Chapter Text
Let's get one thing straight: Peta Parker was not the type to hold record-breaking grudges. She just wasn't, okay? Probably something to do with her whole with great power comes great responsibility thing, and prowling around with a giant chip on her shoulder was not exactly conducive to superheroics.
(Unless, of course, the recipient of said life-altering grudge was herself. But, more on that later.)
In any case – Peta could forgive the Avengers their transgressions. She could forgive Happy and Rhodey, and Mrs. Potts and Mr. Stark all in equal measure. She didn't discriminate. Forgiveness was a powerful tool, and she had long since mastered the art of wielding it. Mr. Stark would be proud; he'd taught her well.
Aunt May was of the opinion that she was letting them all off excruciatingly lightly – and Peta knew for a fact that May had only recently started dating Happy again. Her aunt was a force to be reckoned with; part of Peta relished in her fierce loyalty.
It'd been three months since Prague, since Berlin, since London. Since: Spider-Man's name is–
Anyway.
Point was: it was all in the past. No use digging up the skeletons in Peta's closet. Once she started down that slippery slope, she'd never stop.
In the wake of the false accusation of mass murder against her, Mrs. Potts had assembled an entourage of blood lusted lawyers ready to defend Peta's honour, having prepared to sue J. Jonah Jameson and the rest of the Daily Bugle for defamation. The process was lengthy, and ongoing, and Peta had only just started feeling comfortable stepping outside on her own. Still. It was progress.
Silver lining: at least she didn't have to contend with Midtown's reaction and having to see her classmates – see Flash – as she continued to deal with the fallout.
Today marked the day when the ban on Spider-Man would finally be lifted – Spider-Man would be allowed to resume friendly neighbourhood extracurricular activities. Peta, for one, couldn't wait.
Really.
In the interim, the Avengers had been helping her. Teaching her. Getting to know her – and getting to know her double life. Apologies cloyed their actions, dominated their thoughts; Peta could read it in all their faces. Happy's face was a picture-perfect personification of guilt.
Morgan was the only one who didn't let Spider-Man's revelation faze her.
(Mr. Stark entrusted E.D.I.T.H. to Peta, upgrading her into the new and improved suit. See: guilt.)
The apologies weren't all uncomfortably repentant; they weren't all utterly consumed by regret. Thor's apology had been jovial: “What is this, a group apology?” The God of Thunder had cleared his throat dramatically. “I hereby do offer my sincere condolences, little eight-legged insect.”
Bruce, in turn, facepalmed. “Arachnid. Spiders are arachnids,” he stressed. Peta watched for signs of The Big Green One. “Insects have six-legs, Thor. Six legs.”
Thor nodded in earnest gravitas. “Ah, yes of course.” He frowned, turning to his companion for apparent guidance. “Should I repeat my declaration?”
This time, Bruce's facepalm was noticeably audible. Peta had to bite her lip to suppress her giggles.
In contrast, Bruce's was reserved. “I know a little something about having to hide your other half. I'm sorry you felt like you had to.”
Maybe Spider-Man had more in common with the Hulk than previously believed.
Peta often wondered what her own apology would sound like. Didn’t she owe the state of Washington some kind of justification?
I'm sorry I couldn't tell you my identity. I'm sorry that I didn't trust you with who I was. I'm sorry that, when I did trust someone, I trusted wrong. I'm sorry for breathing, I'm sorry for helping others. I'm sorry that I was doing the job of NYPD all on my own.
... Yeah. She didn't need to be Mrs. Potts to understand why that wouldn't be prudent.
Anyhow, she was – fine. Totally fine. Why the hell wouldn't she be? She was the reigning monarch of Fine. Nothing could bring her down. Not even–
Nothing.
Yet... sometimes, she felt like. Like, she was just– building a life on quicksand, and then wondering why it all came crumbling down.
So, if sometimes, she had intrusive thoughts about swinging, flying, falling; then it was all just par for the course. Wasn't every superhero messed up in their own unique little way?
It had a name, this phenomenon of hers: l'appel du vide – the call of the void.
Donning the Spider-Man suit she and Mr. Stark had composed together way back when, Peta took off into the dusky New York night. It was the first time she'd worn the red-and-black suit since–
It was taking a little getting used to. Exercising old spider-powered muscles. That was all.
All in all, it was a productive patrol. She stopped a would-be-mugger, rescued ten individual cats from eight separate trees – two of them were engaging in some kind of climatic battle on the tree tops; a feline Anakin v. Obi-Wan duel – and gave a nice old man directions to the nearest subway. It was good.
(Wait, no. Not good. It was definitely something. Just... not good.)
The trouble arose on the journey back home, as it was wont to do. The law of averages at work once again, meddling in Spider-Man's affairs.
Peta was just scaling a wall, something she'd done a million times before, and would most likely do a million more times. Electrostatic force was a beauty to behold, as her gloved fingers and toes stuck to the brick like superglue.
And then. Well, then something happened that had never happened before; something Peta was under the horrifically misguided opinion could never happen:
Peta fell.
Panic seized her flightless body. Haphazardly grappling at the unforgiving structure, she was able to restick for a grand total of two seconds before her powers unanimously decided to declare their independence from her, and she resumed her cruel descent to the ground below.
Straight into a dumpster.
(Parker Luck was out to get her this time, no joke.)
“Ow, ow, ow,” Peta moaned, hand tenderly touching the growing bump. She hissed at the contact. “What the hell happened?” The whole world was blurry. Fuck. Concussion it was, then.
E.D.I.T.H. was uncharacteristically silent. Mr. Stark had programmed the A.I. to operate on a quiet setting after she had tentatively revealed how jarring normal volume was to her senses.
But – Peta had to turn E.D.I.T.H. up to be able to hear. Like a normal, non-spider-powered person.
What the hell happened to her?
The explanation went along the lines of this:
“If I may, Peta,” E.D.I.T.H. interjected. “I believe your brain has associated Spider-Man with negative emotions associated with your residual trauma, and is protecting you from feeling those the only way it knows how.”
Dread consumed her. “What are you saying, E?” Peta's voice was little more than a wisp of air.
E.D.I.T.H. paused. “Your brain believes Spider-Man is a problem – so it has blocked you from ever being Spider-Man again.”
Newsflash: Peta was screwed.
Because Spider-Man's arch-enemy was first and foremost Peta Parker. Nobody could wound Spider-Man like Peta could, a fact Peta exploited every chance she could.
This was about Peta defeating Peta.
And, in her greatest hour of need, even Spider-Man had deserted her.