"How's getting close to Peter going?"
You grin. "Better than you thought it would."
"Oh, shut up." Brooklyn slaps you on the shoulder.
"Hey!" You hit her foot. "And it's only been two days."
Tess walks into the room. You and Brooklyn stop laughing. "What are you girls doing?"
"Just talking," you say cautiously. "What do you need?"
Tess shrugs. "Well, I wondered what your plans were tonight."
"Do we have a mission?" asks Brooklyn. It was either that or Tess was about to say she was going somewhere.
"No," says Teresa. "I thought we could play Wii or a game of Monopoly or something else, if you wanted."
You and Brooklyn blink in unison.
"Why do you look so surprised?"
Well, I don't know, you think. It's not as if every time she wants to talk to you, she needs something from you. What were you supposed to think?
A second after that thought passes through your head, you feel really... sad. Isn't this how moms were supposed to be? You wish she'd acted like a real mom. A mom who cared about your feelings, your life outside of evil-doing... Hell, you'd settle for a mom who'd give you a hug once a day!
But, as much as you wanted to have a good bonding time with your mother, you already had plans. And they involved being a villain.
"I'm going to Peter's house," you say.
Tess turns to you, nodding. "Will you kill him there?"
"Maybe." You shrug. "Depends on the number of witnesses."
She nods again. "When are you heading over?"
You check your phone. "Ten minutes or so."
"Are you ready?"
"Not really."
"You should do that. Brooklyn, wanna play a game?"
"Sure." Brooklyn heads off to find a game and you head to your room, throwing things you might need into a bag.
Jealousy... Not a fun emotion, jealousy is. Especially when it's directed at the best friend you've had since childhood. You'd done everything you could to make her life better than yours, and now that it seems like hers is better, you're upset? How does that work?
All those masked people you'd killed cold heartedly were so that she didn't have to. The one time you had said no to killing someone, they made her do it, so you just sucked it up and did what they said.
Including killing the one person you hoped you wouldn't have to.
Sighing, you place your guns, a few knives, your outfit, and your mask on the bottom of your bag. You cover it with a Beatles hoodie (it isn't important that you have an AC/DC one on already), a phone charger and cube... What else would you put in a bag to go to a friend's house? You'd only ever gone to MJ's house (who you weren't planning on killing), and you knew exactly what to bring since it was MJ. Peter, though, he's different. He's your mission.
You decide it's probably safe to just throw in a book, your sketchpad, a few pencils, and some pens.
You weren't sure if, as time went on, you were getting more nervous, less nervous, or more accustomed to the feeling of the knowledge that you'd have to kill Peter, if not now, eventually.
Headphones in, phone in your pocket, bag slung over your shoulder, hood up, you yell at Tess and Brooklyn that you're leaving. The skies are grey, the clouds covering the sun. You mentally slap yourself. If it rains, you don't have an umbrella, and you'll get soaked.
"She's a killer queen / Gunfire, guillotine, dynamite with a laser beam / Guaranteed to blow your mind..."
Twenty minutes later, lip-syncing the words to Queen songs the whole time, you show up at Peter's apartment building.
You press the buzzer and enter the code that Peter gave you, 738377.
You head up the stairs after being granted access, unsure of what the two of you are going to do and how you're going to kill him.
Whatever. You'll burn that bridge when you get to it.
He's standing by the door when you get there. "MAY! (Y/N)'S HERE!" he yells after the door is shut.
"OKAY!" May pokes her head out of her room and smiles at you. "Let me know if you need anything."
"So," says Peter, rubbing his hands together nervously, "what should we do first?"
"I don't know."
"Helpful, (Y/N)."
"I know." You grin at him. "Where should I put my bag?"
"Oh, yeah, right, sorry." You laugh. "You can just leave it wherever; I'm sure May won't mind." You drop it on the floor next to the couch. Peter tells you to just watch TV or something for a minute while he gets something out of his room.
The news channel is on. "The masked vigilante of Hell's Kitchen, Daredevil, struck again last night. Multiple men were admitted to the Metro-General Hospital earlier this morning."
Hopefully your family would never move to Hell's Kitchen. You'd moved to Ottawa, Moscow, Rome, Paris... Plus a lot more. To put it simply, you'd been nearly everywhere on the globe. And you were only sixteen. Hell's Kitchen, however, you'd rather not go there. The mob, Daredevil, those lawyers Nelson & Murdock you'd heard a lot about... Nope. Too many issues.
"(Y/N)?" asks Peter. You snap out of your short reverie and look at him expectantly. He seems to shrink a little.
"Sorry." You try to sound as apologetic as possible. "What did you need?"
"Do you want to do something?"
"Sure. I don't know what, though. You choose."
He breathes out lightly. "Um... How about, uh..." Peter takes his sweet time going through a small cabinet of games. "Monopoly?"
You wince, thinking of at home. "Is there anything else?"
"Dominoes... Checkers, chess... Risk, Life... And Trivial Pursuit." He looks back at you hopefully.
You smirk. "Risk. I will conquer the world!"
Peter opens his mouth, closes it, points at you, and says, "The way you said that was a bit scary, not gonna lie."
You shrug. "Pass me the box; I'll set it up on the floor."
Peter gives it to you and heads towards the kitchen. "Do you want something? A drink or some food?"
"N— Actually, do you have any crackers?" You weren't hungry when you left home, but now that Peter's bringing it up, you're starting to be.
"I think so. Do you want ham and cheese with them?"
"I'm vegetarian."
"Huh." Peter looks thoughtful—probably thinking about how he didn't realise. "Just cheese then?"
You nod without looking at him, starting to take the pieces out of the box. After a few minutes, you're 90% finished and Peter comes back out with a platter of snacks— crackers, cheese, some ham for him, apple slices, cucumbers, carrots, dip in the centre of the plate, cherry tomatoes, strawberries, and tangerines.
"That is a lot of food. Do you even plan on eating dinner tonight?"
"Yes."
Right. Super-Spider metabolism, how could you forget?
"Should we turn on a movie while we play?" Peter asks, setting a pillow down on the opposite side of the board. He sits down and starts getting comfy, putting the platter in between the two of you to the side of the game, snatching a tangerine while doing so. You hover your hand over the plate for a second before grabbing some crackers and cheese.
"You can choose." There's a sharp snap of thunder outside and you're startled, nearly dropping your food.
Peter hands you the remote with a slight mumble of, "The Empire Strikes Back," and keeps eating. You turn on the movie and turn the volume down enough so you can hear each other.
"Who goes first?" says Peter through a mouthful of food. You shrug. "You go."
Strategy and luck are the best assets in this game, and you've got them both. You're destroying Peter in the game and he keeps complaining about it. You playfully insult him and then he gives you puppy-dog eyes, causing you both to burst out laughing at your face after.
Not even an hour later, you've finished the whole plate of food (it was mostly Peter) and you were still beating the spider-boy. Only a few hours later, after finishing Risk and playing Life, you notice the time and that you should probably be getting home. You help Peter clean up the mess you two made, then, as you get to the door, you reach into your bag to grab your sketchbook (you'd talked about it earlier and Peter wanted to see) and your fingers brush the muzzle of your gun.
Oh my God.
Your parents were going to kill you. You'd been gone for nearly six hours just hanging out with Spider-Man, forgetting about the mission. You grip the gun the correct way but keep it hidden under the hoodie. You feel to know if safety was off so you wouldn't shoot the floor before Peter; it is.
Your arm trembles slightly in the bag. Your breathing quickens and you stand behind Peter, who's on the couch, looking at your reflections in the turned-off TV. "Have you found it yet?"
"Almost." You don't bother trying for a smile.
"Hey, are you—"
Peter doesn't finish. "Peter, dinner's nearly ready." May, who's leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen, startles you so bad you drop your bag. "Oh, (Y/N), didn't realise you were still here." May tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're welcome to stay."
"No, it's fine, really. My mom will be worried." Lie. She wouldn't care.
"That's too bad."
"Yeah." There's an awkward pause and you pick up your bag. The gun, thank God, was still covered by the hoodie. You pull out your sketchbook.
Peter raises his eyebrows. "A sketchbook that big in a bag that size and it still took you forever to find it."
You stick your tongue out at him. Immature, sure. Do you care? No. "I'm going to head home. Thanks for... well, everything," you say. Surprising even yourself, you are, in fact, thankful for the few hours they gave you.
"Feel free to drop by whenever, (Y/N)," says May with a soft smile. "Lord knows Peter needs more friends than just Ned."
"Hey, MJ's my friend too!" he defends. You slip out the door, making sure it latches behind you. Practically flying down the steps and out the front entrance, by the time you've gotten onto the next street your breath is hitching in your throat and tears are stinging your eyes. If you could, you'd turn on your comfort movie and get immersed in it, hiding under the covers eating hidden snacks, but alas, you cannot. Instead, you're panicking in an alleyway, soaking from the heavy rain, realising that you don't want to kill Peter at all.
Stopping just inside an alleyway, you put your headphones in and press shuffle on a random playlist.
She may contain / The urge to run away / But hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks...
You turn it up as loud as it can go and start towards your house, calming down ever so slightly with each song that plays.
What lie can I tell them this time? You're not sure. Witnesses were usually just killed as well when it came to your family. Of course, you'd all prefer not to, but with this type of mission, you don't think it'd matter to them.
Fifteen minutes of songs and lie-planning later, you can't come up with anything better than May being a witness and people seeing you go in and out of their apartment.
You shove the door open, only taking out one earphone, and your heart sinks again. There's a game of Monopoly set up on the table and the smell of baking cookies is heavenly to your nose. Olivia Rodrigo's favorite crime was soft over the kitchen speakers. (Clearly, it was Brooklyn's choice.)
"The things I did... Just so I could call you mine... The things you did... Well I hope I was your favourite crime..." Brooklyn's voice blocks out the actual song. Naturally, her singing skills were on-point, and yours were trash.
Though the song was more centred on relationships—specifically abusive romantic relationships (at least, that's what you think it is)—it seems appropriate for your family situation.
"(Y/N)? Is that you?"
"Yeah, mom."
"Did you kill him?"
You sigh quietly. "No."
Her and Brooklyn come out of the kitchen. "Why not?"
"Too many witnesses." At her look, you elaborate. "May Parker, the other people who would've seen me going in and out of their apartment—they don't get many visitors, mind you, just Ned, I think—and that's too many."
Tess looks half understanding, half disappointed. You're not sure which emotion is more prominent.
Probably disappointment.
You don't even have time to place your bag down when the voices are yelling in your ears. You flinch but don't do anything else. You'd taught yourself better than that. You can't make out what any of the thoughts are, however, and since they'll disappear in a minute, you're not going to try to dig through them.
"Cookies are almost done if you want some," offers Brooklyn, pausing her singing of favorite crime.
"Sure." You drop your backpack on the floor next to the wall and go into the kitchen just in time to see Brooklyn pull the cookies out. You sit and eat a few as Brooklyn and Tess go back to their game, then you head upstairs.
You finish your homework pretty fast (you cheated on most of it, as per usual) and so you collapse on your carpet, after turning on your speaker. Your phone connects immediately and so you just press play. Your previous song finishes the four or five seconds left, then—
Help!
I need somebody.
Help!
Not just anybody.
Help!
You know I need someone.
Help!
You aren't sure how long you stay like that, but you do know that you miss dinner, having fallen asleep long before.