Chapter Text
You were feeling very sad today.
Why?
Peter Parker was nowhere to be seen.
It had been a few weeks since you had first met Peter. You had both continued to grow closer, but today, on this random, muggy Friday, Peter was completely nowhere to be seen. Your overreactive mind was already jumping to the worst possible conclusions.
Had he gotten sick of you?
Was he too freaked-out by your feathered wings?
Did he want to drift away from the friendship?
Bad-bitch Madison from your English class was fun like always. Madison with her long black hair, and grunge-style clothing. Crapping on everything and rolling her eyes.
But now.
Without Madison’s entertaining sassiness, you were standing on campus with a deep sense of loneliness. Peter had completely failed to show up. Before class and after class. You decided to sit down on some stone steps and ruminate – Thinking of what to do next.
It was a sunny day, and quite on the warm side. It had been a late class today, starting at 1 pm, and now it was already 3. For a while you simply sat, observing the scenery. It felt like something was missing, without Peter.
He was the person you trusted the most. So where was he?
Maybe you looked extremely miserable or something, because someone decided to approach you from afar.
It was a man, an especially tall man.
It definitely wasn’t a student; you could tell it was one of the professors.
This man had brown hair, and dark-colored brown eyes. He was donning a black sweater and grey pants. He was slightly chubby, but not in an off-putting type of physique. It wasn’t like an aging dad’s body, but that he was generally well-built. Suffice to say, this man was quite attractive.
He approached you, you were sitting on the steps.
“Forgive me, my dear. But are you all right? It’s a little worrisome you’re sitting by yourself.”
You smiled up at him pleasantly, folding your hands.
“I’m fine, sir. Just soaking up some fresh air.” He nodded his head.
“I see. Taking a break between classes?”
“Yeah. I just finished a horribly long lecture. It was quite a painful one.”
He laughed lightly, shifting around on his feet. This man was very, very tall. Even if you were fully standing up, you would still have to crane your neck. His voice was more pleasant than you had anticipated, not grouchy or bitter.
So. In summary. Not to be wildly inappropriate. But you found him very good-looking.
“You look especially young, my dear. You must be an undergrad? I would be shocked if you weren’t.”
“That’s correct. I’m doing a one-year course on English literature. Starter stuff.”
The man was also sipping on a takeaway coffee, which was a common sight on campus. It felt strange to converse with one of the professors, but you didn’t mind.
“That’s a fantastic subject to study here. Although, I was never very good at it myself.”
“It’s always been my best subject.”
You slouched forward wearing your trench-coat, sincerely hoping this man didn’t notice your wings. Maybe he would wonder why your coat was ridiculously oversized, but he wouldn’t question it.
Your handy trench-coat. It was almost like a friend, in a way.
The man extended a hand, and you leaned forward to shake it. His hand was large and cold.
“While I’m here, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Otto Octavius, professor or nuclear physics at this fine school.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Octavius.”
“Please, just call me Otto. I find that way too formal.”
“I’m Y/N. I’m uh, I’m twenty years old. I also have a small job working at a bookstore hybrid café.”
“You must have plenty of friends, Miss Y/N. Being a bright young lady.”
A small blush tickled your neck.
“I have a good friend called Peter Parker, actually. But I don’t know where he is today.”
Otto sipped at his coffee. He looked to be in his late 40s, maybe early 50s. You insanely wondered if he had a wife and kids. Like that even was relevant.
“I think I recognize the name. He doesn’t study science, does he?”
“Yes, actually! He does a grueling physics course.”
“Wait. Hold on. Would this Peter Parker happen to be in Doctor Connor’s class??”
You went a little bit open-mouthed, a smile tinting your lips. That was quite a coincidence. And a familiar connection. “He is! Wow! That’s so cool. Small world, I suppose. Yeah. That’s him.” Otto took more sips of his coffee.
“Doctor Connors told me he is a very bright student.”
“Oh, for sure. He’s like the smartest person I’ve ever met. And he’s really nice.”
“That’s great. I’m glad you’ve got a good friend.”
A little laugh escaped your lips. Most of the professors were elderly figures, or just very, very uptight and old-fashioned. Otto was nothing like that.
Otto was honestly very, very attractive. Never-mind that he was probably around 50. And not like you were some pathetic schoolgirl that easily developed a fantasy crush.
Smitten with a professor? That sounded like a disastrous idea.
“Yeah. Pete is pretty cool. Although sometimes, he can be a bit awkward.” Otto nodded in sympathy.
“I understand. I was like that when I was young.” - You and Otto Octavius continued chatting for a few minutes, about small things like annoying taxi cabs and the greasiness of New York pizza. He finally checked his watch, then stuck his hand out.
“I should really head off to my next class, Miss Y/N. But it was such a pleasure to meet you. You’re a very lovely young lady. I’m sure you’ll go far.”
You squeezed his hand, displaying him a kind smile. “It was nice to meet you too, Otto. Thanks for talking with me.” After Otto heads off, you’re left with a slight sadness again.
Peter had been one of the closest people you had trusted in life.
If he had ditched you – That was just heartbreaking.
It just felt so lonely without him. But alas, you couldn’t just sit sadly forever.
Slinging your satchel over one shoulder, you began walking through the busy campus. You kept your head low - feeling less confident without Peter by your side. Lost to your own melancholy, you almost didn’t catch the voice calling out your name.
“Y/N! Y/N! Wait! It’s me! Hold on!”
You turn around, and there he is. Peter Parker, hurrying towards you.
Simply, you fold your arms at him. He’s got a blue sweater vest on and seems to be panting.
“Y/N. I’m really, really sorry I was late. I was super busy and I was just at the-”
Feeling a bit grumpy, you turn your back on him. You weren’t feeling nice enough to say ‘It’s ok Peter’. There was an agitation pecking at you.
You want to make him emotionally squirm. See how’ll he respond.
He’s staring at you, you can sense him staring at your coat.
“Y/N?”
You don’t say anything. It was already late, and you were tired. It was time to be a bit bitchy.
“C’mon, Y/N. Please talk to me. I really am sorry. I didn’t forget about you. You know how much I care about you. I can explain everything. There was a disturbance-”
You continue to remain silent, not even moving, and by this point, Pete is getting desperate.
“I love you, birdie.”
He places a hand over your coat, gently feeling the outline of your wings.
It was so sentimental and touching. And it caught you way off guard - This causes you to stop the cold shoulder. You turn around, smiling.
“Pete! I thought you ditched me or something! I was so worried! I was miserable!”
Peter looks fucking relieved. He stares at you, like ‘Thank God that didn’t fail’.
“This day has been terrible. I was fired from my pizza delivery job. That’s why I was late. And Doctor Connors told me off.” Peter mutters this, looking downcast. You gasp, placing a hand on his arm.
“What!? What happened!” Peter sighs heavily. You hold his hand.
“I don’t even know. My life has been a mess recently.” You start walking with Peter, he looks stressed.
“I’m really sorry to hear that. I’m sure you’ll find something else eventually.”
Peter taps on your shoulder. He’s a reserved person, doesn’t like talking about himself.
“Enough about me. Listen. I was just at The Daily Bugle, and they want someone to write short columns about things. Like opinion pieces. I was thinking – do you want to go see J Jonah Jameson? You like writing stuff. Short editorial things. He might give you the role.”
You considered this, pursing your lips. It sounded like something meaningful, a good side task. But then again, you knew the reputation of The Daily Bugle.
“I’m not so sure, Peter. Jameson is an asshole. Huge jerk.” He smiles at you.
“I knew you were going to say that. Look, I was just thinking, I’m always really worried about you, Y/N. I'm always thinking about you.”
You do a crude little laugh. “Oh?”
“I’m always really worried something is going to happen to you and your wings. Like some OSCORP monster dissecting you in a lab. Or something. People experimenting on you.”
“Yikes! No thanks.”
“Exactly. I just thought, like, if you stopped by at The Daily Bugle, at least it would be a safe place for you to be, Y’know? Jameson might be an asshole, but at least he wouldn’t let you get in trouble. He would look after you.”
You were about to snark with ‘I’m totally fine! I’m totally happy! No trouble!’. But then, in all honesty, your 20-something sadness made you contemplate doing stupid shit 24/7. Which was probably not good.
The number of times you had considered just flying through the sky? Like it was normal? For the whole of New York to see?
Way too many.
Again, Peter stared at you. On your stupid girl shit, you were about to bolt, but Peter, with his Spider-man agility, would instantly catch up. So you were trapped. Peter gave you a pleading look, with his emotional blue eyes.
After a while, you made a noise like ‘nuagh’.
“Fine. Ok. Fine. I’ll go see about it. Although it doesn’t confirm anything. And I hate Jonah.”
He tugged on your hand, pulling you down a different path of campus - “I’ll take you there now. Just be warned, it can get a little stressful.” Rolling your eyes, you obediently followed behind Peter. He had his bag on, you had your satchel.
He would keep glancing at your coat, still in disbelief about your feathered wings.
Even after weeks.
“Should I show Jameson my wings?”
“Not unless you want to give him a heart attack.” “Pssh. He’s probably seen weirder things.”
You smiled sheepishly. Peter gave you a long, absent stare. Like he didn’t know whether to laugh or start crying. “He would be so very shocked, Y/N. He would turn you into a publicity stunt.”
“See, that’s exactly what I want not to happen.”
Pete nodded. “Right. We’ll just ask about you writing some columns for the bugle.”
Off-campus, you were now heading towards the building. The city was very busy today, you could hardly walk one step without bumping into someone. “Hey. It makes me so sad they shit on Spider-man there. And they have no idea it’s you. The irony of it.” - You squeezed Peter’s arm.
“Helps spread the word. They report when I’m active.”
With all the attention Peter receives as Spider-Man, a ‘hmph’ leaves your lips.
Sometimes you felt just like............... Pretty invisible and paper-thin. Aside from Peter, you didn’t have too many other friends, limited family. It would be so cool, the superhero thing! All the praise, the news coverage, the thrills, the fame.
“I’m lonely. I want the same attention. Maybe I should try the hero thing.”
Peter gives you a super stern look.
“Bad idea, Y/N. The OSCORP genetics division would be after you. Those guys are really sketchy. Super sketchy experimentation. I’m really worried about that happening to you. I don’t want anyone to hurt you, ok?”
“Yeah but at least I would be mega-famous.”
“More famous than me?” You smirked. “Nope. Spider-Man is still top dog.”
You’ve both arrived at the street, there are cars and people everywhere. You spin in a circle, one person amongst all the chaos. “Je-sus. A bit busy here, I think.” Peter points out the building, which has an odd shape - “The Daily Bugle.”
“Are you sure we’re allowed to just go? Shouldn’t we have booked in or something???”
“It’ll be fine. They know me really well.”
You and Pete enter the building, the bottom floor is just a bare lobby of directions. “Jameson and his executives are at the top,” Peter says calmly.
“Go figure.”
“Should we take the elevator or use the stairs?” “Elevator. No way in hell I’m walking.”
Pete pressed the ‘up’ button, you laugh and jump inside. Feeling very out-of-it, you simply collapse on the elevator floor. Not bothered to stand. This whole thing was whack-a-mole. Peter stares at you with much concern. It’s not even supper funny or anything, but you hysterically start laughing.
It was just like. What even was going on? Your life was a mess.
“You good?” Peter asks.
“Nope. Give me advice on how to deal with this asshole Jameson. I need it.”
“Don’t try to suck up to him. He can sense that.”
“Me? I’m going to blatantly say fuck you.”
“Don’t do that either.”
“You can’t win with these people.”
“Oh wait. We forgot to bring samples of your writing. Crap.”
“I told you this idea was ridiculous! He’s going to think I’m an idiot!”
“We’ll just ask if he’s interested first. And then if he is, you can come back for a proper interview.”
The elevator finally dinged, opening out to the busiest floor of people you had ever seen.
“Holy shit!”
People were rushing around, sending messages, typing at computers, and filing papers. The noise level was off the charts. It was chaos. Total chaos.
Your brain tried to process the coding.
Peter pointed at a poster on the wall - ‘WRITER WANTED. Daily Bugle writer wanted to write a featured column every week. Write about anything, as long as it’s good.’ Underneath it read ‘Applications through the Chief Editor’.
“So I could write about how much I hate Bush and it would get published??”
“Maybe.”
Peter pulled you along, it felt like you were about to get trampled amongst all the people. At the end of the floor, there were glass windows sectioning off someone’s office. You could see J Jonah Jameson inside. He was talking to someone with their back turned.
Your heart started to race a little bit. Oh yeah, you had heard all about J Jonah Jameson.
Loud. Snappy. Grumpy. Rough. Boisterous. Extremely critical. You found it hard to be around those people. You were emotional, soft, hidden away in your trench-coat. Scared, to put it lightly, you were scared of him. Wiping your palms on your coat, a gulp sounded in your throat.
It was time to get the hell out.
“Um. On second thought. This might not be such a good idea. Bye.”
You turned around to escape, but Peter pulled you forward. “No way out!”
You grimaced while trudging through all the people – how did they survive in the chaos? There was a young woman working at a desk, with short black hair and a very pretty face. She smiled up at Peter. “Oh hey, Pete. How can I help?”
“Hey. This is my good friend Y/N. I thought we could ask Mr. Jameson about her writing the weekly columns? She really likes writing. She could try it out.”
Smiling at the lady, you waved your hand. She smiled back but looked a bit wary -
“Did you bring a writing portfolio or anything, Y/N?”
Peter answered for you. “Oh. It’s not like a proper interview or anything. We just want to know if he’s interested first.”
“I don’t want to hassle anyone. It was just an idea.” You added very quickly.
“Don’t worry, it’s fine. Wait a sec. I’ll go ask when he’s ready.”
She opened the door and entered inside, talking to Jameson.
“That’s Betty Brant. She’s nice.”
“Pete! I didn’t bring any samples of my work! I can’t prove anything!” Before he could respond, Betty walked back out. “He’s ready to see you now. You too, Pete.” You mouthed ‘help me’ at Peter, then entered the office with a feeling of despair.
Jameson was dressed in a really formal suit, with a clipped haircut, and a tie. He was pretty tall. Pretty intimidating. You immediately dropped your gaze. Terrified.
“Who are you? And why should I care?” Not the nicest introduction.
Peter must have been so desperate for this to work – because he immediately took the reins.
“Mr. Jameson. This is my good friend Y/N. I was wondering if she could write the weekly columns for you?? She’s super good with a pen. ”
Jameson turned around, only then giving you a glance. You could hardly look at him, and only gave him the smallest of waves. He reminded you of your father - Big. Mean. Scary. Not nice.
Psychopathic???
“What’s your name then missy?” Jameson questioned, even though Peter literally just said it.
“It’s Y/N, sir. Nice to meet you.”
There was also another guy in the room. This guy was African-American, and so extremely tall. Taller than Otto Octavius from earlier. “I’m Robbie Robertson. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” “Hey. Hello.” He held his hand out and you shook it.
Jonah stared at you for a while. Just stared.
You were very nervous, shuffling your feet on the ground. He sat back down at his desk. And Robbie was so tall, that was actually insane…
There was a giant hand squeezing your heart, the fear making your heart palpitate.
“How old did you say you were, missy? Seventeen??”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
“I’m twenty, sir. Twenty years old.” – Jameson seemed to make a noise like a sighing grunt.
“You’re too young missy. Way too young! We need someone with experience. Young girl like you? Basically just a teenager. Come back in ten years. Bye-bye now!”
Silently thinking ‘Thank God’, you nodded your head. Whew. It was over. Now you didn’t have to write shit.
However, the other guy, Robbie Robertson, he held out his hand. “Wait. You should at least give her a chance, Jonah. We could use the ideas of someone so young. Old fellas like us.”
Jameson lit up this HUGE cigar and started puffing away at it. You had never seen an actual cigar before.
The cigar looked like instant lung cancer, that’s for sure.
Goodness. How he could tolerate smoking that............... You had no idea.
“And why are you wearing that ridiculously oversized trench coat?? It’s dragging to the floor!”
Feeling very embarrassed, you scrambled for a lie - “Um. Had a really bad rash when I was younger. And it’s never fully left my skin.” It was a fucking weak, pathetic, flimsy lie.
Ridiculously un-believable.
However, Jameson seemed to buy it, as he scrunched up his face. Although. And this was the strange part. The other guy, Robbie, he gave you this long, cryptic look. You made eye contact then quickly looked away. Tried to remain cool. Tried to play it off.
Your trench-coat was the only thing steeling your nerves. It felt like a veil.
“And what qualifications do you have missy??”
“Um. Actual qualifications? None. I was always pretty good at writing compositions in school. I’m studying English literature at Columbia. I’m creative enough. Got opinions on stuff.”
Jameson simply kept smoking his fat cigar. One puff of that and you would die. And there was something up with Robbie. Your lie was realistic enough, but there was a hint of skepticism, like Robbie was narrowing his eyes at you.
Robbie sensed something, didn’t he? Journalists were supposed to know the truth.
You managed to take a deep breath, it was forced and shaky, but it helped you relax a little.
“Parker. You can confirm the girl is doing an English course? That she can read?”
“Yes sir. And she’s very bright. She’s one of the best in the class.” You smiled sweetly at Peter.
“Aww. Thank you Peter. But I’m probably like the 20th best or something.”
Jameson raised an eyebrow - “You two planning to overthrow me or something?”
You laughed. “Nope. I’m too tired for that. I can barely get up in the morning.”
“So, missy. What exactly could you contribute to the Daily Bugle?”
You were about to reply ‘mhm’ when someone suddenly barged into the office. Of course there were a lot of people here, but it was still a shock. It made you jump, it really did. A guy, maybe somewhere in his 30s, with short dark hair and glasses.
“Mr. Jameson do you want the article about OSCORP in the paper today or tomorrow? I really need to know for page six.”
“Hoffman!”
The guy, presumably called Hoffman, stood up straighter. “Yes sir?”
“What do you think about little miss here?? She’s new blood.” ‘Hoffman’ turned to you, and as always, you waved. Smile and wave, that’s all. Nothing else.
“Perfectly pleasing sir. Except the trench coat is a little silly.”
“It’s to cover her rash.” Jameson said for you.
In all sincerity, you had to choke down a laugh.
The lie sounded even sillier said by someone else.
It was absurdly cheap. A medical nonsense condition. A few words mushed together.
Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but grin at the guy called Robbie. Robbie. He was plainly staring at you. No denying it. You knew.. You knew he didn’t believe that bullshit lie. He saw right through that nonsense. You grinned at him, subtly shaking your head - Unbelievable.
“Must be a pretty horrible rash.” Hoffman said. You quickly nodded, biting your lip to start laughing.
“Hoffman. What do you think of little Miss writing the weekly columns for us?” Hoffman gave you a look of surprise, and maybe even worry.
“She’s a little young, Mr. Jameson. I thought you wanted someone with more experience.”
You did a polite clearing-of-the-throat. “Well. Hey. Guys. Guys. I’m not extremely young. If you had said, like, sixteen, sure. But I’m twenty. A mature twenty.”
“An early twenty or late twenty?” Hoffman asked. You smiled at him a little. He was so cute.
“Hmm. Middle twenty, actually. If it helps, I know a lot about politics. I can do editorial work for that.” Hoffman did a nerdish smile to you.
“You take an interest in that?? That’s cool.”
“I think it’s important for the future. Yeah. I try keep up with it. Mostly.”
“Hoffman! What did you think of the guy from before?”
“Not very good at communicating, sir. He found it hard to string a sentence together.”
Jameson made a face like he was thinking. “Thanks for the input. Now get out of here.” “But what about- ” Jameson shushed Hoffman away, so he left.
There was silence for a bit. You stared out all the workers, numb to the total chaos. For some reason, you were really tired. Was it because you always had wings on your back? This added extra weight to carry around? And the coat was heavy, the thick fabric you paid to cover your wings.
Peter poked at your side, noticing your attention was slipping.
“So, Y/N. How do you know Peter?” Robbie asked, while JJJ smoked his fat cigar.
“Oh um, we met on the first day of college. Well. On my first day of college. I was lost. He was nice. He helped me find my auditorium. Then we bonded.”
“You got good parents, yeah? Paying college fees.” You did a sad smile.
“My mom is really nice. She pays for it. Uh, my dad wasn’t in the picture much. He wasn’t a good person. I haven’t seen him in a while.” Robbie looked genuinely remorseful.
“Oh. I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“No worries.” “And what kind of things would you write about?”
“Well - I would probably write about nice stuff. I mean like, trivial stuff. Small things to improve life. Like the benefits of keeping pot plants. Ways to practice gratitude. Just small things. And reviewing music and films and plays and stuff like that.”
Jonah cut in - “That’s girlie stuff.”
You did a small shrugging motion. “It could be a nice change from the constant negative news. A small column of positivity.”
“Ok, little miss.”
“Ok, J Jonah Jameson.”
He raised one eyebrow at you.
You grinned a little bit. Then coughed up from all the cigar smoke.
“And most importantly, what do you think of Spider-Man?” You contemplated, trying to avoid Peter’s gaze.
“Um. I think he’s a good person. I know he’s not a typical hero, but at least he tries to help people. He’s cool. I honestly think you guys are a little harsh on him here. Maybe tone down the rhetoric.”
Jonah gave you a grumpy old man look.
“You know what I think, little miss? I think he’s a scam artist and a fraud. He’s a menace to the city.”
Instead of shooting back ‘fuck you!’, you take a more admirable approach. And look directly at Jameson. Firm, but not demanding.
It was important to nail this response.
Say something true to yourself, something real, but also something that he wouldn’t feel offended by.
And you were an EXPERT in articulate expression.
“Well. That’s ok. You’re entitled to your own opinion, aren’t you? That’s your perspective on things and I can’t change that. I’m not going to change your mind. I think he’s a hero, you think he’s a villain. We don’t have to fight about it. And uh, I’ll leave you guys to handle that side of the Bugle. But if you want a more peaceful, humane spot of writing on one page, that’s what I’m here for. As long as we remain civil about our opinions, why is that any problem? It’s a free country, right?”
J Jonah Jameson did nothing for a second.
But then.
THEN.
Then ever so slowly, a huge, huge grin split down his face, this super excitably-cheerful look, the happiness of a boy, and not the business-man smile of ‘I’m trying to remain civil for your investment’, but a genuine, truthful grin that turned up his lips. A real smile.
It was not something your own father had ever given you. It- And this was crazy- It made you smile back at him. You beamed back at him, glee radiating from your face. He puffed out smoke.
He pointed at you.
“Robbie. I’m not sure about you. But I like this girl a lot.”
Robbie simply shook his head.
“Wow. Hot damn. She’s smart. She’s informed. She’s nice. And she can hold a bone to you. I think you may need to consider her for the job, Jonah. She’s one hell of a talented girl.”
Jameson, for the first time, looked at you with something like honest respect.
Not his shooing-away of Hoffman or meager disinterest in Peter, but actual attention and praise.
“I like you a lot, Y/N. I’m surprised to say you’ve got some brains. Even though you may only be sixteen. But I need to see some work first. Come back on the weekend with some writing and I’ll make up my mind. That sound good to you?”
You gave him a positive thumbs-up. He had actually paid you a compliment.
“That sounds fab! Thank you very much! Thank you!”
“Thanks Mr. Jameson.”
“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” Robbie Robertson gave you something of a knowing smirk.
And you returned the telling grin – ‘we’re sharing an un-said secret now’
You waved them goodbye, promised to return shortly, then left the office. On the elevator trip down, Peter was in absolute awe. For you, it was no big deal.
“I told you! I told you he was going to love you. Wow. He liked you a lot. I knew he would.”
“He wasn’t too bad.”
“He thinks you have a bad rash.” You did a sadistic laugh.
“Oh my God, Peter. The guy Robbie totally knew I was bluffing. The way he was looking at me. He knew the rash thing was total bullshit.” Peter placed his hand on your shoulder.
“I’m sure he’s not going to say anything. He’s a really nice guy.”
“I can’t believe Jameson fell for that total nonsense. It was such a b-s lie.”
“And they have no clue I’m the web-slinger.”
When the elevator doors finally opened, you felt sad. Going home was a lonely experience. There was no one at home. No pets, no partner, no roommate. Just four walls. And the other people living on your floor had never bothered to check in.
Pete appraised you.
“What’s wrong?” A sigh left your lips -
“Lonely.”
Pete seemed concerned. “Well. We’ve been friends for a while. I was wondering if you wanted to meet my Aunt May? She’s really sweet, she might make tea for us.”
You instantly brightened at this, smiling at him. Aunts were always the best. “Sure! I’d love that!”
So, Peter took you on the subway, which was crowded and loud. This time he wasn’t taking you to his crummy, pathetic apartment, but to his aunt’s house. “What would she think of my wings?” You asked this very quietly, so only Peter could hear.
“Well. Uh. She’s quite religious. Very Christian. She would probably think you were an angel or something. Something like that. An angel pretending to be a human.”
You giggled. “My dad thought I was a monster.”
For some reason on the train, Kurt Cobain randomly passed through your mind.
It wasn’t like you had seen a photo of him, one second you were mulling over nothing, and then you were reminded of the shy, introverted singer who had created such feisty, angry music.
It reminded you of all the times you had listened to Nirvana on your cassette taps. As a teenager in the 90s.
And not just like Smells Like Teen Spirit. But every other song that was nice enough on the ears.
When you arrived at Aunt May’s house, it was late out, the sky was dark. Her house was a quaint suburban house, one of many that looked the same. You became more silent. “Don’t worry, she’s really nice.”
Peter opened the door, and you stepped inside, smiling at the old-fashioned wallpaper, the trinkets. However, something made you jump- Many people loudly said, all in unison, ‘Surprise!’.
You jumped back a lot, not expecting this crazy greeting.
In the living room were three people.
A young woman with long red hair. A tall, attractive guy dressed in black. And a sweet-looking short old lady. These people stared at you for a while, you tried to hide behind Peter.
“Peter! Who is this sweet girl you have with you?” The lady questioned, in such a cheerful way.
“Hey everyone. This is my good friend Y/N. We met at college.”
Aunt May beamed at you, walking forward to squeeze your arm.
“Peter made a friend! And she looks lovely!”
You smiled pleasantly - “You must be Aunt May! It’s so nice to meet you!”
Aunt May gave Peter a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve made a friend. Especially on your birthday.” You gasped at him.
“You never told me it’s your birthday! What the heck!”
“I uh- forgot.” Peter got a punch on the arm.
“Harry birthday Peter! I had no idea! Happy birthday!”
Pete approached the two other figures. “Hey Mary Jane.”
“Heya. Happy birthday.”
“Hey buddy.”
“Hey. We didn’t introduce ourselves to your friend.”
You tried to hide behind Aunt May, but she pulled you forward. The pretty redhead held out a hand. “I’m Mary Jane. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was light and nimble.
“Hey. I’m Y/N.”
The guy stuck his hand out. He was really quite handsome. He had short black hair, a sharp jawline, and piercing eyes. When you were thirteen, you would’ve probably called him ‘hot’. He was hot.
“Harry Osborn. Greetings to you.” Your mouth fell open.
“Wow! You’re famous!” Harry seemed to smirk a little.
“You know me?”
“Yeah. You always get mentioned in The Daily Bugle. Of course I know you.”
Peter and Mary Jane started to chat a little. There was some softness between them, an energy. Had they been dating before? You noticed it in the way Peter was nervous, his voice became gentle.
Almost immediately, you recognized Harry was staring at your oversized trench coat. You narrowed your eyes at him. Slumping forward, you tried to dampen the curve of your giant wings.
While you were gazing around the room, you caught Harry saying something to Peter. “Busy taking photos of your friend Spider-Man? How’s the bug these days???” A frown tinted your lips – Why had Harry said that in such a bitter tone?
Aunt May then brushed through, interrupting the brief tension. “The less you see of that man the better. Now let’s all have a drink.” She handed the others drinks and suddenly did a little gasp at you.
“Dear! I forgot to fix you a drink! What would you like??”
“Just some orange juice would be lovely, thanks.” You sat down at the table, with Harry giving you a shrewd look.
It. Was. Not. A. Look. You. Liked.
Harry Osborn. He was rich. Well-known. Son of a millionaire. Son of a dead millionaire..............
And who knows what else.
“How old is your friend here?” Harry questioned.
“Um. I’m twenty??”
Harry smirked. “She speaks! I didn’t know she could do that!”
“Wow. You are an arrogant little fella, aren’t ya?”
“Just a joke, Y/N. I thought you were seventeen at first.”
You simply sighed, leaning backward on the chair. You were so tired you could have fallen asleep right there. And also, just from the few minutes you had spent in Aunt May’s house, it was much nicer than your own home had ever been. No fighting or slamming doors.
To try restrain yourself from falling asleep, you did a mental recall of all the people you had recently met. There was a lot.
Peter. Your professor. Madison. Dr. Connors. Mr. Ditkovich. Otto. Betty Brant. Jameson. Robbie. Hoffman. Aunt May. Mary Jane. Harry.
Just a month ago, the only other person you had known was basically just your mother.
“How are things going at OSCORP?”
“Very well. We’re about to make a breakthrough in fusion.”
“That’s cool Harry. I’ve been studying fusion.”
“We’re actually funding one of your idols, Pete. Dr. Otto Octavius.”
“I’m writing a paper on him!”
You blinked rapidly - thinking back to the kind, intellectual, handsome professor you had met earlier. Maybe it was because you felt lonely.......... But it would be nice to see Otto again. It was a surprise he worked at OSCORP. And what was ‘fusion’?
“Hey. I can introduce you, Pete. A favor for a friend.”
“That would be really helpful Harry. Thank you.”
“Can I come along too? I actually met him earlier today, so he knows a bit about me.” You prompted this to Harry, attempting to sound casual. A meaningful ‘plus one’. As a friend.
Harry thought for a second. Then shrugged - “Sure. I don’t see why not.”
Aunt May poked her head around the corner, a smile on her face. “Supper is ready! Y/N, you’ll eat with us.” There was a bigger table set up in the kitchen, you followed Peter in. There was a lovely spread organized on the table.
A cooked chicken. A colorful salad. A pasta dish. And fresh bread rolls with condiments – butter, jam, chutney. May had done all this herself. With the drinks, too.
Nothing like the frozen-supermarket-pizza you sometimes relied on back home.
“Wow. This looks amazing. Thanks Aunt May.” Harry stated, grinning at the food.
You were equally as amazed. Boy – you hadn’t seen a genuine meal like this since you were a little kid. And even then, it had been a rarity.
Everyone sat down at the table. Peter sat up right next to you protectively.
“Now, let’s all say grace on Peter’s birthday.”
This was a surprise to you. It was something you had only done a couple of times. Certainly in your childhood, you didn’t have the perfect family, sitting down for dinner. Still, you closed your eyes in prayer. Everyone helped themselves, and loading up your plate, you took everything but chicken.
Maybe it sounded weird – but you just couldn’t eat it.
Just that the chicken had been a living thing, that could fly and all, it had wings like you, it had been free, with feathers like you, and now it was a headless corpse, baked to golden, sitting in a tray.
It was odd but you felt too much affinity for birds. It felt like eating your kin. It felt wrong.
You spooned out lots of pasta but avoided that chicken. Once everyone had started eating, there was silence. The two boys Peter and Harry ate a lot. Halfway through the meal May started conversation.
“Y/N, dear. Do you want to tell us more about yourself?”
“Oh, um. Well. There isn’t much to tell. I’m studying English literature at Columbia. I also work in a bookstore part-time.”
“That’s lovely dear! You must really like reading?”
“Yes. And I like also writing.”
“Dear Mary Jane performs in plays.” You smiled at MJ, who looked flustered. “That’s really sweet!”
“It’s nothing. Harry is the most successful one.” MJ said, glancing over at the dark horse.
“Yeah well. I’ve only had to manage my dad’s super important company and its investments.”
“It can’t be easy. We respect your work, Harry.”
“A thanks to Pete for getting me through high school. Couldn’t have done it without the genius.”
“Oh, Y/N. Did you know these three all went to high school together?” - Aunt May beamed at you. “That’s lovely! It’s nice you’re all still friends.”
“What school did you go to, dear?”
“Oh. I did go to a private school for a little bit….. But I found the people weren’t very nice. So I went public. It’s a long story.” Harry taps on your arm.
“My dad sent me to like a million private schools. I flunked out every one.”
You smiled. “I didn’t flunk out. I just found the people really mean and entitled.”
“Harry’s not like that. Aren’t ya, Harry??”
“Well. Truth be told. I do have a butler. His name is Bernard.”
After dinner, Aunt May finished organizing the cake. You aimlessly walked around, strolling down the hallway.
There was a photo of a happy old man polishing a car.
This captured your attention. It was a delightful photo. With the sun beaming down brightly.
Harry walked up to you. You gently pointed at the photo. Harry nodded.
“That was his Uncle Ben.”
Even though Uncle Ben was an old guy, he wasn’t an ugly, glum-looking old guy. He was smiling, cheerful, he still had a head of hair, and vibrant eyes. Unlike most old guys, he seemed nice. Not like some grumpy 'back-in-my-day' old man crapping away about all the frustrations of his life.
It took you a hot second to remember why Uncle Ben wasn’t at dinner. Then you remembered. He had died.
“Wish I had a family.” – Your only response.
(A wish that you had also been in that sunny, nostalgic photo, sitting on the sidewalk and smiling)
Harry’s fucking smug, condensing smirk seemed to soften.
“What? You must have a family.”
“Nope. No one cares about me.”
He was about to say something, but Aunt May called out ‘Cake!’.
After the cake had been treated, the drinks finished, the Happy Birthday sung, and the hugs shared, you said goodbye to Pete and the rest. You exited the house, waving bye. Harry was behind you. You blinked into the night, it was already 10 pm.
Back to your lonely, badly-decorated apartment. That made you so depressed.
Maybe you were like Kurt Cobain. A feeling that you were never satisfied with your life.
You almost wondered what he would think about your feathered wings.
In all sincerity - When you thought about all the things that happened in your life......... It made your heart want to break.
“Y/N.” Harry uttered this softly.
You rolled your eyes at Harry, with his black clothes, his handsome face, and his good physique.
It was like a smack in the face. His bedroom was probably bigger than your entire studio.
“Where’s your limousine ride, Harry? With your chauffeur.”
“Y/N, I can tell you’re lonely and sad.”
“Fuck you.”
You were about to walk home, but then you realized, that would take you to 1 am. Harry grasped your arm, just as you stepped away. His grip was cold and firm.
“What the fuck do you want?” You aggressively snapped, because Harry was rich and famous and you were just some random, lonely girl.
A nothing. A gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.
“Listen. How far away is your apartment?”
“An hour or two. Let me out.”
“No. You can come crash at my place tonight. You’ll end up getting shot if you try to make it home. Just come with me.”
An irritation burned in your stomach. Did he really think you were that pathetic?
What was this? Pity?
There was a strong bite to your voice - “And why the fuck would I do that?”
“Because I care about you.”
“Fuck you. You don’t even know me. And I’m not in the mood for some one-night stand. If that’s what you’re driving at, just cut it.”
You were not enjoying this. All you wanted to do was go home and cry about all the things you had failed at. All the people who had abandoned you. The ways you had gone wrong. The sadness.
There had never been an Uncle Ben in your life. There had never been a hand to guide you.
There had never been somewhere there saying - ‘I. Will. Always. Love. You.’
Lonely. And sad. And disgusted by your feathered wings.
The only person who had truly seen you at your worst?
Kurt Cobain.
And he was gone. A personal fragment of your own imagination that would wrap an imaginary hand around your freakish wings.
You tried to rip your arm away but Harry was too resilient. There was something like concern on his face. Or maybe just disappointment.
That almost made you laugh.
“I see the way your shoulders slump, you try stay silent, your eyes are trained on the floor, you’re sad and I want to help. Because no one else is helping. And you feel like something’s missing. Now just come with me before you end up dead in a ditch somewhere. I'm not leaving without you.”
Damn.
That had taken some guts to say. And guts was NOT something you thought Harry had.
Everything he just said was accurate to a T.
You finally acknowledged Harry. You looked right at his face, and didn’t pull away so hard, and craned your neck because he was taller than you. Harry Osborn that, despite being extremely rich and extremely important, looked almost pathetic. Did he even have any other friends? A dead father. A dead mother? You caved in.
“Fine. I admit. I need a place to stay. But why should I trust you then, bitch?”
“I know what it feels like to feel invisible. You look at me and you don’t see that, but it’s the truth. People don’t see the real me. But I was wondering if you wanted to. And I’ll see you, no matter what.”
– And with this confession, you were finally sold.