The Broken Spider-Man - A Peter Parker Fanfiction

Chapter Three - "My son would still be alive if Spider-Man had shown up"

TW: mentions of murder, mentions of trauma

I drove through the streets of Queens as I tried to find the destination of my interview. I pulled over across the street from the house and sighed as I looked out of the car window. It was obvious from the trash bags in the street and the abandoned buildings that this was a bad area, not that any area of Queens could be considered to be good anymore. No wonder the woman's poor son had been murdered. I got out of my car and tightly clutched my bag as I walked to the house and gently knocked my fist against the door. After a moment, it opened to reveal an elderly woman.

"Hey there, I'm Y/N Y/L/N from the Queens Daily, I was told that you'd be expecting me." I nodded.

"Of course, sweetie, I'm Helena Crawford, lovely to meet you. Please, come in, these streets aren't as safe as they used to be." She chuckled weakly as she gently took my hand and pulled me into the house. I gave her a small smile and shut the door behind me before letting her pull me into her living room.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs Crawford." I nodded, looking around the admittedly dated living room as I sat on the sofa.

"It's okay, honey, you don't have to lie. In nineteen-fifty, it was lovely. Now, it looks like an antiques shop in here." She chuckled, making me give her a sympathetic smile as she placed a tray with a teapot and mugs on the coffee table before sitting down opposite me.

"Before we start, I know that this goes without saying, but I'm so sorry for your loss. No parent should be forced to outlive their child, especially because of murder." I nodded. She sighed and gave me a thankful smile.

"It's the way of the modern world, isn't it? The burglars broke in because they needed the money from selling my possessions to make ends meet, and my son died because he tried to stop them. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there." She scoffed. I nodded along as I wrote down her words in my notebook.

"I was told that the police haven't exactly met expectations when it comes to them investigating your son's murder." I spoke.

"That's an understatement, if I've ever heard one. When the break-in first happened and my son was killed, almost two weeks ago now, they obviously came in, collected what little evidence there was, talked to whoever believed that they witnessed the crime, and then left. I got given a card with a phone number on it, and got told not to get my hopes up. I suppose that in that way, they completely met my expectations. After all, they said that they'd call me if they got anything, but my phone hasn't rang once in fourteen days. Pitiful, really." She scoffed again quietly and shook her head. I sighed and returned it, trying to appear as empathetic as I felt as I continued to write notes.

"Do you have anything more to add?" I asked, my eyes on my notebook.

"My son would still be alive if Spider-Man had shown up." My eyes wavered and I looked back up at her as she uttered those words. I gulped and opened my mouth to speak but quickly found that I had no words.

"Mrs Crawford...Spider-Man has been gone for five years." I nodded. She looked at me.

"I know, I know. But he stopped my house from being burgled, what, six years ago? I don't know, I hoped that he'd show up again. Is that selfish? To hope that he'd show up again to save a little old lady and her son, out of all people?" she asked. I sighed and raised my hand as I tried to subtly wipe away the tear that had fallen from my eye.

"No. It's not selfish at all. Thank you for your time." I nodded, forcing a smile onto my lips as I stood up and grabbed my stuff.

I sat in my cubicle in the office, adding the finishing touches to my article about Helena Crawford before sending it to press. I flicked my eyes over my notes, them stopping at one sentence in particular: