**TW**
This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault and forms of self-injury (hair pulling, scratching, things like that). Also talks about throwing up, and descriptions of panic attacks. But it also has a wholesome moment so.
Webbing his backpack to a wall beside a rotting dumpster, Peter quickly climbed up the wall of the building. Once Peter reached the top, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing his breathing to slow down and his senses to become heightened. Some days his visual sensory input became too much for him to focus on anything else, so he learned that completely blocking his vision helps enhance his hearing.
Peter had just finished his first day at the internship and his excitement and stress levels were bubbling and overflowing out of him even after he was far from the building. It was still early in the night, only a quarter past seven o'clock, but the sky was still rapidly darkening. The darkness was usually peaceful, serene, soothing; however, tonight was different. The usual darkness that Peter had grown accustomed to now buzzed and tickled his senses, causing goosebumps to erupt on every inch of his skin. Murmurs echoed throughout the alleyways and streets of Queens, and all Peter could do was listen and push through the unsettling feelings. He couldn't allow the noises to unsettle him, he had to fulfill his duty to protect his city.
Leaping off of the edge of the structure, Peter swiftly caught himself with one of his webs and began swinging above the roads and hundreds of cars driving on top of them. People of all ages wandered the streets, window shopping and popping in and out of different stores. Kids held their parents' hands as they weaved and swerved between different obstacles on the sidewalk, and Peter softly smiled, wishing he could go back to that innocent age again. Landing on top of a different building, Peter felt his ankles twist and pop, causing him to stumble to the ground. His ankles were fine, but they felt weaker and incapable of doing anything. Groaning, he stood straight and stretched his body out, ignoring the ache that spread through his whole body.
However, his stretching was quickly interrupted by a tingle, a tingle he could only describe as his spider-sense. Closing his eyes again, Peter could feel someone's distressed and desperate hobbling. Two sets of footsteps stumbled through what sounded like a narrow alleyway, just a few meters away from the building he currently stood on. Focusing in on their heartbeats, Peter could hear their mismatched beating swaying through the bitter breeze. One of them was obviously distressed, while the other seemed calm with slight adrenaline coursing through them. Sighing, Peter opened his eyes and swung towards the panting and throbbing, hoping it wasn't going to be too serious.
Clinging to one of the walls of the alley, Peter crept closer to the sounds of desperate sobbing and murmuring. He could feel the hopelessness radiating from the person as strong as the rays from the sun in a burning summer. Allowing his eyesight to intensify to the best of its abilities, Peter's vision began to clear up, granting him night vision. Laying on the filthy ground was a girl, no older than seventeen, shoving and kicking a man who sat on top of her. A hand covered her mouth, while the other assisted in pinning her to the ground. It was obvious what the man was about to do, and Peter's disgust overpowered him. Springing onto the ground, Peter kicked a soda can at the man. He startled and stood up, swiftly pulling a knife out of his pocket.
"Get out of here, kid." The man grumbled, kicking the girl's side as he stood, and Peter narrowed his eyes at him. He was in his late forties, and it was obvious that time had not been generous with his aging.
"You do realize this is illegal for multiple reasons, right?" Peter tilted his head to the side gently, giving him a tight lip smile that he most likely couldn't see due to his mask. "I'd recommend you get out of here before the cops arrive. I already called them and they're on their way." Lies. "Bye-bye" Peter lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, giving him a condescending wave. The man gritted his teeth and lunged toward Peter who easily dodged him.
"Maybe you should learn how to use a knife before you try and use it, yeah?" Peter knocked the knife out of his hand, sending it flying. Sending a quick kick to the back of the man's knees, he tumbled to the ground with a groan. Peter quickly webbed the man to the ground and turned towards the girl. She hadn't moved or said anything this entire time. Tiptoeing towards the slumped figure on the ground, Peter gently kneeled down and began examining the woman for wounds. Assuming she had just simply passed out from shock, Peter gently nudged her, attempting to wake her without starting her. When she still didn't move, Peter looked at her closer. Red liquid leaked into the gravel and cracks below them but he couldn't figure out where the blood was coming from. Shifting the girl onto her side, Peter wavered when he saw the whole backside of her shirt was wet with red. Feeling his breathing crack and his chest restrict, Peter stared at the metallic-smelling liquid that flowed in front of him and soaked into the girl's clothes. Pausing his breathing, Peter gently placed two fingers onto her neck, attempting to feel any type of pulse. After a few seconds of silence and slowly shifting his fingers along her neck, he found it. A heartbeat. Thank god.
Quickly standing up, Peter ran towards the opening of the alleyway. Thankfully someone was walking past and Peter quickly begged for their cell phone which they hesitantly gave him. Swiftly calling the police and explaining the situation, he gave the phone back to the horrified citizen, and promptly returned to the girl's side. Once he heard the sirens pulling up beside the alley, Peter quickly climbed up the wall and swung away, hoping the police would take care of the girl and the disgusting man. He stood on the roof of a building nearby, watching as they loaded the girl into an ambulance and the man into a police car. The ambulance and cop car sped away, leaving a few cops at the scene to put caution tape and block bystanders from entering the alley.
Sighing, Peter turned around and began swinging back to his backpack. He felt as if his lungs were tied shut with sharp barbed wire and someone was gently, menacingly rubbing a knife along his skin. Peter swung onto a hotel roof, falling to the ground when his legs gave out beneath him. Kneeling on the ground for a few seconds, Peter felt his chest constricting and pounding, his breathing immediately speeding up in short gasps. Desperately pulling his mask off of his face, Peter desperately tugged and squeezed his messy hair and the soft skin on his face. Grasping for air Peter curled himself into a ball, jerking his hair and scratching his arms, desperately trying to gain control of his breathing. He didn't know why the panic attack started. He's dealt with perverted men more times than he can count, yet here he was, a sobbing mess.
"If she dies it's your fault. You took too long to get to her. Even if she does survive she'll have to live with the memory of that man forever. She will never be the same and it's all your fault." Peter felt his breathing stop completely, replaying those words over and over in his brain.
"It's not my fault," Peter whispered, his voice cracking as he somehow curled into an even smaller ball. "It's not my fault."
"You're delusional, of course, it's your fault. Look at you, curled up and crying when you should be making up for your mistakes. Get up. Stop being useless." Peter softly nodded, attempting to stand up, but quickly felt his stomach churning and twisting in ways it shouldn't be. Doubling over, Peter emptied out anything that was left in his stomach, which was nothing but acid and water. Feeling his throat burn, Peter began sobbing, uncontrolled hiccuping as his body shook and continued trying to eject his organs out of his mouth 一 tears drizzling into the other liquids that lay on the roof.
"I can't do this anymore," Peter whimpered, desperately clutching his chest where his heart would be. The pounding was uncontrollable and painful, and he couldn't stand the blaring sounds it was creating. Rubbing his eyes to attempt to clear the blurriness, Peter nearly jumped off the building when he heard someone behind him clear their throat. Panicking, Peter messily stuffed his head into his mask and stood up, twisting on his heels to face the intruder. His breath smelled putrid, and his mask didn't help as it hugged the scents to his face. Blinking a couple of times, Peter could finally see who stood in front of him.
Natasha fucking Romanoff.
Choking on his own breath, Peter started coughing as he began walking backwards towards the ledge of the building. Natasha stared at him, a gentle expression plastered on her face. Peter thought she would chase him, but instead, she simply sat down criss-cross-apple-sauce. He paused, unsure if he should use this opportunity to escape or not. However, once Natasha gave him a small smile, he couldn't resist sitting down next to one of his idols.
Placing himself a good five feet from the superhero, Peter sat down, mimicking her sitting position. They didn't talk, or even move, for several minutes, but eventually, Natasha broke the silence.
"Are you okay, паук ребенок?" Her voice was quiet, soothing, cautious; she was afraid of scaring the fragile boy away. Peter stared at her, unable to understand part of what she had just said. He knew basic Spanish and Italian, but not any of what he presumed to be Russian. Natasha continued, "Obviously, not. But are you going to be okay?"
"I'm-" His voice cracked, causing him to anxiously clear his throat. "I'm okay, or I will be okay. Yeah. I'm fine. Thank you for asking Ms. Black Widow."
"Of course," She paused, studying him. He looked no older than fifteen and sounded to be even younger. What could a kid possibly be doing playing the role of a vigilante? Peter was fidgeting with his fingers and looking anywhere and everywhere except at Natasha. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"I'm fine, thank you." Peter quickly said, not even pausing to think about it. Taking this as his sign and opportunity to leave, he quickly stood up, ignoring the dizziness that started to block his vision and ignoring the buzzing in his ears. He was about to leap off the ledge when Natasha spoke.
"I'll be around, паук ребенок." Peter glanced back behind him to see her standing, one hand on her hip and a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Let me know if you need anything, okay? Us spiders need to stick together."
"Okay, Ms. Black Widow." Peter smiled, a genuine smile, but he wasn't sure if she would be able to tell due to his mask. Turning back towards the edge, Peter sighed and jumped off, catching himself with one of his webs and beginning his swing home.