MAGIC TRICKS [PETER PARKER]

TWELVE

THEY SAY YOU CAN FEEL DEATH BEFORE IT HAPPENS. I remember feeling it the night my parents died, the night my friends died. It was dark and looming, a gravitational pull on your body that feels like someone tossed a heavy blanket over you, and you couldn't move. Inevitable- you can't move.

I felt that in this moment. My hand was clasped tight in Peter's as we walked into the dark abandoned warehouse, my heart beat thudding in my ears, and I was moving, but the blanket of death was there. It was close.

Adrien Toomes stood in the only spot of light in the whole warehouse, the yellow fluorescence casting a deep shadow over his face. "Surprised?" Peter called out. I slid my hand from his as we stepped into the light. I wished I hadn't let go.

Toomes gave a slimy smile. "Oh, hey. Didn't hear you come in."

"It's over. We got you," the boy spoke, his voice firmer and sterner than I'd ever heard it before. He thought we had won. He thought this was the end. Happy would tell Mr. Stark that Peter finally caught the bad guy- on his own, without the suit.

"I admire you both. When Liz first brought home this girl... I wasn't so sure, but now I see why she likes you," Toomes mused, eyeing us, "I get it now."

"How could you do this to her?" I grimaced at the tremor in my voice. Liz deserved the world.

"To her?" He shook his head, smirking, "I do this for her..." A look of disgust written across my face, I clenched my fists. "Liz deserves better than-"

"Nadia... You're both young. You don't understand how the world works."

"We understand that selling weapons to criminals is wrong," Peter said suddenly, his face stoic. Liz's father laughed. "How do you think your buddy Stark paid for that tower? Or any of his little toys?"

"Those people, those people up there- the rich and powerful- they don't care about us. Guys like us, you and me... we build their roads, fight their wars... everything. But they don't care about us," he spat, anger and resentment filling his eyes, "We have to pick up after them. We have to eat their table scraps- That's how it is."

I was shaking my head. He was wrong. People like Tony Stark they didn't harm- they helped. They help out the little guys, just like Stark had helped Peter. They weren't bad people. Just more fortunate.

"Why are you telling us this?" Peter voiced his concern, scowling up at the man. If he wanted to fight, why didn't he just get it over with? "Because I wanted you to understand...

"And... I needed a little time to get her airborne."

A scowl etched itself onto my lips, tugging at the corners of my mouth, until I heard the machine hum. The wings sliced through the air above our heads, Peter lunging to tackle me to the ground, our bodies landing with a loud thud. I groaned, rolling onto my stomach to dodge another shot from the flying blades and scrambled to my feet. Dust rained down onto my head and I coughed, chest heaving, as the machine hum died down, the wings settling far from us.