AN: Not a lot of talking in this chapter! Expect many narrative-heavy emotions. As always, if you see that your username has been appropriated for the fake social media feed, and you're not cool with that, lemme know! -heart-

Petty Matters

FEAST_Shelter: Today we mourn many losses as the #DevilsBreath outbreak subsides, including our own May_Parker. She represented the best of NYC.

Miles hadn't been counting on all the waiting involved in remonstrance. There was a lot of standing around, avoiding other protesters' feet, and ignoring the insistent rumbles of his stomach. Since the spider bite, Miles appetite had shot through the roof, barely sated by the dwindling supplies provided by FEAST and his home storage. As the sit-in dragged, Miles became more and more antsy. If he'd known, he would've asked his mother to pack him and Ganke a lunch. No, wait, scratch that idea. If his Mom knew what he was doing, she'd definitely freak.

Struck by the image of his mother sitting at home in paralyzing worry, Miles peeped at his phone. Service was spotty at best, and his phone battery was down to twenty-five percent. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the lack of bars hadn't stopped Rio Morales from sending two texts to her son. A quiet tone announced the arrival of another message. It popped up, dominating his screen before Miles swiped it aside. Make that three texts.

'Oh my God Miles please tell me that you aren't out there'

'Miles? Answer me right now'

'Please be safe'

The note of resignation in the final message made Miles reconsider his little endeavour. Then, Miles remembered Spider-Man, a man he'd admired for most of his life, and now, the only man who could possibly understand his plight. Without Spider-Man, Miles was alone. He imagined the man hunkered in some cell, or strapped to a table, or, or...

Shit. For now, this was more important than his mother. Nevertheless, Miles typed up a response to placate her, thumbs trembling.

'Will do. Love you Mom.'

Most of the danger had run its course, so Miles had no misgivings about sending his Mom that reassurance. Everything had died down. Strangely, the Sable agents had largely disappeared from the scene. The few that remained had backed off to the building, standing as stoic sentries at its entrance. No one had the audacity to approach them—not anymore. Shouted slogans were still common, and everyone was as resolute as ever, but there was less aggression overall. The lack of violence was a welcome change. Miles wasn't too keen on protecting anyone else. The dense crowd was a blessing when dealing with the Sable agents, but it was also a disadvantage. Miles didn't want to draw needless attention to himself, even if he'd kept a lid on his super strength earlier.

Up until this moment, a police presence had been distinctly absent on the premises. Thus, the demonstrators had been forced to brave Sable brutality single-handedly. Miles could've resented this fact, but instead, he saw a bright side to the hands-off approach of the police. If the police showed up, who would they be logically, legally obligated to target? Not the sanctioned Sable agents that were supposed to be there, but the rowdy protesters on privately owned, corporate property. Perhaps the police had planned it that way, had hung back intentionally, occupying themselves with the rampant crime wave rather than the Oscorp situation.

Whatever the reason, the police had joined the party at last after much delay. The person in charge was an Asian woman with a weathered face, not four metres away from Miles. She stood confidently, but there was also a stoop to her shoulders that would go unseen by most. Her badge glinted dully over her leather jacket, and the murmured conversations of her comrades confirmed her to be a captain. Overhearing them was a cinch with the aid of Miles' keenly attuned hearing.

Now they were in the waiting game, which while more boring, was still anxiety-inducing. No one was certain of what would happen next. Doubt shrouded the square and clouded human faces. Would their presence accomplish anything at all? Was Osborn biding his time? Miles had no idea if Spider-Man would ever see daylight again. For all he knew, the superhero had accidentally died long ago in a lab, and Oscorp could be just covering up the casualty by stalling.

Then, suddenly, something happened.

Ganke's and Miles' heads shot up as the sidewalk rumbled beneath their feet. There were a number of sounds all at once—the creaking of a metal door and gears, the purr of a beefy engine, rubber rolling onto pavement. Two giant doors swung open like a cellar hatch, opposite to the tower's entrance and off to the side. Miles stared, amazed as a silver Armoured Personnel Carrier roared into the open air. To put it simply, the ground nearest the tower had converted into a garage.

"Step back!" an agent announced, and his booming buddy answered, "He said step BACK!"

The people closest to the vehicle parted from it as it backed up, while the rest remained paralyzed. Miles detected an equal measure of suspense and stereotypical, New York standoffishness. They were obdurate, but submissive. Sable weapons were nothing to sneeze at, and the APC was virtually a tank. It was too intimidating for smirks or jeers, and yet not enough to send them away, screaming with their tails between their legs.

Presently, the APC had come in peace. As it parked, Miles took the opportunity to take a closer look at it. Like all Sable vehicles, it was made up of a mixture of blacked out windows and pale panels. The white paint was pristine, clean to the point that it practically shimmered like silver. Glowing blue lights lined its running board. If not for the wide-set tires and the turret overtop its carriage, one could almost call it beautiful. There was a deadly elegance and efficiency to all Sable equipment, to be truthful. This APC in particular had an extra large back-end, not unlike a trailer attached to a truck for transporting livestock, although this one was inbuilt. Miles' mind grazed over this inconsequential detail until his mind literally tingled in protest.

What had Mary Jane called it, that time when she thought he hadn't heard? 'Spider-sense'. Miles liked the sound of it, though he liked the literal feeling of it less so. The sensation was a strange sort of itch—irritating but informative. He couldn't know for certain what was contained in that compartment, but he could make an educated guess.

Miles wanted nothing more than to rip the doors off of the APC, or to tip it right over. Impatience welled inside him like the water behind a dam, but just as his barriers were about to burst, two Sable agents took action. The doors were unlocked and flung aside hard on their hinges. A chilling, metallic squeal rent through the concourse. Straining on his tip-toes, Miles stole a glance into the agape back-end of the APC.

Darkened though they were, the striking tones of blue, red, black, and white were unmistakable.

There was Spider-Man, somewhat slumped, curled in a corner, clearly only half conscious, and recovering from some ailment or other. The man came to quickly, shrinking from the sun, sticking to the shadows that the Sable unit offered. There was silence, briefly broken by the obnoxious flash of a phone camera and the disapproving grumbles that accompanied it. Everyone was enraptured by the slightest sound or the subtlest signal of life. Spider-Man stirred, shifted, and half-stood, but remained in more-or-less the same spot, swaying warily in place.

A Sable agent advanced with a stun gun, probably with the intention of putting a stop to Spider-Man's stalling. He didn't get far. The throng spotted the stalking figure and swiftly swooped him away, swallowing him whole. His surprised scream was stifled in the sea of civilians. The threat, though short-lived, had ceased, calmly culled by the crowd.

Once upon a time, in his chronic browsing of YouTube, Miles had come across the release of a wild, rehabilitated tiger in Russia. Watching Spider-Man now brought back that memory with a potent bout of déjà vu. He remembered the tiger withdrawing from the outside world, muzzle marred by a snarl, retreating into its crate until it gathered the courage to venture out. It was like seeing it all over again. Spider-Man was the tiger, too terrified to leave his hellish haven and brave the humans around him, but desperately desiring to do so.

Lenses blinking disbelievingly, Spider-Man stepped into the sunlight. He stumbled down a short ramp. An anonymous cry from the front was soon taken up the rest. The police captain had looked like she was about to say something, but someone else had beat her to it.

"Give Spidey some space!"

"Yeah, give him some space guys!"

"You OK there pal?"

Someone brushed against Spider-Man by accident and he slunk away. After that there was a bubble of at least three feet around the wall-crawler that no one dared to breach. It was maintained constantly and with the utmost conscientiousness. By some unspoken rule, Spider-Man transformed into an untouchable. A respectful air followed him wherever he went. Other eyes hounded his movements with suspicion or unease. Miles was in the former camp.

As he passed Miles' location, Spider-Man paused. There was a period of stillness in which Spider-Man's gaze sought out his. He was like an animal whose perked ears had picked up on some other creature. A predator, rival, trespasser, or a fellow friend, perhaps. It was impossible to tell.

In spite of himself, Miles shivered. They'd locked eyes for little over a second, but somehow Miles knew that Spider-Man's lenses had stabbed straight through him. The way Spider-Man had automatically picked him out... there was more than remembrance there. Had he felt it too? The tingling? The tugging? Did he dismiss it? Miles wasn't able to entertain these thoughts for too long.

His movements were pained and halting, each muscle tense. Placing his back to the people, he clambered quickly up the APC, with many a fretful pause to peer behind him. No sooner had he perched on the APC did Spider-Man fling himself from it, assisted by a running start. A single, deceptively strong strand of webbing was sent into the atmosphere. It connected at the nearest building, barely in view. His audience let out involuntary gasps as Spider-Man swooped low. It didn't take long for his altitude to climb.

Spider-Man's lithe, flexible, and fragile form shrank from sight. The Captain's frowning face followed him for what felt like an eternity. All Miles saw was the tiger headed for home, sprinting as fast as her striped legs could carry her. He never even heard the cheers.

BradDavisQB: I need a drink. Who else wants to get a drink? #savespidey

Reply from fruitcocktailSamurai: I'M DOWN, but only if you're buying!

Reply from TheShinySnivy: What's this nonsense about drinks? We're going to be stuck here for hours! The subway will be backed up to a ridiculous degree.

Reply from BradDavisQB: Aren't you a spoilsport.

Reply from TheShinySnivy: Just saying.

Moonlit_Chronicles: WOOHOO we did it! #RESIST

E_Reed: Spider-Man is finally freed. Fucking awful that he was in that situation in the first place. Never buying an Oscorp product again. Maybe it won't help, but it'll make me feel better.

Cladnplaid: Maybe now that Spider-Man is back our police force will finally be effective again.

Reply from Silverjo: Correction: Spider-Man practically IS the police force.

ARocks21: VICTORY. SCREECH.

fruitcocktailSamurai: This celebration feels premature. Did you guys even see him? Dude was shaking in his suit. Didn't even say thank you.

Reply from NicolaReed: Y'know, I wouldn't say he was shaking from the vids, but he was definitely jumpier than usual.

Reply from MusicalPancakes77: Well no kidding. Who knows what happened down there.

Reply from seireidoragon: You're right. He doesn't have justice yet, but it's a start.

Mara_C: I couldn't be prouder of how we all pulled together today. Sure, a lot of it was sitting around, but it seemed to be the pressure Osborn needed.

"It's done," Captain Austin told Osborn shortly before the connection was lost.

Lowering his head, Norman made his way to the secret portrait-entrance to his home lab. Harry looked so healthy and full of life in the painting, his youthful face captured and rendered perfectly by the artist. Nothing like what he looked like now... The portrait was one of his most cherished possessions, but what lay behind it was his pride and joy. It slid away in his presence to show a small console built into the wall. Norman placed a hand on the number pad, and when he'd gathered himself, punched in the date of Harry's "departure".

Active blue screens and LEDs were the primary sources of light, but the lab still felt too dim. An aisle of custom spider enclosures lay alongside a large, metal box that bulged into the lab, except it was less of a box and more of a tank. Norman's approach automatically caused the metal coverings to retract. What they revealed thrust Norman's heart into his throat.

Green light replaced the blue light, filtered through the sifting of a strange dark liquid and a sickly human shape.

Husky-voiced, Norman said, "Hello, Harry."

His son and an experimental strain of symbiote had shared this tank for the past seven months. Those months had not been kind to the younger Osborn. Even with the proper nutrients he was emaciated. All of Norman's efforts could not stop the gradual, debilitating degradation of muscle density. Gone were the red locks that so much resembled Norman's own. Being bald had aged Harry's appearance considerably. Norman had to remind himself that there was a twenty-three-year-old man in there, much too young to die, and with so much to offer the world if properly guided.

"We were so close," Norman swallowed. "But I'll keep trying. I... I will find a cure..."

Norman's gaze strayed, seeking out some subject that wouldn't hurt nearly as much. His eyes landed on the line of specially engineered spiders. Each arachnid was housed separately, and each was unique. It'd been a pet project, literally, ever since Spider-Man became a phenomenon. The progression of Harry's illness had sped up the process of cross-breeding and human gene-splicing. Spider-Man's capture had rendered them irrelevant, and now, with Parker gone again...

This project was supposed to pay dividends, but instead it had crippled his company. Oscorp's public image was in the trash, not to mention Norman's formerly-spotless reputation as mayor. The citizenry that he'd protected so diligently had sided with the superhero instead of they leader they'd elected. He'd deigned to their demands, rolled over like a dog, defeated. The city would soon be expecting a resignation, regardless of his compliance.

Staring at those spiders sent shockwaves of revulsion coursing through his person. Something came over Osborn, staring at those spiders, something he hadn't felt since he'd lost it at Parker in that lab. It was more than revulsion; it was resentment, or worse, hostility. Before Norman knew it he was watching his body move. His hands grasped the edge of a terrarium and heaved. Every component shattered outwards with the wave of glass, including the small spider inside.

Despite his attempt at disassociation, Norman was indisputably occupying the driver's seat. He still had control, but something in his impeccable psyche had snapped. You killed my son, Spider-Man, it snarled irrationally. Not me. If I can't make amends, it's your fault. You never gave me the damn chance. He strode to the next enclosure, filled with the fantasy that he could see the crouched spider shaking inside. That enclosure fell too, then the next, and the next. Osborn could've sworn he saw Harry flinch once out of the corner of his eye, floating and unconscious though he was.

Norman finally flipped the last tank, though his frustration would only fully die with the surviving spiders themselves. Chunks of glass crunched in his ears. He counted each corpse, crushing arachnids underfoot when he came across a hint of life. Some of the dazed creatures scuttled for cover; they never got very far. Eventually, all eleven specimens were accounted for. The soles of his shoes were stained with their guts.

Unfortunately, the spider that most mattered was out there, a free man. Norman Osborn had lost. Miles Warren's gamble was their only shot at salvaging something useful.

doodlerooniee: If it wasn't for the swinging and the physique, you'd never guess that was Spider-Man. #AntiOsbornRally

Reply from Tanlefan: :(

Facing west, back to the wind, Mary Jane Watson waited.

The day was brisk and the breeze was bitter, but she could care less. With her feet planted on top of her apartment building, she could see so much further. The streets were surprisingly dead for a city of New York's population. Bioterrorism, rampant crooks, Sable policing, and the mass gathering in the Upper West Side had all contributed to the slow emptying of the cityscape. When people did venture out, they stuck to their safe crannies and dodged streetlights. Being seen by anyone, including Sable International, was hardly ideal.

Hunching against a vicious gust, Mary Jane reexamined the social media feed on her phone. As the protest had worn on she'd followed every detail of every update like they were war dispatches from the front lines. For the past fifteen minutes it'd been official: Spider-Man was free.

MJ had stayed behind for a few reasons, but the foremost one in her brain was seeing Spider-Man in that setting. The square was currently choked with civilians. Hundreds of literal eyes would be on Spider-Man at every second, scrutinizing and analyzing. If Peter were to see her, could MJ trust him to ignore her until she was safely out of sight? To pretend he didn't know her? Could she trust herself? Postponing a potential reunion with him right in front of her was a risk she just wasn't willing to take. Should MJ or him slip up and show too much emotion, the consequences could be disastrous. Calamitous. Cataclysmic.

Mary Jane had a habit of sometimes cycling through synonyms when she was nervous.

There wasn't a doubt in Mary Jane's mind that he would show up here first. She knew him too well. After his release he'd be all alone. He'd instinctively seek out familiar faces, friendly settings, and comfort. That was his usual ritual following any significant hardship. Since he was homeless, the next best location to find that consolation was either at F.E.A.S.T. or here, at MJ's apartment. On a normal day Peter might've chosen the shelter, but seeing how that was the building his aunt had passed away in... He probably wasn't ready to return. So it would follow that he would come here.

Her conscience was a battleground where guilt and elation vied for dominance. By throwing New Yorkers at armed agents, she'd abused her power, and all for the sake of one man. MJ hoped to hell that no one was hurt, though there was no limit to the extremes she would embrace for Peter. All that truly mattered was Peter. How could she have forgotten that for even a moment, never mind six months? In hindsight, their small spats, petty disagreements, and his overprotective hovering felt like trifles. At the time they were both flawed, looking to learn from their mistakes like any sane couple-

A noise to Mary Jane's six stopped her reveries. It was a two-fold sound, like the shuffling stumble of steps. Hardly able to keep her heart beating at a steady rate, she pivoted a full one-hundred-eighty degrees. A person was there, and presumably someone she knew well.

That signature "Spider-Man" posture that MJ was so used to seeing was missing. Proud shoulders sagged forwards, and a defeated slump supplanted the usual straightness of his spine. It was a subtle change compared to the many others MJ could've predicted. He wasn't slouching so egregiously to be unrecognizable, but the metamorphosis was there all the same. The man in the suit and mask was almost a stranger to her.

"...Peter?"

Something in her voice snapped him to attention. Flinching fingers found his mask and lifted it free from his face. Riveted, MJ tracked the mask as it fell, then turned her head to his. She ravenously devoured every unobstructed feature of Peter Parker's visage.

There were many differences, but the one that moved her the most was the stubble shadowing his jaw. An unshaven Peter was a rare spectacle, and although it made enough sense, it was somehow something she would've never envisioned. Norman probably didn't provide razor blades in that place. Too many risks.

His cheek bones were more pronounced, and every part of him screamed "tired". The exhaustion didn't carry over to his eyes, however. Though slightly sunken, they sought out her face with the same starvation as her own. Longing was there too, timid, but prominent. They took a step in each other's direction, drawn by something more powerful than magnetism.

Though the wind still whipped at her hair, MJ was deaf to its howls. It was like her ears were temporarily stuffed with wool. The distance between them seemed to stretch, from a few measly metres to an agonizing mile. A cloud of doldrums hung over their heads, hot and heavy. MJ tried to take a breath and found it much harder than expected. Her lungs took in the humidity and made a miniature electrical storm. Each gasp thereafter came easier, charged, energized.

Peter had always been faster than her, so when she started to lunge, he was already crashing into her. They came together like two colliding trains, MJ's chest caving into his. Clutching her close, Peter cradled her like she was the last person on the planet. She could feel his nose and left hand in her hair, and the tears on her neck. Up close MJ was very aware that he was in sore need of a shave and a shower. There was some sort of strange smell off of him, too, like a faint whiff of burnt meat. Ultimately she couldn't care less. He was willowy and his limbs yielded like bamboo. Soon their knees were buckling.

Now kneeling instead of standing, Mary Jane and Peter held each other for many minutes. The passage of time was unbroken by speech as they quietly relished in the other's presence. In this position they seemed to be a single, small entity. They were a mangled mesh of humanity that shared heat and shivered against the harsh air.

If Mary Jane ever had to let go again, it would be too soon.

Screwball: Such a heartwarming moment, seeing him swing away in the vids. So glad my #savespidey caught on.

Reply from Invincahead: Welcome back, buddy.

Reply from ElizaL: You didn't do shit Screwball.

"Welcome to "Just the Facts" with J. Jonah Jameson, today with the highly requested return of a previous guest. On the line I have none other than Mr. Norman Osborn, our soon-to-be ex mayor and human slime extraordinaire. A lot has happened since our last chat, Devil's Breath and Spider-Man the chief among them. We're going to cover all that today, but before I grill into our beloved mayor, Mr. Osborn has something he'd like to say. Go on Mr. Osborn, I'm all ears."

"...Thank you, Jonah. I know I have a lot to answer for, and I intend to do that soon."

"I'll believe that when I hear it."

"Fair enough. One thing I've kept to myself is the identity of my former subject-"

"Don't you mean prisoner?"

"Semantics, Jonah. You'd know all about that, coming from the newspaper business. As I was saying, I've kept SM-, Spider-Man's secret identity under wraps out of an ethical concern for his anonymity. Although I haven't completely changed my stance on that front, I'd like to let New York City know the name of their so-called "super hero", if I may."

"You heard it here, folks. Spider-Man's real name, on the air, right now." Jonah couldn't keep the eagerness out of his voice entirely. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd pursued, for years. "Damn it, Osborn, don't keep us hanging."

"His name... is Peter."

"..."

"..."

There was a pause. Annoyance at Osborn's coyness sparked into the microphone in the form of a cough. Mind racing with possibilities, Jonah pressed Osborn with all his old reporter doggedness. "No last name? There are plenty of Peters. Hell, I know a few myself offhand."

"I think I'd like to keep that information to myself, so long as Spider-Man stays out of my business, and I his."

"Are you using my show as a platform for blackmail?"

"Of course not, Jonah. You're the one treating this show like a trial. I assure you that the court will decide if my crimes, if any, are deserving of proper punishment."

"Until then, Mr. Mayor. Until then...

MirandaB: NYCWallCrawler I can finally name my first born child after you.

Some_Reader: Fun facts: "Peter" comes from the Greek word for "Stone", and there have been multiple St. Peters. It's a nice and strong name, I think.

Reply from Eyes0Pen: Yeah! He's like New York's rock!

Reply from DannyDingleBerry: No need to overanalyze it, nerds

1Mason1: Peter_Lahey DUDE ARE YOU HIM?!

Nathaniel_Copeland: NYCWallCrawler Peter. I like it.

AN: The first social media blurb used to be a direct quote from the game that I edited to sound less clunky.

Sorry for the late update. As I've said before, Uni takes up the majority of my time hhhghh. Please leave some feedback, and thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/commented before! You're the only reason I was able to get this up during the semester.