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summary: this is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever written. Take this as my gift of comfort to those who are tired. I love you guys, and see much of myself in the feelings Peter feels in this one. Hopefully this brings you a bit of light. x
🕷🤍🕷
It started with one. One butterfly.
Peter was just starting a patrol one evening, while feeling quite jocular, he held out a finger and the beautiful monarch perched on his red and blue clad hand.
It's orange and black patterned wings opened and closed a few times, then fluttered off into the evening sunset. Leaving Peter with an entertained grin and witty feeling.
One that he hasn't been feeling for quite some time due to the tedious and arduous nature of his daily duties. He takes his work as an act of charity, but boy wouldn't it be lovely to receive a handsome paycheck for all his life-risking and injuries.
Some compensation besides knowing he's doing a world littered with hatred a good service. Looking after the 'little guy' when no one else would.
Then the next one visited him. Later that night once his duties had been done. It'd been a rather sleepy night, quiet and not much action around. Which would usually repair his mood and thoughts on how burdensome his job really is.
However, his extreme enervation on the matter was so embossed in his brain and body that one, solitary good night couldn't be enough to soothe the unrest and discomposure in his heart and mind.
However, it seemed the second the butterfly came to rest upon his shoulder this time, Peter's mind appeared to be washed clean of those feeling of exhaustion and perturbed thoughts.
It didn't take him long to realize that something had to be different about the butterflies that had visited him that day. However, the vigilante was tired that night, so back to the cozy home he shared with his aunt and uncle he went, to rest.
Come morning, during one of his many lectures in a rather jejune class at school, Peter yet again spotted a butterfly resting on the window closest to him.
Only this time, instead of the distinct and well-known orange and black pattern usually adorning monarch butterflies, this one had the same pattern, but in replacement of the natural orange was white.
Now, Peter wasn't a world renowned scientist. Yet, he liked to remind himself on days when it frequented his mind. But he was sure that a white monarch either didn't exist or was rare. So something idiosyncratic was going on and he'd get to the bottom of it.
As soon as that bell ring to dismiss the students to their next uneventful and painfully dull class, Peter booked it outside, for lack of looking suspicious at all, and just managed to watch the butterfly flutter away.
