Ultra Responsibility (My Hero Academia X Spider-Man Reader)

Issue 59 - The Power of a Quirk in the Palm of my Hand

Penelope had learned how to tell time by the sound of the building.

Not clocks, not numbers. Doors. Footsteps. The elevator whining up the shaft. Her dad's boots on the hallway tile, always a little too heavy, always a little too confident, like the world owed him space and he was happy to collect.

Tonight, she was sure she'd hear them any minute.

She stood on a chair in the kitchen with her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, concentrating like she was defusing a bomb instead of making dinner. Two slices of bread. Peanut butter first, because it stuck better. Jelly second, because it looked like victory.

The knife was too big for her hands, so she used the back of a spoon and pressed hard. The peanut butter smeared uneven, the jelly slid to one side, and she got more on her fingers than on the bread, but she didn't care.

This was important.

This was her being useful.

She slid the sandwiches onto two plates and set them on the table like a fancy restaurant. She even put the plates straight, because grown-ups liked straight plates. She climbed down, wiped her hands on her shirt, and looked around at the kitchen.

It was a mess.

She was proud anyway.

"Dad's gonna be so surprised," she whispered to herself, like the walls were listening.

Penelope hopped off the chair and padded into the living room. The front door was in view from there. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed and stared at it like if she stared hard enough, it would open faster.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

The world outside went quiet in that late-evening way, where even the city seemed to hold its breath.

And then the door lock clicked.

Penelope shot up like a rocket.

"Daddy!" she yelled, already running.

But she stopped halfway.

Something was wrong.

She could see shadows moving through the frosted glass panel next to the door. Not one shadow. Not her dad's shape. Not the familiar broad shoulders.

A cluster.

Too many.

Her stomach tightened so fast it felt like she swallowed a stone.

Penelope backed away, one step, then another. Her mind went blank for a second, then filled with her dad's voice. Not laughing. Not joking. Serious.

If anyone comes for you and I'm not there... you hide. You do not open the door. You do not cry loud. You do not move unless you have to.

Penelope turned and ran.

She sprinted down the hallway to her room, slammed the door, and scrambled to the corner where her toy cabinet sat. It was heavy for her, but she'd practiced. She grabbed it and dragged. It scraped the floor with a squeal that made her heart leap into her throat.

She shoved it aside and dropped to her knees, yanking open the little panel her dad had shown her. A crawl space. A tight, dusty square that smelled like old wood and secrets.

She climbed in fast, knees scraping, and pulled the panel closed behind her.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

She held her breath and listened.

Footsteps.

Many.