Spider-Man Imagines I

Just Close Enough (Part Three) | Peter Parker [TH]

"A seventy four year old man suffered a heart attack behind the wheel today, causing him to lose control of the vehicle and nearly take away the lives of many bystanders. Luckily, Spider-Man was fast on site. No one was hurt."

Your mother shook her head as she watched the TV. She sipped her coffee and looked at you.

"How horrible," she said, seeing the footage of the car bursting into flames. "How horrible. Honey, promise me that if you ever see something like that going on, you run the other way."

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding. "Yeah, totally."

All I ever do is run, you thought.

She shook her head again. "That Spider-Man..."

"What about him?" you asked.

"He really needs to just leave this kind of stuff to the police," she said.

"But Mom," you started, surprising yourself by defending him right away, "he saved all those people there. If he wasn't nearby, who knows what would have happened."

You thought of how he was quick to grab you, how he cried out in concern, how his arm felt around your waist as he swung you to safety. Your cheeks burned. You looked away to hide it.

"I don't know," she said hastily, getting off the couch. "I just don't know about him."

You watched her leave the room before looking back at the TV. It had been three days since the accident and you hadn't encountered Spider-Man since. You still had his backpack. And you, having dropped your things at the site of the wreck, were also missing your homework.

It's what I get for taking Spider-Man's, you thought.

You gathered your things for school, put Spider-Man's backpack back on your shoulders, and headed out for the day, pausing to find your mom and kiss her goodbye.

...

On your way home from school, you walked the long way home again, cutting through the alley that you had first seen Spider-Man. You took this way every day now in hopes of seeing him again. Of course, you looked for him, but he wasn't around.

You would try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day - until you could finally find him and give him the backpack back.

In a way it was fun. You never knew when you would see him but you wanted to.

And you kept thinking about how he saved you. How he was worried for you. Ridiculously, you felt warm about it.

You waited around for a while and then left, heading back around and taking a detour to find a cafe. You were ridiculously craving a vanilla latte.

On the way to the tiny cafe, you walked by the scene of the wreck. The sight of the crushed store front and the debris still on the ground made you frown. You could have died right here - before your life had had the chance to really start.

But you had lived.

You stood where the car had swerved up on the curve. Your eyes followed the dark tracks, the patterns of the wheels where they rolled across the road. You followed them all the way up to the crushed brick wall, and then stopped.

Taped to the only slab of brick still upright was a sheet of notebook paper. And on it, largely written words that shot surprise deep within you.

GIRL THAT STOLE MY BACKPACK -