ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

Chapter 5

--- XXX, New York, Earth-2047 ---

"So, let me get this straight," a masked figure said as he stood off to the side, talking to a man who seemed panicked. "You called H/N... as in Spider-Man... to help you find what again?"

"My glasses, man! I can't see without them!" the man shouted, continuing to panic.

"Right..." H/N replied, his gaze trailing up to see the man's glasses on top of his head. He reached up and grabbed them, handing them to him. "Ta-da, magic," he said sarcastically before receiving many relieved 'thank you's from the man.

He sighed and patted the man's shoulder before swinging back into the air and between buildings. His spider senses alerted him of trouble down below and he made his way back down.

"Petty theft..." he muttered under his breath before using his web-shooters to catch the person and drag them back, taking the item they'd stolen and handing it back to the store owner.

Not even a few minutes later, he was alerted to more trouble in the area. But again, it was nothing adrenaline-rushing. The rest of the day was spent that way, being alerted to petty little things all over the city and made to deal with them as though he were some kind of mall cop.

[Note: Y/N - Your Name]

When afternoon eventually rolled around, Y/N found himself sitting atop one of the buildings, looking out at the bustling city above. He sighed, placing his arms atop his knees, and closed his eyes for a moment. His body ached from all the constant movement he'd been doing all throughout the day.

"According to statistics, our city's crime rates seemed to have taken a hit. Experts say it's all thanks to H/N's cooperation with the police," came the voice of a reporter from a screen down below.

Y/N opened his eyes again, his gaze drifting up to the blue sky adorned with fluffy clouds of every shape and size. He kept his gaze there for a while, lost in all the thoughts inside his head. It was a lonely life... Not being able to ask for help in any way, living a double life no one else was aware of. Well, almost no one.

Aunt May knew who he was truly. There was no hiding anything past her, after all. But... after everything he'd been put through, the people he'd... lost. He didn't feel comfortable asking for her help, afraid he was putting her in danger of some kind. So, he tried to keep his distance. But that only served to make things feel so much more isolating.

--

"I'm home," he called out as he entered his and his sister, S/N's humble house.

There was a distinct smell in the air that filled up the place. It was coming from the kitchen, likely where his sister was. He strolled over listlessly, leaning on the doorframe, his gaze landing on S/N as she scrambled all over the kitchen, looking for something.

"What are you doing?" he asked, making S/N yell out in surprise.

She had her hand placed over her chest as she turned to face Y/N. "Jesus, you scared me!"

Y/N chuckled under his breath and walked over. "When did you get home?"

"Just now," he replied, finding the bottle of vegetable oil she'd been searching for and handing it to her.

She gratefully took it from him and twisted the top open. Y/N observed as she cooked and stifled a laugh. "Shut up, I don't know what I'm doing, okay?" she said in response to his stifled laughter.

Y/N's (e/c) eyes trailed over to the crumbled piece of paper sitting off to the side, and then back to what S/N was doing. "Is that... one of Mom's old recipes...?" he asked, his voice gradually becoming quieter.

S/N nodded, her voice also coming out soft and quiet as she spoke. "Yeah... I found it in all the old boxes we brought with us when we moved..."

A moment of silence fell over them. It wasn't awkward nor comfortable, by any means. Even after all those years, it was still a lot to take in. Y/N was the first to try and break the silence, a half-hearted, breathy chuckle escaping him. "I... figured smelled familiar," he said and pat his sister's shoulder. "I'm sure it'll taste just as good..."

That was the last thing he said before walking out of the kitchen, stopping just outside of it to let out a quiet sigh. Then, just as quickly as it happened, he resumed walking and headed to his room.

--

The clinking of plates and silverware resounded through the room. S/N and Y/N were eating the dinner she had prepared. "Sorry..." she mumbled, setting down her utensil.

When Y/N looked up, he saw tears rolling down her cheeks just as covered her face. Her shoulders moved she held in her cries quietly. "I don't why I made this..." she continued mumbling through silent sobs. "I just-- I miss her... I miss her and Dad..."

Y/N got up from his seat and went over to her, feeling a dreadful sense of guilt come over him. Nonetheless... he provided his sister with some comfort. "I'm sorry..." was all he could say as he hugged her.

The sentimental and nostalgic value of Mom's old recipe... Clearly, it was still too much to bear, or perhaps... S/N did well at keeping her emotions hidden and this was her breaking point. A mother's love was like no other, and to taste that love and comfort in the food she used to prepare for them... it was too much to handle.

"I'm sorry, S/N..."

--

That night, after both of them had retreated to their rooms, Y/N found himself staring up at the blank ceiling above him. Once again, he was lost in the world of his thoughts. Any and everything goes, his mind was full of them. That was, until, he felt that dread of loneliness creeping up on him again. But now, it was accompanied by guilt.

His sister was still hurting. The years hadn't healed either of them even a little. It was more evident now that S/N had completely hidden her suffering so she could prioritize moving forward, not only for her sake but for him too. She'd even gone as far as saving up enough money to move them out of their old place and into this new one.

How had he not noticed it all before? As he thought about his suit tucked away in a hidden spot, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust with it. That suit... it brought nothing but problems since day one.

Eventually, when he got restless just laying there, he got up off his bed, dug around for his suit, and tossed it onto the floor. His eyes were glazed with guilt, anger, and disgust as he looked at it. In a blind rage, he'd ripped it up to shreds, leaving nothing but pieces of unusable fabric behind.

He sank down to sit on the floor, finally calming down after a while. When he could see more clearly, he sighed heavily at the sight of torn fabric, realizing he'd have to make a completely new one and get rid of this evidence.

"Fucking hell..."