Plotted starter for @spideyshop
Six years is a long time – but it’s not nearly long enough. Fern’s stomach still turns at the first sign of falling leaves, eyeing the calendar with growing despair as October rapidly approaches on the horizon. He should be used to it by now; every year, though, he finds himself just as gutted on the anniversary as he was when he was seventeen and terrified.
It always hurts; the guilt and grief threaten to bury him, in spite of everything that’s changed since then. He isn’t the same Fern who almost bled out on his living room carpet, who needed someone to save him from a fate that he probably deserved, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to escape any of it. It doesn’t mean he handles it any better when October comes back to haunt him.
Honestly, if it weren’t for Peter, Fern would be in a lot worse shape. Ever since he found out how difficult this time of year can be for Fern, Peter’s taken good care of him: providing distraction when he needs it, and lending a sympathetic ear if he wants to talk about Jeremy, or anything else that happened. It makes October a little more bearable when Fern has someone to hold him through it.
When all else fails, they have Halloween traditions that Fern can look forward to. Every year, they spend the day baking cookies, and then gorge themselves on the sweets while they watch a few random holiday movies — and by that, he mostly means making fun of said movies. It’s the only thing that keeps Fern from spiraling; he even looks forward to it.
But this Halloween, it’s looking like they aren’t going to be able to do any of that, because the city needs saving. Again. Too bad Fern doesn’t really feel like a hero.
His hands are shaking as he pulls on his costume, and he can feel energy crackling at his fingertips as forcefields practically beg to be released, to surround him in a bubble so he’ll be safe. They haven’t even left the apartment yet, but Fern has a terrible feeling about tonight — because how in the fuck is he supposed to save anyone when he’s falling apart? How is he supposed to go out and tell people he’ll protect them, that he’s going to save the day, when all he can think about is a hand reaching out to him, covered in blood?
Fern takes a shaky breath, and he has to swallow around the lump in his throat before he continues — looking over at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “I can’t… I’m not a hero, Peter. This is total bullshit! I’m just… I’m a screwup, man. I’m gonna… I’m gonna panic, and freeze up, and someone’s gonna get hurt. Someone’s going to…”
He trails off, thinking of a grave he doesn’t visit nearly as often as he should; it’s an image that only gets more vivid as his eyes squeeze tightly shut. “I can’t do this.”
