Peter pulled the tight fabric back over his head, blocking out the horror of what had just

occurred before his eyes. His tears clung to the inside of the mask, trapped between his humanity and

his secret.

He ripped the mask off, dried his face with his forearm, and pulled it on again as he let himself free fall

towards the street, ninety stories below. A strand of web slowed him to a nearly complete halt, and his

feet touched the pavement in a darkened alley off of Broadway and 26th, and fire stabbed his upper leg

where the police officer's bullet had struck him only minutes earlier. Peter collapsed to the ground,

cradling his injured limb and clenching his jaw to keep himself from screaming. He stayed in a hurt,

red-and-blue ball for a few moment, staunching the crimson flow at his thigh with both hands. Finally;

slowly, he pushed himself up into a standing position, only putting enough weight on his right leg to

balance himself. He retrieved his backpack and sank behind the dumpster that it had been hidden in.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he pulled off his mask, boots, and gloves and slowly stowed them away

in the bag. For a few minutes, he stared at his leg, wondering if he should even try to take the suit off.

The bleeding had almost stopped, and the wound didn't look all that horrible, other than the barely

visible gleam of metal that was wedged in his flesh. The suit was not coming off, at least not now.

The boots, gloves, and mask went back on; the backpack went onto his shoulder, and Peter's hands

went to the edge of the dumpster. He breathed deeply and pulled himself up.

The second his weight lowered itself onto his legs, he saw stars. He ripped the mask off long enough to

spew bile into the alley at his feet.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

Peter spun away from the voice and pulled the mask over his face and head. The effort hurled him to

the ground, and he rocked himself on the ground in an attempt to make the agony stop.

"Hey, careful!" a young boy was cautiously approaching him, arms outstretched reassuringly.

Peter flashed back to the way he himself had approached a boy hanging over the river only two weeks

earlier, and wondered if he had looked so welcome as this child did at this moment.

"Hey, squirt." he managed, touching his temple in a casual greeting.

"You don't have to do that...pretend you're okay." the child said matter-of-factly. "People don't fall

down like that when they're okay. And they don't throw up."

Peter felt like crying.

"Um." he choked.

"Do you need a doctor or something?"

Peter just nodded.

The kid grinned.

"Well my mom is upstairs. She's a nurse. She can help you. I'll go get her."

Peter nodded again.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Isaac."

"Thank you Isaac."

Isaac shrugged and turned to leave the alley.

"My mom's not gonna believe this. Spiderman! Wow."

Isaac did a funny little skip.

"Thanks for stopping the monster tonight!" he called over his shoulder as he ran off.

Peter slumped his weight against his elbows and closed his eyes, a faint grin tracing his lips.

His cellphone vibrated gently in his backpack, and he pulled it out and stretched himself full length on

the ground.

"Hey Aunt May...Yeah I'm alright...There's a ton of traffic because of the monster, but I'll be home

soon. Ok, love you too...bye."

He was losing the rest of the contents of his stomach when Isaac returned. Peter had had the presence

of mind to only pull his mask up past his mouth this time.

Isaac was pulling a woman by the hand; somewhere in her late twenties, she looked frazzled and

exhausted, and her blue scrubs were crumpled and dirty. Peter decided she'd probably been helping at

the crime scene.

"Look, Mom, I told you." Isaac pointed.

The woman froze at the site of Peter, dropping her son's hand.

"It's really him." she whispered.

"Yeah, that's what I told you." Isaac groaned in exasperation.

Peter moaned a little and pulled his mask back down to his collar. The sound seemed to snap the

woman into action.

"Isaac, go back upstairs and get those old blankets out of the closet, okay? And two water bottles out of

the case in the fridge."

"But Mom!"

"Go, Isaac."

The boy glanced at Peter and disappeared around the corner once more.

The woman yanked her auburn braid behind her back and knelt carefully on the ground beside Peter,

who had raised himself up on his elbows again.

"Hi." she said shyly.

"Hello."

She shook her head. "I can't believe it's you..." she shook her head. "What can I do for you? Really,

you've earned anything I can do for you right now."

Peter choked back a sob.

"I...I got shot in the leg."

She dropped her shoulder bag on the ground and snapped on a flashlight.

"Oh..."

She looked around. "Let's move you further back in the alley so no one bothers us, okay?"

Peter stared at her, hoping desperately that she was kidding.

She took her cue at his silence. "It'll be okay. Here, give me your arm."

He did, hesitantly.

"My name's Sarah. What's yours?...or am I not allowed to ask..."

He was on his feet, now.

"Lean on me, I'm strong." Sarah urged. "Can you tell me your name?"

He was silent for a moment, and there was no sound but the scuff of their feet on the broken pavement.

"It's okay. Here, this looks good."

He groaned weakly as she helped him onto the dry patch of alley.

"You okay?"

He nodded. "My name's Peter."

She smiled at him.

"Well, hello, Peter-Spiderman."

"And Isaac." a voice echoed through the passage.

"Hey, buddy. Did you find everything?"

"Yeah, mom."

"Here, do you want to help me?" she called to her son.

"Um..."

"It's okay." she assured him.

He nodded, and Peter smiled as the boy's knees hit the ground next to his mother.

"Alright, let's slide one of the blankets under him. Let's be really careful, okay?"

Isaac nodded, and the two of them got the blanket securely under Peter.

"Alright, Isaac, hand me some gloves, okay?" he did. "Now, hold this water bottle with the lid off until

I need it."

Sarah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her wrist and stared at Peter's leg for a moment.

"I'm going to have to cut away some of the cloth, is that okay?"

Peter nodded nervously. "Um, yeah...yeah. I can fix it later."

"Did you make the suit yourself?"

"Yeah."

Sarah used a small pair of scissors to cut away ten inches of the pant leg, then lifted a bottle of alcohol

"This will sting...Peter."

Peter nodded and gripped the handle of his backpack hard.

Sarah slowly poured the alcohol over his thigh, and he screamed, mouth shut tight, until it was over.

"Mommy...I'm scared." Isaac whispered.

Peter shook his head to clear the fog.

"I'm sorry buddy. Hey, do you want to wear my mask?" his fingers went to his head.

"Peter..." Sarah stopped his hand.

"It's okay. I trust you guys." Peter looked at Isaac. "You aren't a tattle tale, are you, Isaac?"

Isaac shook his head eagerly, squinting towards Peter in the darkness. Sarah bit her lip, almost as eager

as her son.

Peter's fingers peeled at his mask slowly, not sure of themselves, but not stopping.

The last inch fell away from his face, and mother and son stared at his face for a moment. He felt so

naked.

"Here ya go, buddy." he handed the limp headpiece to the gaping nine-year old.

"Oh my goodness, you're just a kid!" Sarah cried.

Peter gritted his teeth at another wave of pain and tried to turn it into a smile.

"Junior in high school. Can we get this over with? I'm sorry...it's kind of freaking me out."

He swung his hand in the general direction of his leg.

"Of course, yeah!" Sarah moved quickly, pulling various scarey looking tools out of her pack.

She set a large pair of tweezers in the air above his leg, and looked sadly at his face.

"Alright, ready?"

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Isaac, stop your ears." she directed. She waited until her son obeyed, then quickly dug the tweezers

into Peter's flesh and jerked them up, taking the bullet with them.

Peter wished he would pass out. But he didn't.

His darting gaze found Isaac's face, obscured in his own mask. He stared desperately at it, grasping for

some kind of comfort and relief.

"Done." Sarah breathed, dropping the bullet into a small pouch in her bag. She'd already secured gauze

over the area, and was preparing a suture for stitches.

Peter let his head flop against his chest as he tried to rein in his shaky breaths.

The stitches went in quickly and before he knew it, Sarah was patching the wound with clean bandages

and tape.

"Can I give you something? For the pain?" she asked, digging through her bag.

"That would be wonderful."

Sarah stuck a needle into his skin, and liquid relief flooded his senses.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do for you? Give you a ride home or something?"

"No. You've done so much. Thanks." Peter held out his hand, and Sarah shook it timidly.

Isaac pulled the mask off his head and held it up to Peter. As Peter grasped it, the boy flung his arms

around the vigilante's neck and hugged him.

"You're amazing, Peter."

Peter smiled and put an arm over the small shoulders.

"You are too, Isaac. Thank you for getting help for me. I owe you one."

Isaac blushed a little as he pulled back and stood next to his mother.

"Are you going to be okay?" she breathed.

"Yeah, thanks to you. You two be careful, now."

He pulled his mask over his head, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and without standing up,

yanked himself into the air on a web.