"I don't have a hero-complex! All I did was put a stop to someone dangerous! God, why can't you understand that?!" He felt like he was burning and he wouldn't stop.
"Oh, really? That's fucking weird, cause you've done nothing today to prove me wrong! All you've done is show me you're some asshole who thinks that as long as he saves the day, the consequences don't matter to him!"
...
He didn't owe her anything, not an apology or an explanation or anything.
Even so, he just broke.
"Wanna know why I went after that thing? Why I couldn't 'look the other way'? It's cause I was guilty and bitter and angry, cause I still am . Because I do what I do so I can try to be someone better- someone who does this because they want to help and that's enough for them!" He yelled, Mirko's ears folded a bit in confusion. "And wanna know something? I hate it, I hate it because no matter how much I've tried and tried, I'm still me!"
Mirko fell silent, Peter balled his shaking hands into fists.
"I hate that this stupid job feels like it's all I can be, I hate that I probably can't get out of this life if I wanted to and I hate that a part of me wants to! I hate how selfish that sounds and that I feel that way, but I am just so tired of this sometimes." He wasn't even yelling at her, Peter was just yelling at everything to get that anger out.
Anger still burning, he kept going.
"God, I hate that I haven't changed since I was a vigilante and still as angry and bitter as I was back then. And I'm sorry for nearly dying, alright? I just-" Peter trails off, feeling the rage slipping away as he tries to hold onto it to keep going and keep yelling .
When it's all gone, he doesn't even feel better.
He feels burnt out.
He just feels like usual.
With a sigh, Peter falls back down onto the bench and drags his hands down his face, his palms having the soft smell of copper.
"I thought I was better than back then, but I'm probably not. I feel like I'm the same but without the option to swing out of my window at night and punch people to feel better." He muttered, Mirko sighed and took a seat a foot away from him. "I just- I thought it'd be different now, after my arrest."
Mirko stays silent, sitting there as bits of anger leave her bit by bit.
She looks burnt out, too.
"I… I needed it to be different ."
They sat there for a while, just wallowing in the post-argument numbness before Peter spoke up with the fire gone from his voice.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm not cut out for this, y'know? Pro hero stuff, I mean. Maybe I'm not really able to work without doing it like a vigilante or something, I guess. I just- I don't know how to do this stuff any other way ."
Vigilantes are acceptable to have anger like his, heroes normally aren't.
She nods, taking a second before speaking.
"You said some shit about how you didn't want this whole hero thing to be what you were… the hell did that mean?"
A tired sound escaped him, Peter thinking back to the past.
"I was someone before I was a vigilante, you know? I-I had dreams and stuff, passions that didn't involve heroes and villains… Guess a part of me is still holding onto that stuff."
"Then why the hell did you become a vigilante in the first place? You could've just not gone into crime-fighting."
He thinks back to the bite and to Ben and so many other things.
"Life, I guess." He said, looking at the ceiling. "I was angry at the world for so many reasons, then some stuff happened and I was even worse with the only option I saw being punching people in a mask." God, that sounded weird out of context.
Weirdly enough, Mirko laughed a bit.
"Huh, that's kinda why I went to fight rings when I was younger- I was bitter about the world for screwing up over a fuckton of times so I just punched people to feel better." She chuckled, Peter kinda did too.
"I don't… I want to be more than that, y'know? More than that anger and stuff, to just let a need to help people fully drive me… But I'm not, I let my desire to help share the space as my motivation with old anger and guilt." He sighed, then chuckled humorlessly. "Didn't see that one coming, huh?"
Mirko laughed, her shoulders still slouched as her emotions recharged.
"Shit." She said as she calmed down. "You ever tried therapy?"
And Peter couldn't help it, he started laughing. Laughing so hard it hurts for too many reasons to count.
Thank God this was happening so close to his first counseling session at UA.
"Oh, fuck off! What the hell is so funny?" She kicked at him, Peter waved a hand.
"Sorry- Sorry, it's just that… 'Mirko' and 'Talking things out with a professional' don't really go together."
With a huff, she kicked at him again.
"I got years of anger management under my belt. It fucking fails me sometimes, yeah, but that shit doesn't mean you don't need therapy any less than me."
Huh… relating to her on this level felt weird.
They fell back into silence, numbness washing over Peter as he breathed.
"I, uh, broke a table, by the way." He starts. "I got angry in my room so I kinda slammed it on the ground thinking I'd feel better, I-I thought you should know."
She waved him off. "It's cool, I break a bunch of shit so I got a few spares of everything."
Again, they fell silent.
Peter let the numbness wash over him, feeling the anger retreat back beneath the surface just for now, and finally let him breathe.
Her red eyes landed on his hands, some dried blood that Peter gave up on cleaning off still staining them.
"Let's get that blood off your hands, yeah?" She said, leaning forward.
Peter nodded, not feeling himself all there.
"Yeah." He said, taking another breath. "That… yeah, sounds good."
The anger was still there, but Peter pushed it down and decided to move forward to try and be better than he was today.
Even if it didn't feel like it'd work, he'd try.
...
News reports played on loop behind him, the man facing away from the monitors on his desk as he held a glass of whisky in his hand.
His father was a bastard, but the guy did like a good drink. He wondered if he'd continue the cycle with Harry.
Men and women in different languages reported on some huge fight in Japan, a large lizard monster going against that rabbit hero and an intern of hers.
Peter Parker.
The hands around the glass tightened.
Spider-Man.
On another monitor was security footage from years ago, showing some dumb kid walking far too close to a loose spider.
Someone entered his office, the man didn't turn around as whoever entered fumbled up to his desk.
"Uh, s-sir? They… uh, Dr. Connors is currently under government custody, i-its-" The man stuttered, cutting himself off when the man behind the desk raised a hand.
"I've heard, that global peacekeeping agency, yes?" He asked with an even tone, the young man behind him nodded. "Get our best legal and media teams on it, hide any evidence that would deepen our involvement in Dr. Connors'… situation ."
A shame really, Curt's predicament showed… potential for future projects.
Shakily nodding, the young man all but ran out of the room.
The reports kept playing, highlighting the red and blue figure as he fought the creature in a way reminiscent of his namesake.
Nothing short of a genetic miracle, a one-of-a-kind anomaly that fate somehow allowed to exist.
Peter Parker.
A perfect artificial mutation.
Spider-Man.
The glass shattered, Norman Osborn smiled.
His masterpiece .