"The friendly neighborhood includes everyone.”
Inspired by: Pride month 🙂
Starring: Peter Parker and the gays™
Fandom: whichever Peter Parker you want tbh
Warnings: only if you’re queerphobic!!!
Summary: In case you and the citizens of New York didn’t know your very own Spider-Man was a queer ally, you do now.
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The subway was more crowded than usual. Crowds bothered you but it was June, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as a new group of teenagers boarded the train, clad head-to-toe in campy hats, glasses, face paint, boas, tutus, and tights of all colors. Those holding large flags draped them around their shoulders like capes. Superheroes for a day.
Sweat beaded down their foreheads, dragging what remained of the rainbow stripes that had been finger-painted onto their cheeks and foreheads that very morning. Fortunately the rain had held off for the parade.
You lowered the volume pumping through your earbuds so you could eavesdrop. You’d arrived too late–and alone–to your first pride parade, so you couldn’t see over the crowd and didn’t stay long, worried you would stand out too much. Now, maybe you could live vicariously through their enthusiastic play-by-play.
You toyed with the small pin you’d found in the street earlier. The pointy metal bar was bent at an odd angle. You struggled to straighten it and suddenly it stabbed you in the thumb. A bead of red appeared. You sucked it briefly and jammed the crooked pin into your t-shirt anyway.
You looked back up at the group of teenagers. They were laughing and practically shouting their conversation for the entire train to hear.
A few commuters shot them irritated looks, while other commuters seemingly accepted the craziness that comes with pride month.
After a few stops, the group quieted down. You looked to them again, wishing desperately for a friend group like it. How did they all meet?
You cast your eyes downward and looked to your own mud-crusted pin, dangling sadly from your t-shirt.
The train rattled to a stop and you found yourself following the crowd of teenagers onto the platform of your station. Your heart lifted. Were they from your neighborhood?
When you reached the street below you couldn’t help but keep them in your peripheral vision as they decided where to go next. You debated how you might introduce yourself to them all without sounding super creepy or completely lame.
A short-haired woman pushing a stroller passed by the group, pausing only to lean in and say something before jogging off again. If you hadn’t caught the sneer on her face as she turned away, you wouldn’t have had a clue as to what she might have said. Given their boisterous attire and the nature of your reserved neighborhood, you could make a fair guess.
After she left, the energy from the group deflated as though they had arrived at a birthday party only to be told it was now a funeral. A few of them started peeling off their rainbow stickers, feathers, tulle, and anything else that screamed pride. Those with face paint scrubbed furiously at their faces with their palms. Flags and banners were carefully folded into the size of pocket squares and stuffed into back pockets or drawstring bags along with everything else.
A trio of tall, broad-shouldered figures sauntered by as they made for the train and took the time to bark few unkind comments at the teenagers. One of them looked around to gauge whether they had an audience and made brief eye contact with you. Your skin crawled.
You moved toward the group, automatically reaching for the pepper spray on your keychain.
You heard the shout before you saw the flash of red swoop down from nowhere and land squarely between the teenagers and their harassers. As it stood you realized it was a person. As they fought off the ham-fisted bullies, you realized you were watching Spider-Man in action.
You stopped walking, realizing you had arrived at the group now. No one looked at you, equally transfixed by the brief fight as it unfolded.
After giving them a brief lecture and sending the bullies off with their tails between their legs, Spider-Man turned to the nearest teenager. Rainbow paint remained smeared across their cheeks, but their tears were running trails through it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, none of that!” Spidey said without a hint of harshness to his voice. “Does someone have a tissue?” He looked around between the rest of you.
He pointed to your hand as you dropped your pepper spray in your bag and searched for a tissue to offer instead.
“Nice,” he commented, spying the mace.
“Thanks,” the teen said as you offered them a small pack of tissues. They wiped their tears and began working at the remaining smudges of rainbow.
Spider-Man looked as horrified as he could through a full-face mask.
“Don’t wipe that off! It’s parade day isn’t it? Pride isn’t over yet.”
“Pride is never over,” someone piped up.
Spidey pointed at the person as he produced a small white box from his spandex.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said, opening it to reveal a small paint palette. He dipped his gloved fingers in and offered to replace the person’s colors.
They nodded and with a few swipes of his fingers their face beamed a rainbow.
Others asked if he would do the same for them, and he gladly repainted their cheeks with squiggly, rounded pride flags.
“Do you want me to paint your face?” he asked gently.
“Uh,” you looked nervously to the rest of the group, hypersensitive to the fact they were all now aware of your presence.
Your heart warmed when they smiled at you, their colorful faces beaming with the same pride that first attracted you to them when they hopped on the train.
“Yes,” you croaked, enjoying the cool wet touch of paint as Spidey briskly stroked your cheeks. The touch lingered as the paint air-dried. In a way it felt like you were putting a mask on, but in another it felt like taking one off for the first time.
“Thank you,” you managed as he backed up to admire his paint job.
“No, thank you,” he said. “People like you make my job a hundred times better.”
“Really?” someone gasped.
“Yeah!” he said. “The friendly neighborhood includes everyone. Well, not jerks like those guys. You know what I mean.”
“Hang on,” someone said, digging through their bag. They passed their phone to Spidey. “Can you take our picture?”
Even though he remained fully masked, you could sense that his face lit up beneath it.
“Totally!” he said, grabbing the phone and squatting for the perfect angle as they all lined up with their arms around one another.
“Hey!” someone said, leaning their head back to meet your eyes. “Get in here! What’s your name?”
“Y/n,” you said, obediently attaching yourself to the nearest person.
They all chorused variations of “Nice to meet you!” and gave their names and pronouns. You shared yours as well, realizing you’ve never done that before but very much enjoying the straightforwardness in doing so.
“And I’m Spider-Man,” he chimed in with mock exasperation. “Now smile and say ‘pride!’”
“Pride!” everyone–including proud mom, Spidey–cheered. You couldn’t be positive, but you were pretty sure you were the loudest.
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Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics!
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