Spider-Man and The Esper

55. Helping Hand

Lightning flashed through the clear, square window and Oliver flinched under his blankey as the thunder vibrated around his dark room. It had been storming for hours, but he didn't want to go to sleep, didn't want to shut his eyes because he was scared, and he was too afraid to admit that he was scared. So he stayed there, from shaking and fingers curled up tightly in the comforter. His parents were only a few doors down the hallway, just outside his room - so close. But he didn't want to run to them, running would make him weak, weak like all the boys in class said he was.

He whimpered as another flash boomed through the room, and pulled the blanket over his head in an attempt to protect himself. His breath came in panicked gasps in the darkness of his bed, and he tried to calm down, tried to tell himself that it was alright, when he heard it.

Hesitantly, Oliver lifted the blanket from his head and his wide, hazel eyes peered over the top, listening. There was a crash and a bang, before he heard the sound of a scream - the sound of someone in pain. Bravely pushing himself up, he pulled back the comforter and slowly planted his feet on the ground, leaving the fabric (with an image of two large bug eyes and a red, webbed mask on it) resting in a crumpled mess on his bed. He hesitantly moved towards the window.

Thunder cracked again and he flinched in fright, but over the sound of the rain, over the sound of the thunder, he could sense it - conflict.

Not being entirely sure what came over him, Oliver quietly lifted his window (careful not to make a sound) and looked out into the gloomy street. Immediately he couldn't see anything, until his gaze shifted down towards the small alley just near his house. A flash of red and blue whizzed momentarily into view, before several guys wearing black appeared a second later. They were fighting.

Oliver's eyes grew wide and curious, and he looked on intently, trying to catch another glimpse of the action, confused as to what was going on.

The sounds of a struggle continued, increasing as the minutes went by, before there were several final yells, and everything went quiet. Suddenly, a shifty looking man ran out of the alley, bent over himself protectively - something clutched to his chest. He looked this way and that, before taking off in the other direction, disappearing into the night.

Oliver bit his lip in uneasiness, before waiting at the window for a little longer. When no further activity came from the alley, he became intent with wonder.

Looking back into his small, safe room, he considered things for a moment, a flicker of doubt forming in his mind, before he then made a very determined and arguably unwise decision.

His window wasn't far from the ground - he lived in a relatively suburban area, and the house was rather low - so (sneaky as a cat) he slipped out of the window, and jumped down onto the grass.

Instantly, he was met with the torrential downpour of the rain, wind whipping around him. He pulled his arms in closer to his torso in an attempt to fend off the chill, before silently creeping across the lawn of the neighbouring house, slowing as he came to the end. He paused at the corner of the building that opened into the alley, and nervously peered into its dark depths.

He was met with at least a dozen masses lined along the walls and floors of the inky passageway, all encased in large, shimmering cocoons. Any other child by now would have undoubtedly run and fled at the sight before them - weapons and sinister objects tied up all over the place - but no, not this little boy, as something, something in his being edged him to move on. So he did.

Judging each footfall carefully, Oliver began to venture further into the alley, breath barely audible over the rumbling of thunder and the pounding of rain, as he eased past tied up masses containing criminals.

Oliver gulped at the sight of them all, before something thin and shimmery caught his attention between his feet. Bending down, Oliver tentatively touched the silky strand that was of the same substance the criminals were tied up in, before lifting it up to his face. Webbing.

It was slightly sticky in his fingers, and the end swayed loosely in the breeze. Oliver found himself feeling not disgusted, but slightly curious by the stuff, as he knew it was something that came from one particular hero - a hero that meant a lot to this specific little boy.

Taken over by his fascination with the web, Oliver suddenly yelped and jumped out of his skin as the lightning flashed and his foot came into contact with something else in there with him, lying on the alley floor.

Oliver started panting, terror rising up in his chest, before it flashed again and he caught a slight glimpse of red and blue. The boy froze, confused by this development, and with curiosity once again nibbling to the surface, took a step forward.

Each foot slowly being placed before the other, he crept closer to where the glimpse of colour had emerged from, until he was soon standing over a much darker spot in the shadows of the alley floor.

Rain splattered down on the ground from the neighbouring building's awnings, and the sky lit up, giving Oliver a full view of what lay before him. Oliver wailed, completely forgetting about creeping and being quiet, as he practically threw himself at the form, little strand of web forgotten, as it slowly floated to the ground.

In horror, Oliver looked down at the slight glow of the white bug eyes just visible in the darkness, as he grabbed the motionless form of Spider-Blizzard. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as his small fingers gripped her arm, bunching it up, before he started to speak.

"Spider-Blizzard?" he asked, voice tentative and questioning, as he gave his hero a small shake. "Spider-Blizzard?" he asked again, when he received no response, and lifted the hero up slightly from the ground, shaking him furiously. "Spider-Blizzard!"

Spider-Blizzard's head just rolled back as her body sagged before falling limply onto the ground when she again made contact with it, eerily still.

"Wake up, wake up!" Oliver screamed, panicked, as he madly shook her again, slapping her face on either side: trying desperately to coax the hero to move.

"Wake up!" his terrified voice cracked, choked tears making their way out of his eyes, as his hands grasped at the fallen hero, clasping the costume's material on his neck. Oliver screamed, broken, as his clenching fingers then moved, and grabbed at Spider-Blizzard's loose hand, making an attempt to pull at the hero, causing him to slide slightly along the ground. But she made no move to get up.

Oliver wailed, distress leaking through his little voice, as he went back to Spider-Blizzard's body, hands resting against the black and blue belly.

That's when he noticed it. His hero's tummy was too wet, and when he pulled one of his hands away, it was smeared with red. Spider-Blizzard was hurt; his hero was hurt.

He sat frozen, staring at his hand, small sobs choking through his form, before he scrambled back up to Spider-Blizzard's head, and grasped at him. His hero just shook limply, lying back in his hands, neck arched and open, vulnerable throat exposed.

Oliver shivered. He couldn't leave his hero like this, lying in the wet and cold, where anyone could hurt him. He looked up at the masses around them, and suddenly felt fear at the villains housed there, hands unconsciously curling round Spider-Blizzard's neck, once again bunching the material.

Making a very, very brave decision, Oliver grabbed at Spider-Blizzard's shoulders, and with one mighty heave, pulled him along the alley floor. If he left Spider-Blizzard here those criminals could get him, and Oliver would never see the day when he would let his hero get hurt, especially when he could help. So, with tremendous effort, he began to pull Spider-Blizzard towards the alley entrance. His arms protested, and his body tired, but he wouldn't give up. The little boy began to pull the bigger one out of the alley, and slowly towards his home. He couldn't lift him, so shifted between pulling under his arms, to dragging him by his limp hand, putting everything he had into moving his hero, inch by inch, along the ground, and towards safety.