Spider-Man Imagines I

Is That Peter? | Peter Parker [TM]

Whenever your father dragged you to these useless fights, you contemplated hiding under your seat. Only your dad enjoyed the rush of tasteless violence and saw it as a perfect way for you and your him to bond.

"Do you even know who's fighting?" you asked your dad. You had to shout over the noise.

"No," he said, cradling a bag of salty chips. "But that's half the fun! You want popcorn?"

"No," you replied.

"Good, because the next fight is starting!" He locked a hand around your wrist and yanked you down into your seat.

You cringed at the sound of loud cheers as Bone-Saw, your father's personal favorite, was preparing for the next fighter to be introduced. Resisting the urge to cover your ears, you uncomfortably settled in the rusty seat and prepared to see a night full of blood and bruises.

"The terrifying, the deadly... the amazing Spider-Man!"

You felt bad for the guy as he was booed and taunted. Even your dad was chanting, "Kill him, kill him!" with the rest of the audience.

You elbowed him. "Dad! He's just a kid!"

"Come on, honey, it's just a fight," he griped.

"He could get hurt!"

"Oh... whatever." He waved his hand.

Gulping nervously, you looked back at the ring. It only got worse when the cages came down and he was locked inside.

He was wearing a red hoodie with black spray paint on the front in the shape of a giant spider on a web. Although you couldn't see his face, his eyes looked young and hauntingly familiar.

"I didn't sign up for a cage match!" he shouted.

"Hey, freakshow!" Bone-Saw shouted. "You're going nowhere! I got you for three minutes! Three minutes of... playtime."

The fight started. Nothing sat right with you as the boy in red had to launch himself onto the cage wall to avoid getting slammed into the ground.

"What are you doing up there?" shouted Bone-Saw.

"Staying away from you."

You sat up, the familiar voice sending chills down your spine.

"Is that Peter?"

Peter Parker was in a grade above you. He was always kind and quiet, but he never forgot to smile at you as you walked by in the hall. You didn't know him too well, but you often sat beside him in the library and talked during lunch.

"That's a cute outfit. Did your husband give it to you?"

Since when was he involved in these fights?

You gasped as he launched off the cage and did a flip over Bone-Saw's head. He flicked his wrists upward to the top of the cage and yanked himself upward, did another flip, and landed on his feet.

Was this the same Peter that tripped every day during lunch and landed in his mashes potatoes?

Someone handed Bone-Saw a chair between the bars. "Finish him!"

You shot up from your seat, hand grabbing your dad's shoulder. He looked up at you in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"He's going to hurt Peter!" you exclaimed, and you pushed through the line of people cheering. "I gotta help him!"

"___, get back here!"

You didn't stop until you got to the cage. You threw yourself at the bars, ignoring the people yelling at you. Peter had just gotten hit hard in the back of his head and was on his stomach.

"Peter!" you cried.

He looked up. "___?" Then he got hit again.

You gasped. "Stop! Stop, you're hurting him!" You flinched as he was hit two more times. "Leave him alone!"

Bone-Saw turned around, pointing a finger in your direction. Spit flew from his lips and veins popped in his eyes as he screamed, "Shut up and leave it alone, little girl! Unless you want some of this too!"

"___, just go," Peter groaned, face pressed against the ground. "I know what I'm doing."

You knelt on the ground. "Do you?"

"Yes," he hissed. "I do."

You felt your heart sink in your chest. Pushing your lips together, you nodded. You felt hurt that he didn't care about his well being but decided to let it go.

"Fine then, Peter. I hope you survive this."

You turned around and started to walk towards the exit. Peter watched you go, regret in his eyes. Then he was picked up by his leg and slammed into the cage.

You didn't turn back.

...

Days went by, and you didn't see Peter. You assumed he was either hurt or dead, but you knew he didn't care to let you know if he had actually survived.

You went to school, studied for finals, and tried to forget Peter Parker.

Of course you had liked him; he was sweet. You always had a tiny crush on him, but he was a senior. He wouldn't like you.

After school one day, you decided to visit his home. You had gone over once to work on a project for biology class two years ago, so you remembered the address. Upon arriving, though, you knew something was wrong.

Peter and his aunt were standing in the lawn, dressed in black. She was fixing his collar and he was ducking his head as an attempt to conceal his red eyes.

You stopped in front of their house. "Peter?"

He turned his head in your direction. Aunt May smiled sadly and touched Peter's arm delicately. She whispered something to him and he nodded, watching her leave.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and trudged across the lawn. You frowned as you took in his worn appearance. He stopped, waiting for you to speak.

"I... I haven't seen you at school," you explained. "I just wondered if you were okay. After I left the fight, you know, I just didn't know..."

He nodded. "It's my Uncle Ben. He... he-" Unable to finish, he choked on his words.

"Peter," you whispered. "I... I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

He nodded, a tear sliding down his cheek. "It's been so hard."

You bit your lip. Hesitantly, you reached for his arm. You took it, pulling his hand out of his pocket and holding it in both of yours.

"If there's anything I can do-"

He sounded desperate as he spoke again. "Can you listen to me? Just... there's so much I-I have to say, and I don't have anyone to say it to." He ducked his head. "I am sorry for what I said during the fight. How I, uh, treated you... it was wrong of me. I just wanted to do something on my own. I wanted to be someone."

"You are someone, Peter," you whispered. "And of course I'll listen to you."

A slight smile touched his lips as his fingers curled around yours.