Lost Stars - A Post No Way Home Story

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen

Before Tony, Peter would patrol through the streets of Queens. It was the only place he would allow himself to venture to as it wasn't far from home. When he was 14, he didn't dare to venture as far as Manhattan at night. So many things happen in the City, Aunt May would say, and you don't need to expose yourself to that if you don't need to. Peter only ever had an inkling of what went on - he was Spider-Man, after all. He didn't only save cats from trees and stopped thieves. When he was 14, he knew his boundaries a lot more than when he was allowed to join the Avengers.

Now he was ready, Peter would think.

He toned out the static sounds of the city as he darned his gloves. He used them far too often for them not to fall apart and repaired them every few days. That was never the case with his old suit - that suit sat in a locked box in the closet, collecting dust until a day came that he would need extra protection. But there is a world-ending emergency, he would never don the suit again. Peter needed to be his own man, and that would mean taking a step back from what Mr. Stark left him.

When he was done, Peter left his building as himself. Once he was a few blocks away, he went into an alley and changed. Then, he shot himself up into the air and allowed himself to go into a free fall.

He loved the feeling, the adrenaline that rushed through his veins as he searched for his next point. The momentum he gained each time, the acrobatics. It was wonderful to swing when you knew that it was near impossible for him to fall as long as he was on the grounds he knew.

There were a few burglaries, none of them big. There was a child that lost their parents in the crowd, but by the end of the night, it was all looking calm in New York city.

Spider-Man rested shortly on the rooftop of a building and allowed himself to catch his breath as the material of his mask was not meant for swinging around. He would need to work on that somehow, but the suit works out for him just fine.

In New York, you couldn't see the stars. He liked to pretend he could as he closed his eyes for a few seconds. Heaviness seeped into his bones, and his chest felt heavy. Perhaps he should return home.

But as quick as the thought came, it left. He felt the sounds of New York city fall away, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A ringing sounded in his ears, the blood rushing to his ears as his fingers went numb.

Spider-Man got up to his feet, clenching his fits as he looked for the source of the problem. The tingle, as people used to call it, had different levels. The worst had been when Norman Osborne became the Goblin, and he never wanted to feel that ever again.

This came pretty close.

Spider-Man walked closer to the edge of the building, allowing himself to balance as he looked for the source of dang-

The building a few blocks away from him exploded and it rained debris. Immediate chaos ensued and Spider-Man swung in the direction of the blast. Whatever it was, he needed to ensure that the civilians were safe.

He arrived at the scene. The sirens were shrill in his ears, the sound of the police that would arrive soon. The ambulance would be on their way as well. Spider-Man scanned those who needed his help and made sure there were people who could take care of those injured. He didn't look at whatever had caused the blast - that wasn't his job, not right now, even when he heard someone saying that it was the Irish mafia that was taken out yet again .

Again?

He noticed a flash of red from the corner of his eyes. It seemed to him like someone who wanted to hide and run from the scene. Were they the culprit?