myresponsibility | 018

[Spam for Bond]

[Peter is - somewhat ironically - sometimes kind of terrible at dealing with a crisis.

Well, that's exactly true. Spider-Man is pretty competent in a crisis, but when it comes to this kind of thing, people he cares about being hurt and knowing there's not much he can do about it? That, he really sucks at coping with.

He knows he should probably be in the infirmary right now, but at the same time, he doesn't think he's going to be all that helpful. He can clean people up and give stitches, he can't reattach limbs, and just the thought of that even being necessary makes him want to be sick.

Still, he finds himself wandering towards the infirmary anyway, wanting to do... something, even though he doesn't know what, but he turns around once he gets in sight of the door. Whatever he wants to do, he can't do that, doesn't want to see what's happening, and really, he just wishes he was home, or that there were some buildings handy he could swing over, that there were some criminals to beat up.

Which probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with stuff.

He winds up on deck, looking sort of pale and confused and upset. He rubs both hands over his eyes, and abruptly, he desperately misses Arachne. The memories of the breach are still fresh, and he wishes he had someone or something like that to turn to, because right now, he just feels off balance and desperate.]

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Maybe, [He manages to get out, although he does kind of sound like he might be sick. He pushes himself up so he's at least sitting on the ground instead of just lying there.] This is so messed up, James. I- I've never-

[It's suddenly like his voice is stuck in his throat, a feeling he's all too familiar with. He takes a couple deep breaths and rubs his hands over his eyes.]

People keep telling me I should get better about talking about this kind of thing, but it is really f- [Nope, censor yourself, Parker.] Freaking hard.

[He doesn't have to censor himself, but if it makes him more comfortable, Bond isn't going to say anything. He stays where he is, just breathing hard - then he forces himself to straighten, and walk, so his muscles won't bunch up.]

It's not going to get easier. [He wipes his sleeve over his face, controlling his breathing and slowing it down.] People you care about dying, getting hurt - it's always going to be miserable, Parker. You don't have to talk about it, you have to find a way to get through it.

[And if that's talking about it, good. If it's running, fine. If it's refocusing your anger and hurt on something constructive or violent, all right. James knows a lot of coping mechanisms. Talking isn't one of them.]

[He's listening, he hears him, but he shakes his head quickly, almost like he's trying to physically shake this off.] I can't do this. I can't do this, I can't keep doing this, I mean-

[He sucks in a breath, trying to keep his voice steady and slow down enough so be intelligible.]

Chris read comics about me. Me! And there are gonna be other kids, other people, who think because I'm doing it, that they can do it too. And I mean, what do I know, right? It's not like I had any idea what the hell I was doing when I got started, I didn't have training or go to school for it or anything, I could be the guy in that bed right now, and I can't, I can't- [His voice breaks, and his eyes are wet, but he's too upset to be embarrassed, and he's tired and worn out and so fucking confused, because he'd just been trying to do something good. He'd just been trying to avenge his uncle, and then just wanted to help people, and now...]

I just wanted to help, you know? [His voice sounds like it's crumbling, and he can't really look at James when he says it, but he finally forces himself to, eyes wide and red and helpless.] But like, you've got training, I've got superpowers. Someone like Chris doesn't. What's gonna stop some other kid who sees me doing this from putting on a cape and a mask and taking on some guy with a gun?

[Bond bends down, grasps Peter's shoulder and squeezes tight. He's freaking out, and what he needs now is - well. Bond thinks he could use a verbal slap to the face.]

Chris may have meant well, but he was stupid. Don't think for a moment that what happened to him is your fault. Are you going to stop helping people because some bloody idiot gets into his head that he can do what you can?

[He lets go of Peter's shoulder, straightening again and shaking his head.] If you're going to blame yourself for other peoples' mistakes, then you ought to quit now. Guilt will get you killed.

[He remembers that well.]

[There's a part of him that wants to shake him off, that wants to say yep, yep he's quitting, because this is such bullshit, but he can't. He has a responsibility, a moral obligation to help those people, to do these things, and he can't just give up on that. Even if he kind of wants to.

So he takes a couple deep breaths and finally nods firmly, trying to actually calm down this time.]

Right. Right. Sorry.

[Bond watches him for a moment, deciding if this is Pete giving in or digging in. Finally, he stretches his hand down to help him up.]

What you do is incredible. [He's quiet, very.] For no pay, no recognition or acknowledgement, you put yourself in harm's way for the sake of other people. There aren't many who would do that.

[God knows if he'd come into those powers as a teen, he'd have been a terror.]

[You totally would have been. At least you're self aware enough to know that.

But Peter hears every word and listens with a sort of awed, rapt attention. It isn't often that he's heard people tell him that he's done good (usually, they're calling him a public menace and putting a reward out on his head), and the fact that it's coming from someone who doesn't give out praise like that lightly makes it even more startling. It feels good to hear it, and for a brief second, he almost feels like he might cry just out of gratitude.

He doesn't, though, instead just taking James' hand and holding on tightly as he gets up. It's probably the closest thing to a hug either one of them's willing to go for, here.]

My uncle said if you can do good things for other people, you have a moral obligation to do those things. I guess my dad said it, too.

[It's an explanation, an awkward attempt to brush it off a little and make it sound like it's no big deal, even if the praise really kind of is, for him.

So.]

Thanks. For saying that.

[Bond holds onto his hand even once he's up; it is the closest they'll get, so it has to be good enough. He nods, squeeze's Pete's hand a little tighter before letting go.]

They were good men. [Moral obligation. He never considered it that way, and he certainly doesn't work the way Pete does - can't - but he's not that far off.

He can't stay here with his head buried in the sand forever.]

So are you.

Thanks. Seriously. [He manages a small but appreciative smile - it's probably stupid that he actually feels kind of shy, or embarrassed for accepting and enjoying the praise - and then rubs his hands over his face, taking another deep breath.]

So... I guess we should head back.

[Bond grunts in return, turning in the vague direction he knows the exit to be. It's very far off.

And he laughs quietly, shaking his head.]

Maybe not at a dead run. [He's wiped.]

God, no. [He could maybe manage it, but - no offense - you couldn't. And he doesn't want you overexerting yourself more than you already have.

(Sorry, he loves you, so he worries. B( )]

Do you want to, like- [He feels weird for suggesting it, but.] I don't know. Go to the pub, or something?

[Worry wort. B(

Just don't ever give voice to those concerns, Bond would be terrifically insulted.]

I could use a drink. [He smiles wryly.] Are you going to spike your soda?

[He won't. B(]

... I guess? [HE COULD TRY...?]

[Well he is just outright laughing.]

Have a beer.

Sure. I'll give it a shot.

[And he will totally try to finish it gdi. >:CCCC]

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