Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 10: Purpose

[Third Person's PoV] 


Damon and Richard decided to call it a day. Damon’s back was aching far too much for him to continue, and both of them agreed it would be better to resume their training the following afternoon.


The next day, after school let out, Damon and Richard strolled down the sidewalk side by side, each holding a half-eaten ice cream in hand. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows as they made their way toward the abandoned warehouse they’d chosen as their makeshift training ground.


“We should focus on practicing how you can swing and move today,” Richard said, taking a bite of his cone as they stopped by the curb, waiting for the pedestrian signal to turn green. “That place is perfect—it’s big, but not too big. You’ll have enough room to maneuver without having to worry about anyone spotting you.”


Before Damon could reply, a sudden, panicked voice pierced the air.


“Alan, wait—no!”


Both boys turned toward the sound, eyes widening in shock as they saw a toddler stumble out into the busy street. The child had broken free from his mother’s grasp, chasing after a shiny coin that had fallen from his hand and rolled into traffic.


“Da—!!” Richard began to shout, reaching out instinctively, but he didn’t need to finish.


Damon felt something sharp and electric spark at the base of his neck. Invisible, squiggly lines pulsed just above his head, and then—everything slowed. Time itself seemed to stretch.


Before he could even think, his body sprang into action. It was like his instincts took over entirely. He dropped his backpack without a second thought and stuffed the remainder of his popsicle into his mouth. Then he moved.


In a blur of motion, Damon sprinted forward, weaving effortlessly through stunned pedestrians. He reached the child just as a car bore down on him, the driver frozen in panic. With astonishing speed and grace, Damon scooped up the toddler and, placing a single hand on the hood of the oncoming vehicle, propelled himself into the air.


He soared, performing a smooth, acrobatic flip over the car. The vehicle screeched beneath him, tires screaming against the asphalt. Damon landed perfectly, knees bent in a solid crouch, cradling the toddler safely in his arms.


Richard stood frozen on the sidewalk, jaw hanging open. He couldn’t speak—he could barely breathe—as he watched his friend rise to his feet, unharmed and composed.


The car skidded to a stop several feet away, its driver staring in disbelief. More cars behind it came to sudden halts, causing a chorus of honks and gasps from startled onlookers. Then, slowly, applause began to ripple through the crowd of witnesses.


“Thank you! Thank you!” the toddler’s mother cried as she rushed over, her eyes filled with tears. She gently took her child from Damon’s arms and cradled him close, murmuring reassurances and gratitude. “Oh, my baby… You’re an angel,” she added, gazing at Damon with awe, noting the soft, snowy elegance of his youthful face.


“You’re welcome,” Damon replied calmly, pulling the now-popsicle-less stick from his mouth just as Richard jogged over, holding out Damon’s dropped bag.


“Here,” Richard said, handing it to him. “Let’s go. Before someone starts asking questions.”


The two slipped away as quietly and quickly as they could, disappearing into the shifting crowd.


…


By the time they reached the warehouse, Richard still hadn’t stopped talking about what had happened.


“Man, that was insane! I wish I’d had my phone out. The way you just leapt over that car—legendary!” he said, still pumped with adrenaline. “Seriously, you looked like something out of a movie.”


Damon, still catching his breath from the surreal experience, shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said, flicking the empty popsicle stick away into the distance. “Right before I moved, I felt this weird tingling at the back of my neck. Then everything just… slowed down. Like, really slowed down.”


“Like some kind of danger sense?” Richard asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “That could be huge. If that’s what it is, we need to test it. I’ll add that to the list of things we need to examine today.”


He glanced around the dim, echoing space of the warehouse and clapped his hands together. “In the meantime, let’s get set up and start practicing.”


…


Damon stood on the rusted railing of the second floor inside the dimly lit warehouse, his stance steady and confident. He looked up, aimed carefully, and fired a web toward a support beam high on the ceiling. The web stuck with a satisfying thwip, and he grabbed the line with both hands, testing its strength before giving a firm nod.


“Go ahead!” Richard called out from below, cupping his hands around his mouth and giving Damon two enthusiastic thumbs up.


Damon inhaled deeply, steeling himself. Then, without hesitation, he leapt forward. “Woooaaahhhh!!!” he shouted as momentum took him into a graceful swing across the warehouse interior.


Mid-swing, he let go and shot another web, this one stretching farther ahead. He caught it and launched himself forward again, then another shot—and another. He zipped through the air like a pendulum, weaving between old support beams and broken catwalks with growing confidence.


Richard followed below, turning on the spot to keep up with Damon’s fluid movements, awestruck. Each time Damon fired a web, the sound echoed through the vast, empty space. With each swing, he pulled himself faster and farther.


Then, just for the fun of it, Damon twisted his body into a front flip midair before firing a web ahead to catch himself. He pushed off the wall and let out a bright, unrestrained laugh, exhilarated by the freedom of movement.


Finally, he launched himself toward Richard and somersaulted one last time before landing with a clean crouch a few feet away. Both boys now had wide grins stretched across their faces, breathless with excitement.


“Ha! Ha! Ha!” they both cheered, high on adrenaline as they slapped hands three times, then jumped up and chest-bumped each other like athletes celebrating a winning play.


Richard, however, went flying backward from the impact, landing on the floor with a loud oof. He winced and laughed at the same time, rubbing his chest. “Damn, bro! I keep forgetting how strong you’ve gotten,” he said between chuckles.


“Sorry about that,” Damon said with a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head as he helped Richard back up.


…


A little while later, Richard held a few pieces of rubble he’d gathered from the shattered brick pillar Damon had destroyed earlier in the week.


“Alright, you mentioned feeling some kind of danger sense, right?” Richard asked, weighing the rocks in his hand. “Let’s put that to the test. Turn around, and I’ll throw this at you. Let me know if you sense it coming.”


Damon nodded and turned his back. “Go ahead…”


Richard bounced one of the stones in his palm, then flicked it sharply toward Damon’s back.


Without turning around, Damon shifted effortlessly to the side and caught the piece of rubble midair.


Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay… that was pretty cool.”


Then, without warning, he rapid-fired the rest of the rubble pieces. One after another flew toward Damon, but each time, Damon reacted in perfect rhythm—sidestepping, ducking, and catching them with almost casual ease. His back remained turned the entire time, like he was listening to an invisible signal.


After catching the final one, Damon turned around calmly and crushed all the stones between his fingers, reducing them to coarse sand that trickled to the floor.


“Show-off,” Richard scoffed, a smirk creeping across his face. He reached for his notebook and scribbled something down. “Okay, okay… not just danger sense. Let’s call it… Spidey-Sense.”


Damon gave him a blank, deadpan stare. “Seriously? That’s so lame.”


“What? It works, doesn’t it? Plus, it sounds way better than just ‘danger sense.’ It’s catchy!” Richard laughed, tapping his pen on the notebook for emphasis.


…


Over the next few hours—and eventually days—the two continued their tests and experiments, refining Damon’s abilities in secret. Time flew by as they practiced web-slinging, strength control, agility, and reaction speed. Before long, a full week had passed since Damon was bitten.


The warehouse had become their private training ground, now marked by all kinds of makeshift trials. Stray strands of webbing hung from beams and walls like silken vines. Along the railing, a neat row of empty Coke cans stood, many surrounded by splattered webbing from target practice. Some cans were even stuck to the ceiling or embedded in the wall, remnants of Damon’s increasingly accurate shots.


In the middle of the warehouse stood their proudest creation: a giant web formation, intricately woven and suspended between several brick pillars like a hammock spun by a titan-sized spider.


Damon and Richard lay sprawled on the massive web, backs against the cool silk-like surface, Richard had his arms behind his head as they stared up at the aging, rust-stained ceiling in silence. The distant sounds of the city faded into the background.


“Say…” Richard finally broke the silence, his voice thoughtful, almost hesitant. “What are you planning on doing?”


Damon didn’t move, his hands folded neatly over his stomach as he lay on the web. “About what exactly?”


“With your gifts, I mean,” Richard clarified. “Are you… planning on doing something more with them?”


Damon turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”


Richard sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsure how to phrase what was on his mind. “I don’t know. I just think it’d be a waste not to do something meaningful with them, y’know?”


“Meaningful like using them for entertainment? Viral videos? Live shows?” Damon asked dryly.


“I’m being serious here, Damon,” Richard said with a quiet sigh. “You know exactly what I mean. I just can’t stop thinking about that little boy you saved the other day. You were able to help him because of your powers. That… that meant something.”


Damon groaned softly, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling. “You’re not saying I should put on a mask and become some kind of superhero, are you?”


“I mean… kinda?” Richard admitted, hugging his knees to his chest trying to protect himself from his own bold idea. “I know it sounds childish, but think about it. Think about how many more people you could save. The kind of difference you could make.”


Damon sat up slowly, legs crossed. He looked at Richard with a furrowed brow. “I get what you’re saying, but… I don’t think I can do that. That’s a heavy commitment, man. Dangerous, too. I’m not the heroic type. I just don’t see it.”


“Yeah, realistically speaking, I get that,” Richard said with a soft nod. “But honestly? I think we left the realm of realism the moment you started casually walking up walls.”


That earned a short chuckle from Damon, but it quickly faded into silence again.


Richard glanced off to the side, his expression turning pensive. “Okay, this might sound stupid… but do you ever wonder what our purpose in life is? Like… the reason we’re alive? Our role in this world?”


“All the time,” Damon replied, his voice quiet, almost distant. “You have no idea how many times I’ve asked myself that question…”


‘More so toward the beginning of my reincarnation,’ he thought silently.


“Well…” Richard turned to him, eyes full of uncertain hope. “What if this is your purpose?”


Damon gave him an incredulous look. “My purpose is to be a hero?”


Richard blushed slightly—hard to notice because of his dark complexion, but the sheepishness was clear. “Not a ‘hero’ hero, per se… but someone who does good. Someone who actually makes a difference.”


He smiled faintly. “Maybe that spider chose you for a reason. Out of everyone in that room, you were the one it crawled toward. You were the one it bit. Maybe… it was fate.”


“Hmm… maybe,” Damon muttered, lips curling into a small, thoughtful smile. Then he tilted his head and smirked. “So, if I’m the hero, what’s that make you? My sidekick?”


“Oh, shut up,” Richard groaned, shoving him playfully in the shoulder. “I hate that word. I’m not your sidekick—I’m more like… your partner. Your right-hand man.”


Damon let out a laugh. “My partner? What are we, married now?”


Richard rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so annoying. You know what I meant. And for the record, if we were married, you’d be the one wearing the dress.”


Damon smirked. “I do look good in anything I wear.”


They both burst into laughter, the kind that came easily between friends who had known each other for years.


After the moment settled, Richard glanced back at Damon, his tone softening again. “Hey… have you ever thought about what you’d do if you did have powers? Like, back when it was just a fantasy?”


“Not really,” Damon shrugged, looking away. “I’m kind of a selfish person. I’d probably only think about myself.”


Richard scoffed. “That’s such a lie.”


Damon raised an eyebrow. “What?”


“I swear, sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself,” Richard said.


Before Damon could respond, Richard kept going. “If you were truly selfish, you wouldn’t have jumped in to save that kid.”


Damon frowned, caught off guard. “What’s that got to do with anything? Just because I’m selfish doesn’t mean I’d let a kid get turned into a ragdoll—”


He cut off as he caught Richard’s smirking expression. That same idiot smile that said, ‘Gotcha.’


“See?” Richard said simply. “You can’t help yourself when someone needs help. Doesn’t matter if you call yourself selfish. Your actions say something else.”


Damon sighed, looking away, clearly flustered. “Whatever…”


Richard tilted his head. “So, what were you thinking when you saved that kid? What was going through your head?”


Damon went quiet for a moment, reflecting. “…I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted. “My body just moved on its own.”


Richard laughed and rolled over dramatically across the web. “That is such a hero thing to say.”


“Oh, stick a sock in it,” Damon groaned, face warming with embarrassment.


Richard only laughed harder, then smiled softly. “Look… I know it’s your life, your choice. I don’t get a say in what you do. But for what it’s worth? I think you’d make a fantastic hero.”


Damon scoffed quietly, his eyes drifting down to his hands as he began rubbing them together. There was doubt there—uncertainty—but also the faintest flicker of consideration.


Richard watched him for a moment, then shook his head. “Honestly, the only thing holding you back is yourself—and the fact that you’re lazy.”


Damon smirked, sarcasm slipping back in. “Thanks, coach.”


Richard chuckled. “I’m serious. You have this bad habit of not using your full potential. And I don’t just mean in boxing. Even before all this? You were smart. But you stopped trying. You let yourself coast.”


Damon didn’t argue this time. He sat in silence, the weight of Richard’s words pressing down. Deep down, he knew it was true. He’d developed the habit of drifting through life. After all—he’d already lived once. Why bother trying so hard again?


But now, for the first time in a long while, something in him stirred.