Charlie's Web - (Peter Parker x Male OC)

Prologue

"In which the world's unluckiest boy in the world meets a hero, and finds his luck changing for the better."

Charlie was an unlucky guy. If there was a way to be hurt, he would be. If there was a mugger, they'd go for him. If there was a villain, he'd be a hostage. In a world of flies, he seemed to be the honey, or a fresh pile of shit. Yeah, that fit.
For that reason, he wasn't surprised to find himself kneeling in an alleyway with a gun pressed to his temple. Just another day in his life.

"So, how's your day going?" Charlie didn't flinch as a gun pressed against his temple, peering down at his watch. There was a, rather hairy, arm around his midsection, pinning his arms to his side. Damn, this guy smelled bad, it actually burned Charlie's nose. Not to mention he was going to be late for class, again. He couldn't keep getting tardies, Ms. Briste was pissed off enough at his detention record. He wasn't a bad kid, he just tended to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Like now, for example.

"Stop being a smart ass, kid." The person behind him growled, searching Charlie's pockets to no reward. He was smarter than that, only keeping a few bucks tucked in his waistband. He had lost out on his savings enough times to learn that crotch money was better than no money. Maybe the clerks didn't feel the same about his choices, but who cares about their opinions?

"Sorry, mate. I don't carry cash, or credit cards. My clothes are from goodwill, and my watch is from Walmart. I have nothing worth value." He was remarkably calm as he spoke, more focused about the dirty alley possibly ruining his skinny jeans. They may be a thrift store find, but they were a damn good one. Thrift stores were great, and it meant he had no fancy jacket or shoes to get stolen. It didn't help his popularity much, but that whole hierarchy was fickle anyway.

"Dude, I'm probably kneeling in a prostitute's jizz right now, so can we hurry this up? I'm missing English, and even if it sucks, I should probably be there." It was more likely he was kneeling in puke, piss, or something else unfavorable, but the prostitute bit was snarkiest. Did prostitutes even jizz? Wouldn't it be more likely for him to be kneeling in the solicited's jizz? How would he be kneeling in that? Before he could delve too deep into whether or not it was possible to actually kneel in a solicitor's bodily fluids, the tightening grip on his shoulder reminded him of the situation.

"I could kill you right now." Charlie titled his head the slightest bit, grunting as the pistol slammed into his temple in response. He had gotten pistol whipped before, that time in the face, and it never felt particularly pleasant. Ignoring the ringing in his ear, he prepared another smart comment. It was his only defense at the moment.

"I don't think I can die, honestly. If I did, then who would be there to get mugged every time he stepped outside? Go ahead though, I know New York loves kids bodies being found in alleys. Maybe I'll get a magazine cover." He mused, a contemplative look on his face as as thought of his yearbook photo on the Daily Bugle's big screen.
"You know what? I take terrible photos. Aim for the face so they can't identify me."

"Why you little-" Charlie flinched as a loud thump and strangled cry sounded behind him, ending the mugger's insult. As soon as the muggers hand wasn't gripping his shoulder, Charlie got up, dusting off his knees before turning around.

Huh.

On the semi rare occasions he was saved, Charlie was used to seeing the cops giving him a worried look before they eventually recognized him and gave him that signature flat look, or maybe a defender if he was lucky, but this was the first time he had been saved by New York City's own menace. He wasn't sure exactly what to say, so he did what he was best at.

He bullshitted.

"Hey, menace, thanks!" Those blank white eyes turned to face him, sending a shiver down his spine. They were kind of creepy. He wondered what the facial expression under the mask was. Probably weirded out, or confused. Maybe he thought Charlie was on drugs, wouldn't he the first time an authority figure hauled him in for testing.

"You're bleeding." The hero's voice was oddly soft, tinged with youth. He had been expected a deep hero voice, like Luke Cage or Batman, not Robin. Huh. Charlie furrowed his brow, tentatively bringing up and hand, feeling a wetness. Oh. He was bleeding. A lot, actually.

"It seems I am. That sucks. Well, I'm late. Thank again for saving my ass." With those wise words, he bolted, barely dodging a passerby. He couldn't believe that, of all things, was what he said to Spider-Man. Spidey was the only cool hero, and he just called him a menace, and left. Good job, Char, that's one for the books.

Ugh. He didn't have time for self loathing. He could reschedule that for later.

He spent the last block tripping over himself as he took the back way behind the school and climbed the dumpster cage, slipping into the gym through an always unlocked window. He rarely used the front door anymore. Front door was either locked or patrolled and he didn't have time for that crap.

Stumbling slightly, vision still a little hazy, he bolted towards his class, hoping a simple bathroom excuse would work. Maybe he'd up the ante and say he had a stomach bug? Nah, he had a real one a few weeks back and that hadn't even worked.

Every pair of eyes turned to him as he stepped inside the classroom, his usual dead eyed self sneaking to his seat. He caught the teacher's judging eyes, but she had better things to do than chew out a kid who would probably respond with an obscure pop culture reference.

"Dude, you look like shit." Ah. The blessed voice of his best friend over the ringing in his brain. Still trying not to fall asleep, knowing he might have a concussion, Charlie peered over at his best friend, Dalas.

Maybe they clicked because they both were assholes, maybe it was because both were so done with life, but nonetheless, they were friends. Dalas wasn't a verbal ass, like Charlie, but he had the snark for it. Unlike his quipping friend, Dalas waited for a good opportunity to burn someone. Charlie just sprayed gasoline everywhere and tried to burn down a building, metaphorically, of course.

He wouldn't have been so sloppy with a real fire.

Shaking his head to shut his brain up, the teenager tuned back into the conversation, giving his best friend's slightly concerned face a dopey smile.

"I live off of memes and coffee, I always look like shit." Which wasn't completely wrong.

"Honestly, same."

Dalas didn't ask why Charlie was wiping a trail of blood from his temple, and Charlie was happy for it. Another trip to the nurse meant another councilor where someone tried to make him lie and say he was bullied or beat up by his family or whatever Mr. Moody wanted to hear. He would rather just draw YouTuber's alter egos on his English book and draw random right eyes everywhere, not paying any attention to his actual schoolwork.

It was good, familiar. Sure, he'd probably face plant in the hall later, get smacked with a basketball in gym, embarrass himself, or do something else particularly painful several times before he could finally go to sleep, but at least he had peace for the moment. Pure, beautiful peace.

It was the shrieking of the school bell that finally brought Charlie out of his head, making the teen accidentally smack his knee on the bottom of his desk. Swearing and placing his hand over his knee, even though that didn't do fucking anything, he caught the teacher's eye.

Great, now he would get detention for swearing.

He didn't really have anything to do after school, but hanging out with Dallas or drowning his internal pain in microwavable burritos and Instagram Explore was better than sitting in an empty classroom for an hour.

Just his luck, or district lack of it.

Because Charlie, by all intent and purpose, was extremely unlucky. Probably the unluckiest guy on his side of the city, or farther. He was used to it, but it never got any easier. Just like being pistol whipped.

It always hurt like a bitch.