Flowers in the Window || W2S

19

How had you gotten here?

You couldn't see anything. You were lying on the concrete, flat on your back, and there was smoke in your face. It paralysed you. You saw your mother's face in the black, and the monster's face too, as the soot licked your skin, pressing Marcus's betrayal further into your heart.

There was an alarm sounding somewhere in the distance. And it seemed to be getting closer. You didn't like it-it was annoying. Your head hurt enough as it was-the front hurting from the effect of the large blaze, the back from your head hitting the floor when the house had exploded and you'd been knocked back.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus Carr. Marcus Carr was the Incinerator. But why? The city adored him. He knew how much you hated fire. Why would he ever think to do this?

The alarm was right next to you now. You closed your eyes, trying to block it out.

And then suddenly, hands were touching you.

Screaming, your eyes flew open, and you pushed your body back with your arms. The men tried to reach for you again, and you screamed louder, ruining your throat, as you desperately kicked at them, not wanting those vile creatures anywhere near you.

Because they all had his face.

He laughed at you, mocking you. His face was covered in blood-your mother's blood. He reached his dirty hands out for you, one of them brandishing a needle. You screeched and kicked and cried, your energy waning, before a pair of familiar hands caught your shoulders. Resolve fully broken, you curled yourself into a small ball, laid your head in Harry's lap and sobbed into the legs of the red and blue suit.

"Stay away from her," you heard him say. "She doesn't need a sedative. Let me take care of her. You make sure that fire gets put out and then look for clues."

"Marcus," you spluttered. "It's Marcus."

"What's she saying?" one firefighter asked.

"Does she need help?" a paramedic added.

"She'll be fine. I'll look after her."

And with those words, Harry scooped you up in his arms, cradling your body. You heard the paramedics talking to him again-something about smoke inhalation. But you weren't capable of paying attention. You were too busy staring at the stars, your head rolling off Harry's shoulder to face the night sky.

You found the brightest star. Your mother. Burning brightest, just for you. And all around her, other lost souls, looking for forever homes in the universe. Those beautiful creatures, those ethereal white spots in the dark. Maybe you should join them.

And as the Spider-Man turned away from the people and the darkness fully enveloped you, you felt like you definitely could.

——————————

He'd finally gotten you.

It was much warmer than usual. And you could still feel the effects of the fire-still feel the flames dancing around your fingers, still smell the smoke clinging to your clothes. You stood in a dimly lit room, wearing the same black dress that you'd worn to that charity event. It stuck to your body like a second skin, and when you ran your fingertips across the stomach area, you could feel the knotted flesh of your bullet wound through the material.

Someone coughed behind you, and you turned, shivering. He was stood there, in the room with you, next to a large wooden box, the lid flipped open. He walked towards you, his pace fast. You couldn't move, your feet stuck to the floor.

He grabbed your wrists and pulled you over to the box. He pushed you in front of it, and set his hands on your waist. There used to be a certain gleam in his eye whenever he looked at you, and you'd never looked into it as a child. But now, with his hands in places they should not be, holding you with a predatory grace..you were afraid there had been more to the story after all.