SHE HAD BEEN GONE FOR OVER AN HOUR. SHE TEXTED FLASH EVERY FIVE MINUTES TO LET HIM KNOW SHE WAS OKAY, BUT SHE WASN'T GOING BACK HOME UNTIL SHE WAS CALM. It was surprising to learn that they let her have her space, even if they did text her enough times to seem smothering. Flash had run off so many times, they understood how to act in situations like this.

She walked along the sidewalk, looking around every so often. Attached to her key was pepper spray, a precaution that Rosie had opted for wholeheartedly. She gripped the key and pepper spray tightly in her hand, hoping she wouldn't have to use it.

She shook her head, feeling tears start to well up in her eyes, her throat closing. No matter how long it had been, that one interview still dictated her entire life. It changed the way people looked at her, how they spoke to her, how they knew about her. Even her extended family, whom she had never even heard, of had seen the interview.

She wiped at her eyes. She was not going to cry, not in public, it attracted attention no one wanted that late at night.

As she rounded the corner, she heard someone shouting. She jumped, gripping her pepper spray. She glanced at the cross walk. The light was green and there were little to no cars; she could just walk away.

Another shout. More of a groan. Someone was getting hurt. She thought back to all the times she hid in her room, listening to Flash and Jesse or around the corner, listening to Peter.

She wasn't going to walk away. After everything that happened, she need to do something she could be proud of; it would be easy considering she stopped caring about her well-being the minute she ran out of the apartment.

She walked down the street, nearing the sound of the fight. She stopped by the edge of the alley; the sounds were coming from there. She glanced quickly down and saw someone hovering over a body. It was an open alley, so they could run out the other end.

She glanced around and saw a pile of boxes at the edge. Pressing herself against the wall, she kicked the boxes, letting the sound ring down the alley, blocking the escape on that side.

She heard someone curse and footsteps quickly retreat, moving away from her end of the alley. She peered down and found the body lying there; the person was moving.

Pulling out her phone, she ran down the alley, stopping a few feet away. Maybe she shouldn't approach and wait for the cops. No, she could see blood, she had to get closer, she couldn't just let them bleed out while waiting for the cops.

She walked carefully. "H-hello? Can you hear me, are you alright?" She mentally berated herself; of course the person wasn't alright, they were barely moving and were in the middle of an alleyway.

The person groaned and turned on their side to face her and she stopped short. The first thing to catch her attention was the red mask.

The Spider-Man.

He tried to scramble away, only to shout, falling back. She caught sight of the tear on the left arm; it was bleeding.

"Hey," she said, falling into a crouch, "I'm gonna call the cops, they'll get the guy, then get you to a hospital."

"No hospital," he said quickly, shaking his head.

She scoffed. "You're bleeding and I think your kneecap might be dislocated, you need to get help."

He shook his head again. "No. Hospital. I stopped the guy before, he was just after me later on, no cops either. Can you help me?"

She pursed her lips, glancing at his leg, then at his arm. She knew how to reset a dislocated knee cap, Rosie had taught her ever since she had shown interest in nursing. She also knew how to bandage up a cut as minor as the one he was sporting.

"Diana, please."

Her eyes snapped back into focus and she stared at him. "H-h-how do you know my name? Wh-who are you?"

He stammered for a response. "N-nothing, I don't know  you. Please, just help me."

She shook her head, backing away. "Not until you tell me who you are. Do you work with Danny, did he tell you about me, are you his private investigator, it makes sense, you both showed up around the same ti—"

He ripped off his mask, stopping her short. Big, brown doe eyes stared up at her, pleading and terrified.

"Please don't tell," he whispered.

"Peter," she breathed, walking over to him, "Peter, what did you do?"

He shook his head again. "It's a really long story, just please help me, I gotta get home, but I can't without my leg or my arm. I saw you fix up Flash that one time during P.E., can you do it again?"

She nodded, biting her lip. She had about a billion questions, but those had to wait, he was bleeding in the middle of a dirty alleyway.

"Yeah. Okay, yeah. I passed by a corner store a few blocks away, let me grab some stuff, then I'll be back. Will you be okay until then?" She stood, starting to walk out towards the street.

He nodded, moving to sit up against the bricks. "Yeah, just please hurry. And hey," she stopped and turned back to look at him, "Please don't tell."

She nodded. "Promise."

Then he smiled. It was a soft smile, a pained smile, but a grateful one. That got her running.

If anyone were to look, they would think she was running as fast as Flash could, she made it to the corner store in record time, disobeying the crosswalk traffic laws and barely even stopping to apologize to a couple she ran into.

She slid into the corner store and looked around. It was fair sized, a drug store, with a bored looking man standing behind the counter, barely batting an eye.

She thought back to what Rosie had taught her when she asked about the first aid supplies she found under the master bed. It wasn't that long ago and she had had first hand practice, she could help.

She grabbed a few ice packs, bandages, antibiotic ointment, disinfectant wipes, tweezers, and disposable gloves in the medicine aisle. She ran over to the back and grabbed three of the cheapest water bottles. Balancing all of them in her arms and rushed over to the counter, pulling out her wallet.

The man raised an eyebrow as he started to scan the items. "Should I ask?"

She shook her head, handing her the debit card that Rosie got for her when they first started school; she never liked using it, but this was an exception.

"Well, whatever you're doing," he said, handing her the bag filled with her supplies, "Try not to die or kill anyone. I don't need the cops searching my security 'cause you did something stupid."

She scoffed. "Thanks."

Grabbing the bag, she ran out, hoping it didn't break. She made her way back to the alley, nearly getting hit by a car halfway there; that's what she got for jaywalking.

She made it back to the alley a few minutes after, her hands still shaking, and she slowed to a walk, her breathing labored.

"You still here?" she called out, shifting the bag in her hands.

"Y-yeah," Peter called out, watching as she drew closer, "Are you alright?"

She scoffed, crouching in front of her classmate, "I should be asking you that. What happened to you, how'd he get you in an alley, you're not that dumb."

"That dumb?" he parroted, smiling weakly.

She shook her head, putting on the gloves. "I've seen and heard you on YouTube, you're so much different under the mask, I wouldn't have believed you were him even if you told me."

He laughed softly, a little pale. "Yeah. I dunno, that's just..." he sighed, leaning his head back.

"Your accent gets thicker when you're under pressure," she said, pulling out the water bottle, motioning for him to pull his arm out of his sleeve.

"What?" he asked, wincing as he did as he was told, his bare arm exposed to the December cold.

"You've got that heavy Queens accent, it gets even worse when you're panicked, I can barely understand you. Try not to move." She poured half of the water over his wound, the tweezers in her hand ready to pull out any stuck debris.

He shivered and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. "Yeah, well, Queens is a bit different from Upper West Side."

She hummed in agreement, taking out the ointment and placing some on the tips of her gloved fingers. "You want to bite down on something?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, accent thick.

She pointed to the ointment, then to his wound. "I can't promise this won't hurt and you screaming might alert some people. I don't have a bullet, but you can bite down on your sweater."

"Bullet?" he repeated, eyes wide.

She rolled her eyes. "Do you pay any attention in class? Bite the bullet, a phrase based around soldiers who had to bite bullets to keep from biting their tongues off when they had to get their limbs amputated?"

Peter shook his head, breathing heavily. "Of course you would know that. Uh, okay, yeah." He took his mask and placed it in his mouth, face red. She almost wanted to laugh; he was embarrassed to be biting on his mask.

She raised her eyebrows as a warning before rubbing the ointment onto the wound. She raised her other hand quickly to cover his mouth, his shout not completely muffled. They stared at each other, wide eyed, for nearly a minute, hearts pounding; someone had to have heard that.

She pulled her hand away quickly, fumbling with the bandages. "Okay, I'm gonna wrap your arm. You're gonna need to tell me if it starts to get infected and I...we don't have school, but I can change them for you if you don't want anyone else to know, okay?"

He nodded, watching as she wrapped his arm. "Yeah, okay. Uh, what about my kneecap?"

She cursed, remembering why she had gotten the ice packs. "Okay, this is going to hurt a lot more. I think. You're gonna wanna apply ice packs to this for about twenty minutes around four times a day. Try to stay off this leg when you're swinging around, okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "Yeah, okay, uh, can I have a second before you reset it?"

She nodded and leaned back, her legs starting to ache from being in that position for too long. She didn't want to sit on the ground, though, so she remained where she was. She watched as Peter breathed, opening and closing his eyes, trying to prepare himself.

"How's your aunt?" she asked, reaching out to straighten his leg.

He winced, swallowing. "She's good, she's good. Uh, this is our first Christmas on our own and so we tried to cut back on presents. Save money, you know? I had to sell a lot of stuff, but that's alright."

She frowned. "I'm sorry, Peter. Is the photography for Jameson helping?" She pushed up his sweatpants, trying not to recoil at the sight of his knee.

He nodded, looking up towards the sky instead of down. "Yeah, it helps. Wish I could do more, but she said I have to focus on school, I'm only fifteen."

"Oh?" she said, "When was your birthday, most of us are only fourteen." She tried to remember what she was supposed to do, resting her hand lightly on his leg.

"August fifteenth," he breathed, "Um, Uncle Ben was gonna buy me a camera, but he said that he wanted me to be there so I could choose because I knew more about them than he did and, um, we never got to go."

She chose that moment to move the kneecap back into place. She covered his mouth again, shushing him and he quieted immediately, sweating, struggling to breathe. She took away her hand and checked to make sure she had put it back correctly, trying not to put too much weight on his leg.

"Ms. Thompson taught you this stuff?" he asked, motioning to his leg.

She nodded. "Yup. Her and Harrison, though he mostly taught me how to break a leg. You good?"

Peter took a deep breath and nodded, pulling himself up with his right arm and placing most of his weight on his left leg. He carefully placed his arm back into the sleeve of his hoodie, sighing.

She rose to her feet, handing him the bag of supplies. "You remember what I told you?"

He nodded, taking the bag from her hands. "Yup. You want a lift home, you don't live that far away do you?"

She shook her head. "I mean, I've been gone over an hour, I can find my way home, thanks. Also, you are in no position to be carrying me while swinging around the city."

He frowned. "You sure? I can walk you to your building at least, I don't like the idea of you walking home by yourself, it's really late."

She pointed to the mask in his other hand. "Is that the Spider-Man talking?"

He laughed, ducking his head. "No, it's Peter Parker. Which is surprising, he doesn't really care much about anyone else except his family. That's why his uncle's dead."

She stopped smiling. "Peter..."

He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Come on, I'll walk you home, leave you a block away so no one catches me, it'll be fine. Okay?" He put on his mask, reattaching it at the back, and held out his arm.

She smiled and took it, starting to walk. "This has been one hell of a night, that's for sure."

"Oh?" he asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, "Do tell."

She shook her head, laughing slightly. "It's a very, very long story."

The pull of the mask told her he was smiling. "We've got a lot of time. Spill."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

WRITTEN: JUNE 6/PUBLISHED: JUNE 12

Ugg...I don't like how I ended this, but I mean, it needed to stop somewhere. I hope this was okay, this is drastically different than how I had previously written their first encounter and I like this one a lot more. It's not a perfect chapter, but I'm more satisfied with it.

No one really knows Peter's birthday and people like to use August 15th (at least from what I gathered) because he first appeared in Amazing Fantasy #15 in August, so, I just used it.

I realized I made a slight error in the description of his mask since it's supposed to be a modified hoodie, I think, so I just made it detachable, I don't know.

I'm not a medical professional, so I'm going to be very vague in the descriptions of her patching him up, although I do do research, but I can't promise you that it's particularly...credible? I don't know, this is a story, you guys.

That's all I have to say so...thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!