go on your science class' summer field trip. They, as well as you, had thought that maybe it could help you unwind from the stress of living in a familiar but unfamiliar world.
Instead, Mysterio and the Elementals had happened, and what was supposed to be a relaxing summer vacation turned into looking over your shoulder to make sure another danger wasn't creeping up out of thin air every waking moment.
You had broken down in the airport once it was all over. Once everyone was safe. It was all too much. You didn't understand how people could live their lives like it was normal. How they weren't affected like you were. Too many life changing and endangering events had happened in rapid succession and it was too much for you.
It was Peter who held you then like he always had. It was Peter who pulled you from your spiraling state by making you focus on his voice. It was Peter who held your hand and wouldn't let go until you were okay enough to pull away.
You could always count on him to get you out of a tough place and stick by your side for the entirety of it all. And he didn't ask for anything out of it. Just that you would do the same.
That was a promise you had made to him years ago.
There were two other people in the library with you, not including the librarian, who was in the back room. You took note of them the second they walked in. You didn't know their names, so you figured might have been kids that survived. It was easier for you to keep an eye on everything around you. It made you feel better. The two teens had identical books of their own open in front of them, so you had initially assumed they were in the school's book club. But as the time passed, they disregarded reading and resorted to their phones. It didn't matter to you what they were doing. As long as it didn't break your concentration, they could talk quietly and laugh amongst themselves all they wanted. You didn't bother them, they didn't bother you.
So when you caught them staring, you had tried to disregard it. You hadn't done nothing much other than read the book you had checked out. There was a list of things that made you uncomfortable, and people staring was on it. You could feel their eyes on you as you kept your own trained on the pages in your hands. You knew you hadn't looked bad when you left your house that morning--your clothes were clean, your hair was combed--yet there was something that continued to make you their point of interest. It set you on edge, how their whispering dropped so that even you couldn't hear the words in the silence of the library. You hadn't done anything wrong, so what made you so interesting?
You didn't like being the center of attention. Not more than you already were. People treated you like you were some kind of baby, since you returned. They pitied you. Saw you as someone who needed help. And while you were, you didn't need them butting in. You had your own support group. Your own ways of getting the help you needed. But no one knew. No one really cared. Not unless their 'acts of kindness' were visible for the public to see.
So why single you out now? In the seclusion of the library, where no one else was around?
You thought about leaving, just to get away from their prying eyes. You had noticed them get up and move to a table closer to yours, really not subtlety at all. But then just as you made the decision to pack up once you finished the chapter you were on, you realized that you could hear them. The reason because they moved closer or having raised their voices up for debate.
"But she's his best friend!"
"You can't seriously think she helped him do it, can you?"
"We don't have any proof she didn't!"
They seemed to be arguing. Loud enough for you to hear. Loud enough for you to figure out they were talking about you.
It made your skin crawl. The fact that you were the topic of their conversation, but you had no idea what they were talking about. The fact that they were blaming you for something. You hadn't committed a crime in your life. The closest you'd ever come was bearing witness to more than a few.
You unconsciously found yourself squeezing your fists tight enough that you felt your nails digging into the palms of your hands. Taking a deep breath, you came to the unsettling conclusion that they wouldn't stop unless you dealt with it.
For the first time, you turned your head to look at them. Taking a moment to try and further understand the situation, you watched them. They couldn't have been older than you, they looked around your age. One of two things that stood out from the picture was that the girl had dyed bright pink hair. The other was the bright red news headline that lit up her discarded phone screen.
The boy caught your eyes first, promptly shutting his mouth and a look of fear flickering on his face. His reaction made the girl stop and look over at you, her eyes narrowing instantly. Like you were some kind of suspect. And going off of what you heard them talk about, you might as well be.
Shakily, you stood up and walked over to their table, holding your arms close to your body. You opened your mouth to say something, but you hadn't really thought this through.
After a gulp, you found your voice. But you were starting to feel small under the girls stare. "Hi." You tested carefully, your voice quiet. "Do you- do you need me for something?"
Her eyes lit up like she was just given a gift. The boy just cowered in his seat, like he was ashamed. "Yes, actually!" Her voice was cheerful, but the smile on her face was fake. Her words had a sharp edge to them, and you were afraid that they were nearing to cut you. "You haven't heard the news?"
"Billie, don't." The boy whispered behind her, glancing up, but avoiding your gaze.
"Don't what?" You tried not to flinch as Billie stood up. You couldn't stop yourself from stepping back though. She was taller than you, and her proximity was too close. "What news?"
"About Spider-Man." she stated blankly like she was bored you didn't already know. She paused, and it looked like she was waiting for your reaction. "About Peter Parker."
"No?" You said slowly, confused to hear those names put together like that. You wanted to ask, but that wasn't the point. You wanted them to stop talking about you. If for some reason there was some news involving Peter and Spider-Man that he hadn't told you yet, you were sure to find out soon. And if you didn't, you could just look it up when you got home. "What does it have to do with me?"
"Billie." The boy warned again, but she just sent him a glare.
"Get your phone out."
"I don't--"
"Now!"
"Um," you started to stammer over your words, not understanding what was going on. "Excuse me? I-I don't really want to be recorded--"
"So you're telling me you don't know about how Spider-Man killed Mysterio?"
You can't have heard that right.
Mysterio was dead?
You blinked. "What?"
"Don't play dumb." She snapped, her brows furrowed in determination, making you flinch. The accusation unlike any you had ever heard. "Tell us the truth. Did you help Peter Parker murder Quentin Beck?"
The words hit you like a slap to the face. They didn't sound right. They didn't feel right.
Peter wasn't Spider-Man.
Was he?
And Spider-Man definitely wasn't a murderer.
That you knew for sure.
Did you?
Peter wasn't Spider-Man. He would have told you. And you knew for a fact that Peter wouldn't kill someone. Neither would Spider-Man. And he sure as hell wouldn't have killed another hero.
But that's not what Billie was saying. She was saying that Peter Parker was Spider-Man. That Peter killed Mysterio. Killed Quentin Beck. And that you knew--no. Not knew. Helped him do it.
A hundred things were clawing at your brain, wanting to be spoken all at once. It swarmed in your head, bombarding your thoughts. It was hard, but you managed piece together a single sentence. Albeit choppy. "I don't-- I have no idea what you're talking about." You breathed out shakily.
"It's a simple question: did you, or did you not?" Billie asked again, her voice more insistent this time. The boy fumbled with his phone as she stepped forward, forcing you back.
"No!" You said as firmly as you could, tripping over your feet. If it wasn't for the table you were sitting at to catch you, you would have fallen. "I didn't even-- I didn't even know!" Why couldn't she hear the truth in your voice?
All comfort you found in the library disappeared in an instant. The silence you adored felt deafening. The calm was suffocating.
"How am I supposed to believe you? You're his best friend! Everyone knows that! You had to know something." She spouted the accusations as easily as popping a bubble. "Ryan, are you getting this on camera? Every news outlet is looking for any known associates, and we need this proof!"
"Who- who the hell do you think you are?" You could feel your own voice breaking as you continued to back away until you felt the strap of your bag hanging off the back of the chair you were sitting in. You snatched up the book you were reading and almost missed shoving it in. "I told you I don't want to be recorded! Leave- leave me alone!"
You grabbed your things and ran for the door, but the words continued to follow you.
Spider-Man killed Mysterio?
Did you help Peter Parker murder Quentin Beck?
You heaved a breath, the feeling of it getting harder and harder to breathe quickly overcoming you.
You didn't understand.
What was going on?
The sunlight seemed too harsh as you nearly fell over yourself outside. You didn't stop though. Not until Billie and Ryan gave up on chasing you. Until you were far away from the library. And only then did you stop only to breath so you wouldn't collapse.
It looked like the world was frozen. Their eyes glued to the nearest screen available. Phones, shop televisions. Any screen on any one of the hundreds of skyscrapers surrounding you.
And they all read the same thing.
London Attack Revelations: Spider-Man responsible for Hero Mysterio's Death
THEDAILYBUGLE.NET EXCLUSIVE: Peter Parker revealed as the murderer behind the mask of the menace known as the 'Spider-Man'
Voices overlapped in your head. The people around you reacting. The different news stations relaying each other. Your own.
But what stood out the most was the shaky video on display directly across the street from you.
You didn't recognize the man, but you recognized the suit. This man was Mysterio. Beck. Beat up with blood on his face and surrounded by broken glass.
And the words came right from him mouth.
"Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker!"
You felt your senses dulling around you then. The only thing you could hear was the rapid beating of your own heart trying to keep you alive.
So many secrets. So many truths. Too many.
You felt yourself loosing your grip, but no one was there to stop you from falling.
Usually Peter did that.
But Peter wasn't there.
Peter was Spider-Man?
Peter was a murderer?
A loud roar from a gathering crowd was enough to get you moving, even though you felt--well, you didn't know how you felt.
Your feet moved without much thought. Bringing you to the one place where you thought you could be safe. Where you could lock the door and cover your ears and close your eyes and wish it would all go away. That you would wake up from this horrible nightmare.
Your feet moved, and you mindlessly made it back to your empty apartment.
It wasn't home. You home had been taken away from you. The walls were empty. The furniture brand new.
Your hands shook as you locked the door behind you. That's when you lost the sliver of control you had, sliding down against the front of the door in a gasp that let everything flood you.
Tears burned against your skin as they streamed down your face. Tears of confusion. Tears of hurt. Tears of anger. Tears of any reason you could possibly think of.
It was a lot to comprehend at once.
Too much.
A frantic knocking on your door made you flinch and let out a yelp. You scrambled away, barely standing yourself up when you heard a voice.
"Y/N?" It was Peter. "Are you-- are you in there?"
Oh God, it was Peter. Standing on the other side of your apartment door. Sounding the most scared you've ever heard him in his entire life.
You stayed silent.
"Y/N, please-please. I can hear you,"
And you could hear just how much he was pleading. How his voice was shaking with every syllable.
"Please let me in. I can-- I don't know what you've heard yet, but I can explain everything. But I really need you to let me in. You're all I have left and I know-- I know it's selfish, but, Y/N, you're my only hope."
You're breathing became heavier and it held like someone was squeezing your heart in their fist.
You couldn't leave him out there.
But in a quick motion, you reached forward and unlocked the door.
Once the locked clicked, the door opened and Peter stepped in faster than you could register, locking the door again behind him. "Y/N, I'm so sorry--"
You backed away from him. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't make you leave." You demanded, the words sounding more foreign than a different language as they left your mouth.
Peter's expression was heartbreaking. His hair darker and plastered to his face from sweat. His eyes glossed over with tears already threatening to spill. A look of hurt painted over his face like it was a damaged canvas.
"L-look, I know about everything that they're saying about me out there, and-and I know how it sounds. Y/N, I'm not asking you to like me right now or even trust me until you sort things out because I know this is too much so fast. And I'm so, so sorry. But I'm alone and I'm afraid and all I'm asking is could you please just hold my hand? Even if you can only do it for a little bit?"
Your eyes didn't leave Peter.
They couldn't.
You didn't see Spider-Man as you looked at him. You didn't see someone capable of killing someone in cold blood.
All you saw was the boy who held you when times got rough.
The boy who defended you from bullies even if it meant he would be going home with a black eye.
The boy who stayed up with you all hours of the night when you woke up from a bad dream.
The boy who cared about you more than he cared about himself.
The boy who held your hand through it all.
And here he was. In front of you. Asking you to do the same.
After all, you had promised.
Peter Parker wasn't a murderer. That, you were sure of. The odds could be stacked against him twenty times over and you still wouldn't believe it.
But everyone wasn't like you. The world believed it. And the world was after him.
You looked at the boy. Peter wasn't a murderer, but he was broken. Broken over and over so many times, that he's now unable to put himself back together all alone.
You looked at the boy who held your hand all those years, and was asking the simple thing of you: to hold his back.
You looked at Peter, and all you could see was someone who needed you the way you needed him. The boy who has always needed you the way you needed him.
And now more than ever.
You cleared your mind enough to focus on that one thing. If you had learned anything, is that you needed to take the road to recovery one step at a time. And you already know what the first step was. What you had to do.
You take his hand.
A fractured smile twitched on his lips as he held on tight, heavy with the fear that you might let go. But you already made up your mind, despite what you knew you were going to have to do. Knowing that when the time came, you would have to turn your back on the world. To protect Peter. Because he needed you like you needed him.
"I can do more than that."