Fear None (A Jackieboy-Man Fic)

3 - Guardian Angel

 Peter hadn't really been worried until the third robbery.

A couple days ago the second one had popped up on his phone--a crime scene just like the first, with several reported casualties and vague descriptions of what actually happened. It was obvious that the media was being kept in the dark about the details, but Peter had never thought to be suspicious.

Now that yet another robbery had been reported just yesterday, he really started to take what his dad had said to heart. He walked home faster. He kept his blinds closed. Checked his phone more.

He sat at his desk, tapping an absent-minded rhythm with his fingers at he stared at his computer screen. He still had a lot of homework left to finish before the weekend, but a raging headache was making it almost impossible to get anything done. It was times like this that he wished he had someone he could call, just to hang out. He didn't know anyone like that, though.

His room was dim, and for a long time the only noise was the comforting groaning of his fan and the sizzling of cars driving on wet pavement outside his window. One of the rare moments where the ambiance of New York was actually peaceful.

After an eternity he exhaled, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair with a stretch. His fingers moved to his temples as another surge of pain rattled his skin and he clenched his eyes shut. Part of him wanted to push his limits of healthy aspirin consumption but he had a feeling it wouldn't help very much.

His mind began to wander as he turned in his swivel chair to look around his small apartment. He couldn't help but think about those images he had seen the other day: the otherworldly white room, the person laying still on the floor. It wasn't much different than the other things he saw during his episodes. In truth, he couldn't even be sure of what he saw–the images were distorted and wrong, like a fever dream.

He blinked hard, running his hand over his face. His chest felt tight and empty. It was the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, sitting alone in his room with the worst headache and having no one to talk to. To know that something wasn't right about you, and not knowing how to fix it.

Peter Jackson, the most useless, unfixable piece of shit to ever walk the earth. What a legacy.

He stood up quickly, feeling a surge of frustration as he turned off his fan and went to the door. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he needed to get out of here.

As he stepped out of his apartment into the narrow hallway, he paused as a familiar white shape ran towards him. The resident stray cat of the apartment complex, and the only cat that had ever been nice to Peter in his entire life. When she wasn't off doing who knew what she typically slept under the first flight of stairs.

Peter cracked a small smile as she wound around one of his legs, purring gently. He bent down to scratch behind her ear. "Hey, you want to come get lunch with me?" he asked her. He had acknowledged the sad truth that a stray cat was one of his only friends, but surprisingly he didn't mind all that much. He had even started calling her Angel, because she was so white and fluffy.

She only purred, rubbing her head against his jeans. He wasn't expecting a clear reply, anyway.

"Okay, well, I'm going down to Morales'," he told her, taking a cautious step and laughing a little as she dutifully stayed wrapped around his leg. "Come on, man," he murmured goodnaturedly.

Once he had shaken her from his leg he headed down the stairs, seeing Angel's white tail swish next to his feet out of the corner of his eye. He knew deep down that the only reason he was following him was probably because he fed her food, but again. He didn't mind that much.