𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧

[Chapter 3]

╔ • ╗

Being a foster kid came with a lot of qualities, that I fear, are forever engraved into my orphan little heart.

There's the bad, depressing stuff, sure, but some I consider good and useful. I'm a scary good liar, I'm independent, and I adapt to anything easily. I can read people easily (from the former fear of making them mad and sending me back into the hands of social workers), and most important one, I've had years of mistreatment, so I'm rebellious. I'm an angry kid. I like getting back at people when they rightfully deserve it.

And it's not mindless, blind rage. Weirdly, Spider-Woman helped me shift away from that before it could become a permanent problem.

I used to go get in trouble on purpose, between the ages of 10-13. God, I was such a pain in the ass.

I'm not proud of the "why," because all I really wanted was for people to notice I was hurting. It was like I wanted them to hurt with me.

Of course, it never worked. It made matters worse for me. I couldn't be placed with foster parents for a pretty long time.

I'm in touch with my feelings now. What used to be angry and blind rage was simmered down seeing the good around me, both as Dove and Spider-Woman.

As a hero, I can't be angry and evil. It has to be that I'm angry and good. I can be angry and good simultaneously.

You'll see. Hobie will see.

To-day. As in, this morning.

So I said, "Anger can be such a wonderful outlet," as I spat out toothpaste.

Harry is quiet for a while as he wipes his face with my towel. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" He whispered to himself, voice laced with concern. I let him to sleep over for the night, since his dad was in a meeting the same night with Mr. Fisk and Harry said he creeped him out. We fought over who gets my bed, and of course, I kicked him in the crotch to win back what's mine.

I glare at him. "Not you." I snatch my towel from him. "I'm gonna troll someone today."

He nods, completely not convinced. "Uh-huh. Can I ask why?"

"Because," I wiped my mouth. "He started it."

Harry smiles, and it's one of those smiles that are so real and so boyish, if that makes sense. He taunts me with the, "you sound like a kid" insult, while I'm still stuck on his angelic smile

I mean, how often can someone say they can make someone smile this easily and that it's real? Whenever Harry smiles like that, it's real and it lets me know he's happy. Even his dimples are out.

By no means am I attracted to it, it just reminds me of how good friends we are. While Peter and I are connected in our love for comics and science, Harry and I bonded over stupid shit. We can be as childish and immature as much as we want to.

And there's our insanely similar daddy issues (no, Mr. Osborn isn't my asshole biological father who ran off to find another family), and the fact that we only talk about them to each other because of the shared understanding.

After I bounced back from momentarily appreciating him in my head for the years of friendship, Harry's still smiling at me. His dimples are still in show.

In times like these, I wonder if I made the wrong choice in who to trust my secret identity with.

I reach over to pinch them like a grandmother does. "You're so fucking adorable," I gritted my teeth. "And don't ever call me a kid again. I'm really set on making this guy miserable."