Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Perks of Being a Wallcrawler
New York City roared with its usual bustle. Tourists taking pictures, locals barging past, cars honking and people arguing. It was the song of the city, and one loud enough even for Peter to hear as he swung far overhead.
The air rushed past him as he released his web. Freefalling for a moment before spinning another.
He was cutting north, making sure to change up his usual patrol routes. If criminals could predict where Spider-Man would be, then they’d just get better at hiding. Spontaneity was half the battle.
It had been a long four years. He’d taken down almost every criminal organisation that dared to make itself known. Tombstone and his thugs were in the slammer, the Tarantula had been dealt with, and the Maggia crime family were still picking up the pieces of their dismantled network.
They’d come back, they always did. But when that time came, he’d be there to stop them.
Peter wondered if he’d have been able to do it all if the spell hadn’t been cast. He didn’t have to worry about how long he was out on patrol, or about disappointing someone by forgetting plans. Being invisible had its perks. He’d saved countless lives, prevented so much harm. Perhaps the world was better off without Peter Parker in the picture.
Another web shot from his webshooter, his stomach lurching as the string snapped taut and he began to swing upwards once more.
He should not have eaten Chow Mein.
A lady had been crossing the street when an out of his mind cabbie had almost taken her out. If Peter hadn’t been swinging through Chinatown, he wouldn’t have been there to scoop her up and set her down safely on the other side of the road.
The cabbie took off, of course. But Peter made a mental note of his numberplate and left a not so anonymous call. He found that being Spider-Man meant more people listened, whether the person on the other end of the line believed he was actually Spider-Man or not.
When he’d hung up, the lady pressed a menu into his chest, adamant he wasn’t getting away without a meal.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’ve been busy,” he’d said, one arm out the door.
“Heroes need to eat too! Here, sit!”
She’d reminded him of May.
He’d eaten facing the corner, with his mask pulled just above his mouth. The lady had temporarily closed her store so he could have some semblance of privacy, he was grateful for that.
The meal was delicious, just perhaps not the sort of thing to eat right before a long shift of Spider-Manning. His stomach groaned.
Calculating his final swing, he slowed his momentum, deciding it was better to take a break than throw up in his mask.
Skidding onto a rooftop, his gut gave a thankful gurgle.
He took a seat, letting his legs dangle over the ledge. The East River glinting in the early autumn sunlight. The cars were tiny, crawling their way to wherever they needed to be. Each filled with a person with an entire life behind and ahead of them.
The thought wormed its way in before Peter could block it out. What if MJ was down there?
She and Ned had finished at MIT. There was a chance they might move back into the city, that he might see them again. But they wouldn’t see him.
Peter quenched the cruel flicker in his heart, pulling his phone from the makeshift pocket he had sewn into his belt.
Hitting play on his playlist, ‘Oh Yeah’ began. It helped to take his mind off reminiscing. Lingering in the memories he alone shared never ended well.
Peter lay back, letting his phone rest on his chest. The clouds reflecting in his lenses as he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.
An alert buzzed on his phone, pausing the song halfway.
“We’ve got a stolen vehicle fleeing from the Pym Institute, the occupants are believed to be armed. We are requesting back up.”
Peter bolted upright, wasting no time to launch himself from the rooftop.
Catching himself, he swung only a few feet above the street, scrambling up his web to regain some height. He fired again, zipping past office windows playfully saluting the workers inside.
Peter had gotten far more confident in his web swinging over the years. There had been a time when he was afraid of heights. But, as he allowed himself to drop several stories, that old fear seemed almost silly.
The large van appeared suddenly, even with the loud sirens that followed it. Swerving as it cut onto the street Peter was already on.
“They’re making it too easy.”
The driver jerked the wheel, mounting the curb yet again, this time clipping a lamppost as it veered into a side alley.
It was hightailing it to nowhere, and Peter knew it. Getaway drivers were divided by two groups, those who had a plan, and those whose plans had already failed. This driver was certainly the latter.
The roof of the van thudded as Peter made his landing.
“What the hell was that!?” someone shouted from inside.
Remaining low, Peter crawled above the driver’s cab, peeking his head down to the side window.
“Good news!” he said, knocking on the glass. “It’s just your Friendly-Neighbourhood Spider-Man!”
The driver looked more like a knock off Avenger than a getaway driver. He was clad in an orange and red skintight suit, with a half-cut green visor.
“You ever heard of colour theory?” Peter quipped.
The driver glared. “You made a mistake chasing me, bug! I am The Carjacker! No one can stop me once I am behind a wheel!”
“The Carjacker? Seriously… that’s the best you’ve got? No wonder you think spiders are bugs.”
Peter was met with a growl, as the Carjacker shook the wheel in an attempt to throw Spider-Man off.
“I’m kind of known for being sticky, you’re going to have to think of a better plan, Mr Carjacker.”
“It is ‘THE’ Carjacker!”
The van sped out of the alleyways and back onto the street. Several police cruisers rejoining the pursuit.
“You know this isn’t even a car, right?” Peter said. “Isn’t an armoured transport van kind of out of your wheelhouse?”
The Carjacker reached for a holster on his belt.
Peter’s spider-sense was quicker. Almost involuntarily, a web spun from his webshooter, sticking the Carjacker’s hand in place.
“Now there’s no need to escalate!” Peter said, wagging his finger. “Aren’t you in enough trouble as it is.”
“How dare you-” a web plastered against the Carjacker’s exposed mouth before he could say another word.
“Great! That’s just what I wanted to hear!”
Cars were pulling to the side up ahead, clearing a path as best they could. The area was getting pretty congested, and soon there wouldn’t be enough space for everyone to get out of the way. Peter had to move fast.
“Keep it steady!” Peter said, firing a web onto the Carjacker’s hand holding the wheel.
Clambering in through the driver’s window, Peter sat himself in the middle seat.
“You know as far as heists go, I don’t think this is a very good one,” Peter said, buckling himself in. “You ever watched Ocean’s Eleven? You really should, you might get some pointers.”
The Carjacker’s outrage escaped as a muffled grumble.
Peter knocked on the partition wall behind his seat. “Hey! If anyone’s back there, I’d hold onto something!”
Waiting only a brief moment for a response, he slammed his foot down hard onto the brake. The van shrieked in response, lurching to a halt in the middle of the road. A cloud of tire smoke plumed around the van, the sirens closing in.
Peter calmly unclipped his seatbelt, hopping back out of the van’s window.
“So much for ‘unstoppable behind a wheel’. Hope it was worth it.”
The Carjacker thrashed in his seat.
Police cruisers were pulling up around the scene, establishing a perimeter and trying to stop the gathering crowd of civilians from getting any closer.
“You’re a little late, DeWolff,” Peter said, walking around to the back of the van. “I almost had to do the paperwork for you!”
The detective chuckled, pacing toward Peter from her car. “You got any info?”
“Other than the driver having bad taste and calling himself the Carjacker, nothing,” Peter turned back to the van, knocking on the rear door. “Anyone home?”
There wasn’t an answer.
Grabbing the handle, he broke the doors open.
Peter blinked. He was staring at a man in a teal and brown spandex costume, his hands raised in the air. A pile of breaching equipment scattered around him.
“Let me guess, your name’s the Locksmith?”
“The Safecracker…” the man said. “I’ve had a very stressful day.”
“I can see that,” Peter said.
DeWolff called forward two officers, quickly putting the man in custody and leading him away from the vehicle.
By the driver’s door, another three officers got to work cutting the Carjacker out of Peter’s webbing, a pair of cuffs waiting to replace them.
Whatever the vehicle was storing hadn’t been touched. It took up most of the back, all sleek and white despite a few deep metal gashes caused by the so called ‘Safecracker’. The Pym Institute clearly took their vaults seriously, even if their security was lacking.
“We got any idea what kind of loot these two were trying to get away with?” Peter asked.
DeWolff shrugged. “Nothing specific, the Institute weren’t very forthright with information. They only told us it was chemical and that the containment vault needed to remain unopened.”
“Hazardous?”
“They said that the chemical was safe but valuable. Apparently, the same substance that went missing a month ago from one of their warehouses.”
“Probably Pym particles.”
“I thought the same, I just don’t know why the Institute wouldn’t tell us that? It’s not like Pym particles are a secret.”
Peter stepped closer to the van. There wasn’t any sort of sign labelling whatever highly dangerous chemical the Institute had been brewing up in the middle of the city.
DeWolff patted him on the shoulder, breaking his line of thought.
“An issue for another day, it’s out of our hands.”
“That doesn’t sound like you DeWolff?”
DeWolff smiled. “If the Institute keeps getting robbed, eventually they might let us know what’s really going on. Until then we help where we're wanted.”
Peter nodded, his stomach firmly reminding him of the Chow Mein still digesting within.
“You make our jobs too easy,” DeWolff said.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” she said, flashing a mock look of severity.
“Too late!”
Peter leapt into the air, swinging up onto a rooftop where he perched looking down on the scene.
Twice was still just a coincidence, but the costumed criminals made him think there was something more going on. Whatever chemical was inside that van was clearly needed by somebody, and he’d get to the bottom of it… eventually.
The only pressing matter on his mind was letting his stomach settle, and finishing his song.