Work Text:
The article she reads goes like this:
MAYOR DE BLASIO ANNOUNCES SPIDER-MAN DAY
Set your calendars, folks: March 1 is now an official NYC holiday dedicated to everyone’s favorite web-slinging superhero.
This announcement is a shock to most, considering De Blasio’s anti-Spider-Man comments in the past. In fact, just a couple weeks ago, he classified Spider-Man as an “illegal vigilante,’ and a ‘nuisance to New Yorkers.’ It is unclear what exactly changed his mind.
Honestly, does it matter?
Even Tony Stark took to Twitter to celebrate the announcement, claiming succinctly: “it’s about damn time.”
tony stark @tonystark
[quote tweet: National Spider-Man Day to Take Place On March 1]
it’s about damn time.
Other public figures weren’t as pleased with the news. Donald Trump used his platform to complain, though what else is new?
Donald Trump @realDonaldTrump
[quote tweet: National Spider-Man Day to Take Place On March 1]
These lazy socialist LOSERS will do anything to take a day off of work!!!! Where is my Donald Trump Day, De Blasio?
It’s always a good sign when Trump disagrees with you.
What do you think about Spider-Man Day? Tell us in the comments below!
After she’s done reading, Sally squeezes her Spider-Man pillow to her chest and squeals.
--
On March 1, Sally is dressed in a Spider-Man shirt, a Spider-Man hat, and a pair of jeans dotted with tiny Spider-Men. She had been planning to spend the day volunteering with that Spidey-endorsed charity, but her plan’s foiled when MJ insists on holding AcaDec practice.
Sally tries to protest, comparing the holiday to Independence Day. Would MJ hold practice on Independence Day?
mj
yes. yes i would. good idea, by the way. practice on july 4 next year everyone. i hope you know i’m fully serious
So. That backfires.
She ends up conceding, with a written promise from each member of the team that they’ll bring the Spidey spirit. Abe has a T-Shirt, is that good enough? No, Abe, not at all. Spider-Man saved your ass in DC and this is the thanks he gets? The rest of the group chat grows quiet after that, and Sally has the impression that she’s scared them. Perfect.
For good measure, Sally grabs her brother’s sheet of temporary tattoos and presses a Spider-Man mask to the back of her hand. Setting a good example and all that.
--
They decide to hold practice at the library at 5:00 PM. Sally decides to arrive at the library at 3:00 PM. Somehow, MJ still manages to arrive ahead of her.
“Hey, Avril,” MJ says.
She’s just wearing a Spider-Man tee, and even though Sally had already told Abe that that amount of merch wouldn’t suffice, Sally just doesn’t have the balls to ask MJ to change.
“I still can’t believe you’re making us practice today.”
MJ rolls her eyes and flips the page of the book she’s reading. East of Eden – John Steinbeck. Sally isn’t sure how MJ puts up with all of those classics she’s always reading. They’re awful.
“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to making it to Nationals again. We’re not missing valuable practice time for some fake-ass holiday.”
Sally gasps. The noise ends up sounding overdramatic, but it is one hundred percent genuine, because how dare MJ slander Spider-Man like that?
“You take it back, Michelle Jones.”
“Hm.” MJ glances over the top of her book. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“You know, I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Spider-Man.”
That’s the truth. That’s the truth that Sally’s combed ten times over in her mind. Before bed, usually, when the snapping of that cable won’t leave her alone. When her stomach starts dropping, on those extra-dark nights when she is back in the elevator – or at least it really, really feels that way. Spider-Man's the only one who’ll calm her nerves during those. And she has to confess something here: she’s climbed out her window and down the fire escape and waited for Spider-Man to swing across the skyline and ask can I help? more times than she’d like to admit.
But that’s what Spider-Man does for Queens, is the thing. That’s his schtick. ‘No problem too small,’ and everything – and yet Spider-Man gives you the distinct impression that he has time for you. It’s a gift, Sally concludes, and New York is incredibly lucky that he chooses to share it with them.
“I like Spider-Man,” MJ says. She seems to think something over. “But who even knows if he wants this holiday? He isn’t – never seemed like someone who likes the attention.”
That’s something Sally hasn’t thought about. She swallows hard and chooses not to think of it anymore.
“Either way. Nationals aren’t for another three months.”
“Mm-hm, Nationals are in three months. Have I mentioned that I plan on making it there?” MJ glances up from Steinbeck to level Sally with an unimpressed eyebrow.
Sally gets it. There must be a lot of pressure on MJ’s shoulders, with Liz and everything. But the least Sally can do for Spider-Man, after everything he's done for her, is to celebrate it all.
“Well, enjoy your shitty book,” she grumbles.
This has no effect on MJ.
“I will.” And then she even smiles, seemingly just to get a rise out of Sally.
Another grumble.
--
The team files in over the next few hours, and everyone appears to have been suitably scared off by Sally’s threats save one Peter Benjamin Parker.
Abe wears the aforementioned Spider-Man shirt, plus a blue and red bucket hat with the tag still attached. Charles is decked out in all red and blue. Then he’s also scrawled the words WE LOVE YOU SPIDER-MAN across his arm in what seems to be red sharpie. Now that’s the level of dedication she’s looking for.
“Every day is Spider-Man Day. I like how you think, Charles.”
Charles blinks and scratches at the sentence. The alarm in his eyes grows as the skin only turns red and irritated, and the marker doesn’t even smudge. “Fuck.”
“Fucking awesome!” She shoots a pair of finger guns that Charles doesn’t return. Doesn’t matter, he’s still got the marker on his arm.
One by one, the AcaDec team troops past her. More like scampers. Sally isn’t sure what they’re afraid of – she had only doled out a few minor threats (“i’ll eat your pinky toes. don’t think i won’t bitches”) – but she isn’t going to complain. Sure, the meet has zero affect on Spider-Man, but at least she can feel that she’s tried to do something to even the scales a tiny bit.
(It’s impossible for someone to give and give. Call her a cynic. It’s impossible for someone to give and give, and at some point they’ll need to start taking and Sally isn’t sure what else Spider-Man might want.)
Ned steps by, fully decked out with a wide grin spread across his face. He’s even got a pair of Spidey Nikes. Beside him, though, is Peter Parker.
The smile drops from Sally’s face.
“Peter,” she says, cutting her gaze into Peter’s eyes. He immediately looks away and peels at his collar. “You’re not even wearing blue and red.”
It’s almost as though Peter’s just trying to spite her – no, not her, Spider-Man. How dare he?
“Sally, I -”
“No, Peter. Spider-Man – Spider-Man gives me hope. That’s why he has a holiday, and that’s why we all care about him so much. He – he – he gives us hope. His goodness gives us hope.”
Sally sighs. She’s lost sight of what the holiday’s about, hasn’t she?
“Sorry. I’m - I’m sorry. Maybe I went a little... crazy.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “But it’s just me caring loudly. Just – don't you guys get it? We almost died. One second we would have been alive, and the next,” - she makes a small explosion with her fingers - “Kaput. Kaput. The only reason we aren’t is Spider-Man, and... I don’t know...” Chuckling humorlessly, Sally bangs the back of her head against the wall. “I don’t know. You can take all of this dumb stuff off. I’m sorry for – I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Wait,” Peter says softly. He touches her arm, and it has the feeling of immediacy. “I’m sorry.”
“No - no, don’t apologize. MJ’s right. This is a fake holiday. Probably just a publicity stunt. God, what was I thinking -”
“Maybe. But it’s not fake to you. And, er, the problem was just that I didn’t have any Spider-Man stuff. Y-Y'know, I would have worn it otherwise.”
Sally lights up. “Well, that can be easily solved. MJ, we’ll be missing practice today.”
“Um -”
“Yes. That sounds like a good idea.”
Both Peter and Sally gawk.
“Does it, Michelle?” The former asks. “Does it really?”
“Oh, it does, Parker.”
They then have some sort of silent conversation. It's a dance that Sally doesn't follow, filled with eyebrow waggles from Peter and smirks from MJ, but at the end of it Peter turns to Sally with a look of surrender on his face.
“So. Spider-Man.”
--
There’s no shortage of opportunities to purchase Spider-Shit, but Sally’s determined to find the best items for Peter. Or maybe she’s just avoiding practice. There’s no way to tell which is the truth.
“Hey, Sally?” Peter asks, kicking at the gravel with the toe of his canvas sneaker. “Why do you... why do you think Spider-Man's such a good guy?”
Sally’s jaw drops open and she doesn’t even try to stop it.
“You’re joking. You better be joking.”
“I...”
“Peter. Jesus. Are you trying to be, like, quirky or something? Because Spider-Man is an objectively good person.”
“But -”
“My grandma was in town. She had just bought some groceries when her bag split down the middle, right in the middle of the street. Nobody cared. She was bent over and almost threw her back out – Grandma's words, not mine - when Spider-Man swung over with a reusable bag and helped her gather everything up off the pavement.”
“Okay, sure, but -”
“My neighbors lost their cat. They put up, like, five dozen posters all around town. Spider-Man was the one who brought her home, after only two days. That cat means the world to them.”
“Sally -”
“Me.” Sally takes a deep breath. This is the hard part, the part that makes her heart go th-thump, th-thump until it’s all the way up her throat. “And not just in DC. I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for Spider-Man. I don’t know if I’d -” She clears his throat. “If I’d have made it through. But I did, and that's for one reason. One person. He’s the best person out there, Peter. The best. New York needs him – I need him. I just - I don’t want him to think I take him for granted. I wanted him to know how much he means to me. It was dumb, I know – I'm sorry again.”
The gears are turning in Peter’s head. He stares at the ground, brow furrowed, misty-eyed.
“Do you really think that?” He asks finally. The words catch in his throat, in a way that shows he’s holding back tears.
“What?”
“That Spider-Man's - he's making a difference? He’s doing the right thing?”
They reach a small stand. A folding table, two lawn chairs, some streamers, and a blue cardstock banner that reads: THANK YOU SPIDER-MAN. FREE COOKIES.
“This is it,” Sally decides. “This is what you have to get.”
He frowns. “Huh?”
“Look, Peter. Look at this.” She gestures to the crowd of people by the stand, many of them standing beside similar booths of their own. “Spider-Man isn’t here, and he’s still helping people. This is an entire community brought together to celebrate him. An entire community sharing what they can, because Spider-Man inspires all of us to be better.”
Sally reaches the kiosk and smiles at the child behind the table. He can’t be more than eight years old, and his mother is resting beside him. They both grin back at her.
“Cookie?” The boy asks.
“We’d love one.”
Gingerly, she selects one of the desserts from the platter. It’s circular-ish, decorated with clumps of thick red frosting and thinner lines of black icing, plus white for the eyes. When Sally hands Peter the cookie, she jerks back in surprise. He’s crying. Not just tearing up, but crying. Tears fully streaming down his cheeks, dropping under his chin.
“Peter?”
“Thank you,” he says, accepting the cookie. “I... thank you.”
--
The next day, Sally’s morning starts like this:
Tony Stark is lounging on the turquoise beanbag in the corner of her room, swiping through holographic files.
Sally screams.
“Hey, hey, stop that racket,” Tony says. He cringes and wrinkles his nose. “Jesus, I really do sound like an old man. Just for the record, how old do you think I look?”
Sally opens her mouth to scream again, and then shuts it to ponder the question. And then she opens her mouth right back up again and screams, because Tony Stark is in her bedroom and she never let him in.
"Hey, hey! I come in peace.” He raises his arms to prove it, palms outstretched. “I just wanted to thank you.”
Sally blinks. “Um,” she finally squeaks out.
“Yeah, I get it. I’ve been told that my methods are slightly unorthodox. I like to say creative. Variety is the spice of life, and you can quote me on that.”
“Um -”
Tony looks affronted. “Woah. Cool it with the backtalk, kid. Respect your elders. Not that I’m an elder, per se. I don’t look it, right? My old man looked at least fifty when he was my age -”
“Um -”
“Ah. Right. Back to business.” He frowns and pats himself down. “Why am I here?”
“Um -”
“Peter. Yes. Right. I need you to sign an NDA.”
“Um -”
“I’d also recommend stretching your vocabulary out a bit. There are words other than ‘um’ out there, kid. Dictionaries are online nowadays - Jesus, maybe I am -”
“Mr. Stark,” Sally says, finally gathering up her voice and setting it loose. “Why exactly do I have to sign an NDA?”
Tony raises his eyebrows. “I’m not just going to let you sell Spider-Man's identity to the highest bidder, kid.” And Sally doesn’t even have enough time to realize what the fuck that means, because Tony’s pulling a folder out of his satchel and clasping her fingers around it. “Sign there, there, there, and there, and then I’ll need a guardian to sign there and there. We’ll bullshit them about some sort of SI internship. Huh. Getting some deja vu. Weird. Anyway, if you’ll just sign -”
“Peter is Spider-Man?!” Betty yells.
“Uh. Yes. You know this.” He hesitates. “You know this – Jesus, that kid – Peter said that you 'waxed poetic' about Spider-Man. I had to look up what the hell that meant. Why would you -”
“Because I really like Spider-Man!”
A beat.
Tony exhales slowly, shutting his lids halfway down over his eyes and scrubbing a palm down the stubble on his cheek.
“I’m going to need you to sign there, there, there, and there. And then I’ll need a guardian to sign -”
“Mr. Stark!” A very familiar voice calls out. Then that familiar voice is prying open Sally’s window and leaping through the room, and how did Sally not connect the dots sooner?
“Oh. Hi, Sally. I didn’t realize you were going to be here.”
“You didn’t realize I was going to be here, in my room?”
Spider-Man – Peter Parker, the wheezy asthmatic who can’t run a lap without keeling over – shrugs and does a backflip for the hell of it. A backflip.
“Anyway, Mr. Stark, I talked to MJ and apparently this was all a big miscommunication -”
“You think?” Tony huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “Sally, could you give us some time alone?”
“This is my -”
“Don’t even bother arguing with him,” Peter says miserably.
Sally glances between the two superheroes and collapses onto her bed. “What the fuck is happening. What the fuck. What the fuck.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Tony says, and pats her on the back. “Now sign there, there, there, and there, and there, and then I’ll need a guardian to sign there and there.”
Sally blinks. She signs.