Never Tell Me the Odds Part II, Chapter 4

OR

The Red Head and the Web Head (I Hate Myself)

November 18, 2015

It was such a shame, too, Peter reflected, looking at the unmasked Mary freaking Jane. His first stint as a superhero had been going so well – he'd made it out of the apartment, located a crime in progress, and even stopped that crime. Sure, his crime-fighting gear could use some work, but he had to start somewhere.

She just had to mess this up, too. Peter had enough of Mary Jane during school hours; he didn't need her marring his time as a superhero.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Spider-Man asked his captive.

"What's it to you, dumb ass," Mary Jane replied scathingly.

So, Mary Jane was going to be her usual annoying self. Spider-Man tried a different tack.

"You're pretty young, right?" Spider-Man asked unnecessarily. She was a sophomore, just like him.

"Yeah," Mary Jane glared at the vigilante.

"Definitely too young to be robbing a convenience store," Spider-Man mused.

"I was doing fine until you showed up," Mary Jane spat.

"Bit of bad luck, that," Spider-Man allowed. "But the point stands. Why is a high schooler, not associated with any gangs or doing drugs, robbing this dump?"

Mary Jane snarled at the masked man.

"Well, okay, obviously you need money, but why?" Spider-Man peered directly at the red head.

"Stop patronizing me," Mary Jane glared, struggling briefly against her bonds.

"I'm trying to help you!" Spider-Man yelled, exasperated. "Because people, especially kids, that go robbing stores in the middle of the night usually have a reason. Because you're a person, and sure, this is probably just the most recent terrible decision in a score of them, but maybe it doesn't need to be the one that defines your future.

"So, I ask again – why?" Spider-Man bit his lip, a wrinkle showing on his mask. "What drove you to this?"

"My life sucks, okay?" Mary Jane snarled defensively.

"Oh, and you think you're the only one?" Spider-Man glowered. "You probably had a bad day today, right? Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, right?"

"You're mocking me," Mary Jane struggled against her bonds, seeking to wring Spider-Man's neck.

"Maybe I am," Spider-Man allowed. "Maybe I'm not at my best right now. Because you know what? I've had a f***ing terrible day." Spider-Man riled himself up, recalling the anguish he felt burying his uncle, the dizzying doubt he felt about masquerading as a hero. "Sure, I'm dressed in some old sweats and a failed attempt at an Iron Man costume from Lord knows when yelling at a criminal, but at least I haven't held a knife to a man's throat! You have an excuse for that, you self-righteous bully?"

At one point, Mary Jane may have been a friend, but those days were long past. She had done nothing but torment Peter, sabotaging any other relationships he could have developed at school or in the neighborhood and subjecting him to daily pain and humiliation. It was long past time that Mary Jane received her due.

Peter could imagine it now – being able to walk into school without the shadow of Mary Jane and her army of cronies haunting his every step. He could make some friends, maybe, or join a club.

Gosh, he could maybe salvage a silver lining from this turd of a day.

"You know what, s***head?" Mary Jane grimaced. "Fine. I messed up bad. I'm a worthless wreck of a human being." Her eyes were red and blotchy, and Spider-Man could her the genuine catch in her voice.

Well, s***.

"I just wanted some money so I could get away," Mary Jane continued.

"Away from what?" Spider-Man asked, a ball of dread forming in his stomach.

"My mom. My dad. This whole f***ing city," Mary Jane said, defeated. "Take a look at my wrist," she ordered Spider-Man. He complied, rolling up the sleeve of her turtleneck to reveal a web of fresh bruises.

"Sh**," Spider-Man swore, his eyes suddenly feeling very warm. Despite the years of bad blood between Mary Jane and his civilian identity, Spider-Man couldn't help but feel a wave of compassion for his neighbor. "Who did this?" Spider-Man asked, dreading the answer.

"This one's from my mom," Mary Jane's face tightened, her demeanor tense. "But my dad will take a swing at me if he's drunk enough."

"Jesus," Spider-Man swore softly. Growing up he had heard muffled shouting from the opposite building, but the words were always indistinct. Now that he knew, Spider-Man felt a pit of shame settle in his stomach.

"So, you masked dingus," Mary Jane settled into her bonds. "How are you going to end the worst night of my life? You going to beat me up too? I don't have any bruises on my shins yet, you could aim there."

"First off, I'm not a dingus," Spider-Man defended himself. "And of course I'm not going to hit you – I've already got you tied up! What would be the point?" Spider-Man gesticulated wildly. "No, I'm going to help you help yourself."

"I was already helping myself," Mary Jane grumbled.

"In about the stupidest way possible," Spider-Man retorted.

"Says the guy in the red sweatsuit," Mary Jane rolled her eyes. "Where do you even buy those?"

"Have you heard of the Internet?" Spider-Man asked rhetorically. "Okay, so your options are to head straight to Child Protective Services yourself, or get a friend of yours to come with you, be support and all that."

"How do you know that will solve anything?" Mary Jane spat.

"I don't," Spider-Man admitted. "But it should have been Plan A to start."

Mary Jane quieted at that. "Sh**," she cursed. "I could've given that guy a concussion."

"Shoot!" Spider-Man jumped up nearly a mile. "I gotta make sure the cashier's okay!" Spider-Man leapt over the register and assessed the man's condition. He was unconscious, but breathing steadily. Spider-Man adjusted the man so that he was in the recovery position, and not in as much danger of choking should he vomit.

Spider-Man felt around the man's head, and detected a small bump, but he could feel no fractures in the skull.

"Is he okay?" Mary Jane asked. Spider-Man could hear the quaver in her voice.

He leapt back over to the snack display. "He should be fine," Spider-Man said. "But I'd like to call an ambulance for him soon He should have his head checked out, just to be safe."

Mary Jane nodded in understanding.

"So, do you have a friend in mind? Somebody to help you out?" Spider-Man asked.

Mary Jane fidgeted, shifting her weight from side to side. "I mean, I have friends at school," she allowed, "but they're not the sort of friends I could talk to about stuff like this. I haven't had a friend like that for years."

Spider-Man remained silent, his mind whirling at these revelations. "She couldn't mean…" a rogue thought flitted through his mind.

"So, I guess I'll just go it alone," Mary Jane said, with quiet resolve.

"Wait," Spider-Man interrupted. "Would one of your old friends be able to help?"

"I don't deserve his help," Mary Jane said morosely. "I've been a total jerk to him for years. Years!"

Spider-Man couldn't help but notice the tears of frustration in her eyes.

"Besides, his uncle just died," Mary Jane continued. "Peter doesn't need his tormentor waltzing into his life, begging for help when he just wants to grieve."

Spider-Man choked a little on his own saliva. "Sorry," Spider-Man said, then cleared his throat. "Mary Jane, he might not be happy about it, he might grumble and complain and yell in your face, but a real friend will always help you at a time like this."

"You think so?" Mary Jane looked up at Spider-Man's goofy mask.

"I know so," Spider-Man nodded his assurance.

A low groan sounded from behind the counter.

"Well, sh**," Mary Jane cussed.

The guilt gnawed at her, like a persistent worm, the moment where she struck the cashier in the head replaying mercilessly in her mind. He hadn't fallen down all at once, like a cartoon character might when stunned. No, instead he had crumpled at the knees first, his arm trapped under the weight of his unconscious body.

When the cashier first came too, he yelled and threatened to call the police. But then Spider-Man pleaded with the cashier to listen to her story and, miraculously, he did. This cashier, whose own life could not have been much happier than her own, forgave Mary Jane easily, waving away her apologies and wishing her a happier lot in life.

He even offered to steer the police away, and joked that he might get some hazard pay out of the deal.

After a lifetime of exposure to her scumbag family, that intrepid act of selfless compassion shook Mary Jane to core.

And that wasn't even mentioning Spider-Man.

Even now he was walking her to the Parker residence, chattering about the improvements being made to the subway infrastructure, the nerd. When she was at her lowest this vigilante took the time to help her put her life back together. There heroes popping up all the time in the news nowadays – Iron Man gloating, Captain America preventing an assassination, Scarlet Witch halting a runaway train – but she wondered if this shoddily dressed dork might be the truest hero of the lot.

God, if she weren't already eternally besotted with Peter Parker, she could kiss him.

The apartment building the Parker's lived in loomed near. Spider-Man's chatter dwindled as she made her way to the doorbell.

"Maybe I should do this tomorrow," Mary Jane waffled.

"No," Spider-Man shook his head. "Don't put this off. If you don't take this step now…"

I'll end up right where I started, Mary Jane thought. "Fine," she said aloud, and pressed the buzzer for the Parker apartment.

"I need to go," Spider-Man said, stepping into the shadows.

The doorbell rang. "Thank you," Mary Jane, and she cursed the tears that leaked out of her eyes. Spider-Man faded out sight. Mary Jane thought she saw him climbing up the side of the opposite building.

The doorbell range several more times, but eventually Peter's Aunt May answered.

"Hello?" May asked. "What is it?"

"May?" Mary Jane asked, her voice choked from tears. "It's Mary Jane, from next door. I need some help."

A pause. "C'mon up, dear," May said. "I've been baking up the storm."

The door unlocked, and Mary Jane stole through the foyer, and up the stairs. She hadn't visited the Parker apartment since she was a kid, and Peter was her friend.

Mary Jane hesitated at the door. She was openly crying now, guilt and remorse stewing in equal parts. How many times in middle school had she cornered Peter, gleefully roughing him up with the help of her cronies? She'd manipulated teachers into blaming him for schoolyard accidents, and driven away any friends he might have made. She'd been a grade A b***** this year, too, verbally abusing him almost any time he visited his locker.

And here she was, intruding on his grief. God, his uncle wasn't even dead a week, and she had the gall to come here for help.

Mary Jane almost left right then, but May opened the door.

"Mary Jane?" May said. Her eyes were puffy and red. "Come on in. Would you like a glass of milk and a cookie?"

Mary Jane felt like she was eight again. "Yes, please."

Mary Jane only had time to finish one cookie before she heard a door in the back of the apartment shut. Peter walked into the kitchen, dressed in his pajamas. It was unfair, the most besotted part of Mary Jane reflected, that Peter could look like a male model when woken in the middle of the night. He even made his Hufflepuff t-shirt look like it belonged on a runway in Milan.

"What's she doing here?" Peter demanded.

The ball of guilt living in Mary Jane's stomach made itself known again. "I'm sorry," Mary Jane began, and dammit if she wasn't crying again. "I'm so sorry for being a manipulative b**** and a bully and making your life miserable. You didn't deserve that." Mary Jane tried to swallow, her throat feeling tight from the tears and the stress. "And I'm so sorry about being here now. You deserve peace, not your bully visiting your home in the middle of the night."

Mary Jane was surprised to feel her glass of milk pulled out of her hands. Her eyes were so blurry from her tears that she had difficulty seeing. She was more surprised, though, to be drawn into a warm hug. Peter patted her softly on the back, holding her until Mary Jane regained some semblance of control, and both drew back, though Peter kept one of her hands in his.

"I don't like what you did," Peter said. "It hurt – hurts – a lot, to have you bullying me. But, well, maybe you were hurting too," Peter paused. "I forgive you, MJ."

"I don't deserve…" MJ began.

Peter squeezed her hand. "Doesn't matter," he said. "I forgive you. That's that. Okay?"

MJ nodded, and let the corners of her mouth tilt into a smile. Lord, I love you, an unbidden corner of her mind sighed. It was hard not to swoon, when she had such a good view of his shimmering eyes.

"Now, is that the only reason you visited?" Peter probed.

Well, there went her good mood. "No," MJ admitted with a low sigh. "May? Could you call Child Protective Services? My parents suck," she felt Peter's hand squeeze hers. She went on, grateful for his support. "More immediately, I've got some cuts and bruises that could use some antiseptic."

AN: And thus concludes Part II!

So, unless writing become a deliberate form of stress relief, expect for this fic to be on hiatus until Thanksgiving. I'm student teaching this fall, which I've heard is quite time consuming, difficult, and soul wrenching. (Do I sound terrified? Because I am.)

The next arc of the story I plan to tie into the second season of Daredevil, so if you don't want spoilers you have a few months to catch up! If you have any suggestions on character interactions or thoughts on how I could improve, please feel free to review! (If you're signed in through , I tend to reply with a thank you.)

Have a good fall, folks!