Faith In Humanity- Only Human, part 3

Title: Faith In Humanity
Author: sarah531
Rating: PG13 bordering on R
Fandom: Spider-Man movieverse
Author’s Notes: A while back I attempted a Spider-Man movieverse fanfic called Everyone Has A Choice, and I never finished it. This is that fic mashed down and rebuilt. It has something bordering on a plot now. :p
Summary: After the Queensboro Bridge incident, everyone involved struggles through the aftermath. Ursula Ditkovich was not involved, but she struggles through the aftermath nonetheless. And an unhappy middle-aged woman, after taking a job at the Osborn manor, suddenly finds herself an unwilling participant in the battle for a young man’s soul.

Only Human, part 3
The World And Superhumanity by Anna D. Webb:

I have for many years read letters in the newspaper claiming they know Spider-Man’s real identity. He’s the man behind the counter in the TV repair shop, he’s a train driver, a homeless man in the street, someone’s son or even someone’s daughter. Not all of the letters can be anywhere near the truth; and it’s most likely that none of them are near the truth. But reading the letters, it seems to me that everyone, somehow, wants to know who he is, and wants him to belong, in a way, to them alone…


16th April 2003:

Peter went out shopping for a present on the morning of MJ’s birthday, kicking himself for leaving it so late. It wasn’t like he had many opportunities to shop, though. Hell, he didn’t even have a proper job yet. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t leave town without a present, not for anything, and hit the shops.

He stopped at a clothes store, realised fashion had never been his forte (he patroled the streets in spandex, after all) and left again. He tried other shops, but he couldn’t find a thing that really stood out. If he showed up with nothing, what on earth would she think of him?

Something popped into his head all of a sudden: supposing he gave her his present, and she said thanks Peter- there’s something I have to tell you- I have a boyfriend now.

A boyfriend who isn’t you- someone who’s reliable and predictable. You used to be predictable, then you changed. Everything changed…

He shook his head slightly and went back to the presents. MJ was about to hit the modelling scene, so there had to be something…

Make-up seemed too impersonal. So did earrings or shoes. Maybe he should get her a notebook, seeing as she’d given him one for his own birthday? But that seemed…uncreative.

Still, it was nice to have something simple as his biggest problem, if only for the time being.

The other problem was that whatever he bought it couldn’t be anything too expensive- he had very little money, after all. The thought of money was also what made him pick up an application form from most of the stores he went to. He didn’t care how bad of a job it was- if it paid, he wanted it.

Finally he found something he thought seemed pretty good- a charm bracelet. They were currently a desired fashion item: you could pick out a chain of silver or gold, and then select specific charms to go on the chain- little metal kittens or dolphins or stars. He could just about afford a decent one.

He picked out the charms at the counter: a heart, a mask (to represent her acting ambition), an eye (it looked a little creepy, but that was the one charm no-one had used), a tiny little book (for an extra fee you could have initials engraved on the front of it, but he didn’t have the money for that), and a spider.

He looked at the spider for a long time. Maybe he should take it off. It was designed to be a ‘cute’ spider, with big cartoony gold eyes, but maybe it was too obvious…or maybe not. It would mean paying for one less charm if he took it off and left it…

“You happy with that, sir?” the girl behind the counter asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said, giving up. “How much is it, please?”

The girl took it and counted the charms. “Thirty dollars.”

Peter handed over the money, and the girl gave him the bracelet in a silver box. “For someone special?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Yeah, it is.”


By that afternoon, he was feeling rather pleased with himself. He was back in costume, and observing the city from a roof- all seemed well- and in the evening he’d be able to go to the party and catch up with his friends. Perhaps things were finally going his way for once.

A scream from a nearby alley provided a rebuttal answer for that. Spider-Man actually rolled his eyes a little, and swung over to see what the problem was. He found a man lying unconcious in an alleyway. So he drizzled some water from a nearby puddle over him and waited for him to wake up.

When he did, he screamed and backed away, right against the wall as if trying to go through it.

“Chill,” Spider-Man said. “What happened?”

The man didn’t chill, but he did sink into a quivering heap on the floor. “You,” he finally said, “You ain’t gonna lock me up…?”

“No,” Spider-Man said, figuring he could always go back on that later. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Fuck, man, you’re gonna lock me up…”

“No I won’t. Come on. Explanation?”

“Owe him money.”


“That man. He’s …my ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend.” The man’s hands were shaking. “He does drugs, you know, and other shit. My girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, she let me stay at their house, said he wouldn’t mind.” His voice rose to a wail. “Said I might have to give him a bit of money, you know, for the rent. And I did! But he won’t stop. Given him hundreds of dollars and he won’t stop.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. He beat me up,” the man said, an unexpected edge of dry humour in his tone. “Just now.”

“Then let’s get you to hospital.” Spider-Man said.

“Wait! You didn’t hear what he said, did you? What he said just now, before he ran off.”


“Him and his buddies, they’re coming back to get me, and my money. Ten ‘o clock tonight, he said,” He twisted his hands together nervously. “I’ve got nothing. Not a dollar left.”

Spider-Man said nothing.

“They’ll kill me. Or damn close to it.”

“Ten o’ clock?”

“Will you stop them?” The man’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re lower down than pond scum. Drug dealers and burglars. They need taken off the street…”

“Ten? They’ll be be to get you at ten?”

“Yeah. Will you help me?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You’ve got to, haven’t you? Else you’ll have left someone behind to get beaten to death.”

Peter, under the mask, sighed.

“Alright. You stay here and wait for me. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To change my heroics schedule.”


Ursula Ditkovich’s Diary, 17th April 2003:

Peter came back very late at night, two am I think. Sounded exhausted. Just went in and collapsed on the bed.

I dunno where he’s been. Probably just out partying with his friends. Can’t see him at a nightclub, though. Although I can see him with friends. I sort of wish I was his friend. I think it’d do him good to have someone here, in this crappy little place. I think I sound like an idiot again.


The Daily Bugle, 17th April 2003:

HE STRIKES AGAIN: Authorities today found five men tied up with webbing outside a police station. Two of them were wanted criminals; none of them have of yet been named. Advice to the wallcrawler: this is a grosteque breach of human rights- we have the police for a reason. Enough is enough. We want an end to this revolting wilful ignorance of the law.