Chapter Text
Tears run down Peter’s face as he looks over the city he has lived for, died for, and loved for years. They never completely loved Spider-Man but they hated the man behind the mask more. All he did wasn’t for nothing. He remembers the little girl he saved from an abusive father and how safe she felt with him. He remembered the old ladies he walked home, caring their groceries. He remembered Fluffy the cat, who left him looking like he fought a blender and lost. May laughed at him for them. He saved plenty but not the one’s that mattered. He didn’t save May or Gwen.
He messed up Strange's spell. He ruins everything and everyone he touches. At least MJ and Ned will be safer without him. A cold chill needled into his bones, giving his weariness more strength to overpower him.
He wonders if falling from this height would kill him. Leaning over the edge, he peers below, only his feet holding him up. It wouldn’t. But it would hurt. Maybe a month or two in the hospital with a warm bed and food would help. No, he’s be a shitty person if he took away a bed from someone who needed it.
An explosion bursts in the distance. A scream racks the air. Peter lets himself fall. The wind wiping the tears off his face and hugging his body. As the ground nears closer and closer, Peter slips on his mask and webs to a building, arm snapping straight. His wristlets beep, warning him of low webs.
It doesn’t take long to make it to the fire. Peter’s breath hitches when he sees what building it is. His last connection to May, the F.E.A.S.T. center she spent so much time at, is gone. Flames burning away supplies, people, hard work, and memories. Memories of him and May dishing out food, funny quips being thrown back and forth between the two. The smell of soups and bread warming the air. He remembers doing homework with a few of the homeless folks, them trying to help him with his advanced classes. Laughter filling everyone's hearts. He could still feel the love and joy the building and the work brought May. All of those memories and feelings were getting burned away, both physically and mentally. He wasn’t aware he could lose more. His mask stuck to his skin painfully, silent tears freely flowing.
People are running every which way. The heroic civilians run to the fire, some running in to help and others escorting burnt victims somewhere safe. The more sane civilians run, trying to find somewhere safe to stop. A random man in the middle of the street is laughing, a gun in one hand and a phone in the other. He presses something on the phone and another explosion detonates down the street in what looks to be an apartment building.
Spider-Man shoots out a web, snapping the device from the man's hand. The man cackles and aims a gun at Peter. The villain yells out, “My name is Gillian the Villain! I don’t know what wannabe hero you are but you should crawl back to your web or it will be off with your head! Heroes they paint as great, rushing into rescue and mend fate. But tell me, what is their reflection? A lonely existence, devoid of any real connection. Have you seen? No fans, no team. Alone they’ve been, lost in their dream. Those who stand beside them have their fate decided. All because their hero’s confided.”
Gillian the Villain, for having such a stupid name, was right. Being a hero got everyone around him killed. It got Ben and May killed. It got Gwen killed. Is it really worth losing all those that love to save a few?
The man fires a few lazy shots at the masked vigilante. Peter dodges and webs the gun up, using the last of the webs in that arm. Peter walks at the man in a half-hearted attempt to contain him. He wants to grieve. He wants peace. Why is he always the hero, always the strong one? The man backs up a few paces until he falls, a web trapping one of his feet on the asphalt.
The villain at the masked vigilante and gives him a bloody smile, "Heroes hold the creed, that sacrifices breed a unique seed. But face it, you're a rarity, an oddity in a world's clarity. Your wish to aid, I'll confess, it does impress, but it's also a plea, I must assess. An attempt, so dire, to prove your fire.
"You're no hero, just a guise so hollow, seeking to follow. Hoping deeds might fill, an emptiness with an ache still. But let me share a bitter slice, kid: no matter your might, always alone in sight. Forever misconstrued, a loveless solitude. And what's worse, you know I’m right."
The man pulls out another gun and aims it at Peter. He is out of webs, out of energy, and out of resolve. His spidey-sense sings to move, he knows he can. But he just stares at the gun, forcing himself to stay still, to ignore his sense, and watches as the bullet flies closer and closer until finally, he feels a sharp pain in his head. He smiles lightly under the mask. It’s time to see May again. He would get to see Tony in the future. It's all going to be okay. Then there is nothing.