FOUR.

( A PLAN TO CEASE ALL AFFECTION )

• Never speak to Peter 

• Avoid any and all contact with Peter

• Don't find out anything personal about Peter (What if he has a dog or tutors orphans in his spare time?)

• Never speak to any of Peter's family

• Never let Peter take off his shirt (Physically incapable of handling such a situation)

• Avoid situations where Peter talks about his passions and his eyes light up and his nose scrunches up a little bit and he smiles wide enough to see the crooked tooth at the bottom of his mouth.

NOTE: Am now picturing said situation. Somehow more in love with him than before.

NOTE 2: Will Allan, you absolute fool.

• Convince self that I am not in love with Peter

THE NEXT WEEK slipped through her fingers like smoke. It crept past her without Will even realizing, her grip on time loosening. Suddenly, it was Friday, and she had lost another week to physics lectures, homecoming announcements, and hours in the library spent thinking about Peter Parker and wishing a bookshelf would collapse on top of her.

She hardly had time to wish for her freedom before she was granted it, the afternoon bell ringing and releasing them for the weekend. Students flooded out of their classrooms, forming a mob headed out the doors. The hallways filled with enough noise to make her head shudder and split, a hundred voices talking over one another. Will had to duck aside to avoid being trampled by her classmates.

She pulled her notebook close to her chest as she leaned against the wall and waited for the halls to clear. She thought about the words written on the last page and she hugged it closer. Her plan was well hidden behind pages of equations and formulas, but Will could almost feel it burning through the paper onto her skin.

Once some semblance of order had been restored to the hallway and her classmates went back to acting like human beings instead of lemmings, Will left her spot on the wall.

She headed outside, down the steps, towards the subway station.

Will walked down the steps to the station instead of taking the creaking escalator, jumping down from the last step to land on the stained tiled floor. Instantly, the air filled with the smell of earth and rust and something else she didn't care to identify. The sun was swallowed by entrance to the subway, replaced by yellow panels of fluorescent lights.

The subway station was strangely empty and hollow without its usual crowds of exhausted business people, chattering students, and street performers with cases of change.

She bought her ticket from the machine. It ate her coins greedily and spat out a piece of red striped paper, which she took and sat down to wait on a cold metal bench. She hadn't decided where she was going yet, but she knew she was going somewhere.

While she waited, she grabbed one of the maps from the metal holder next to her. She tucked it into her coat pocket, its pattern of blue and red threads disappearing into the woolen fabric.

This was one of Will's more ordinary secrets: she collected maps.

She had barely let go of the paper in her pocket when the train arrived in a high pitched whine of sparking metal and enough wind to tear the breath from her lungs. The doors slid open on their rusting hinges reluctantly, and Will clambered on.

The seats in the car were empty. She thought she was alone, until she felt the grief strike her like a bullet.

Will flinched, inhaling sharply. She looked around to discover that she wasn't alone at all. At the end of the car, a small dark-haired woman was sobbing into her hands.

She froze. Will stared at the woman in panic. What the hell was she supposed to do? The subway door had sealed shut behind her—there would be no easy escape until the next stop.

Will grimaced.

For someone who felt so much, she wasn't really very good at dealing with other people when they felt too.

She took a cautious step forward, then another, then another. The woman continued her ragged, gasping sobs, never taking notice of Will. She wavered, then sat down in the seat next to the woman. She reached out a hand, then drew it back quickly.

Will cleared her throat instead.

"Um—Excuse me," she tried.

The petite woman looked up suddenly. When Will saw her face she dropped her hand in shock and gave a start. Her mouth dropped open slightly.

"May?"

"Will?"

"I—I, uh. . ." Will stammered. "Hi?"

May tried to wipe the tears from her face rapidly, but the echo of her sobs hung in the air. She cleared her throat, blinking fast.

"Will, I. . .What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice strained.

"It's public transportation. It's. . .you know. Public," Will said lamely.

She wanted to throw herself from the train right then and there.

"Are you okay?" she tried again, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

May gave her a quick smile, one that did little to mask the pain on her face.

"Yes. Thank you, Will. I'm sorry, I—I thought I was alone."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

They sat in since for a moment before May breathed out, her shoulders crumpling forwards.

"It's just. . .I miss him so much, Will. They tell you it gets better everyday but I miss him more and more every hour. I saw a poster for Les Mis and it just brought everything back. I—It was our first date."

Will didn't even need to touch her to feel her grief. It surrounded them, smothering them. May let her face fall back into her hands as another choked sob left her lungs.

"I'm sorry, Will. I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this—"

"No, May, it's okay. I promise."

Will bit her lip.

"I—I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean anything coming from me, but I really am," she said softly.

Will reached slowly and placed her hand on May's shoulder. She gritted her teeth and prepared herself for what would happen next. Grief was the most familiar to Will, and the most painful.

But something strange happened instead.

Will felt something unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She felt a pull, an itch, deep inside her. Some piece of her was coming loose, drawn to May as if she was a black hole about to swallow Will. With a ripping sound only Will heard deep inside, her own happiness escaped her. It fled, leaving her empty and hollow, until May's grief came rushing in.

Will couldn't help but suck in a gasping breath as it exploded inside her skin. She had felt grief, but she had never consumed it, taken it as her own. It was infinitely more painful. Will doubled over, lungs bleeding air.

When, she did, her palm left May's shoulder. The world bent around her for a moment, then fell back into its proper place. The grief leaked out of her once again, and her own emotions trickled back into her body. Will blinked, her breaths coming fast.

She became aware of the train again, still creaking along as if nothing had ever happened. She realized May had stopped sobbing. Instead, she sat looking dazed. She turned to Will, a look of amazement on her face.

Then, much to Will's shock, she smiled.

"Will," she said. "I don't know what you said or did, but I feel. . .better. Better than I have in months."

Will stared at her, bewildered, then down at her own hands.

"I—I didn't do anything."

May took her hand. "Will, you did more than you realize. Thank you. Really."

She pried her fingers out of May's as carefully as she could, afraid to feel her grief again.

"I guess you're welcome, then," Will said, with a forced smile.

Her mind was still reeling from what had happened. It was almost as if a switch had been turned off in Will and on in May. As if she had let go of her own happiness for May's grief. Some sort of trade had been made.

Will knew she was a little weird. But this was weirder than anything that she'd ever done before.

"Have dinner with us," May said suddenly, interrupting Will's thoughts.

"What?" Will blinked.

"Come eat dinner with Peter and me," May urged with a smile.

"Oh, no—"

"I know, I know. You've had my turkey meatloaf, and you've had mysterious food poisoning a day later. Don't worry, we'll get Thai!"

Will's eyes widened.

"No, I couldn't," she said quickly. "Really, I couldn't."

"Come on, you used to eat dinner with us all the time. It would be so nice, for old time's sake."

"I don't think that's a good idea, May. . ."

"Please, Will. It would be so nice to have you."

"Well, I'm sure Peter doesn't want me there."

"Don't be silly. He'll be thrilled. He misses you."

Will paused.

"He does?"

"Yeah, you two used to be such good friends. I don't know what happened."

Will did.

May put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes.

"Will. Come to dinner," she insisted.

"Okay," Will finally said weakly. "I guess dinner wouldn't be so bad."

•

Peter was already waiting for them outside the Thai restaurant when they arrived.

"Peter!" May waved. "Peter, look who it is!"

He flashed them a grin, all teeth and dimples.

"Hi, Will. Long time no see. Well, not actually, because I saw you at school today, but a long time since we've hung out. Although we're not really hanging out, since Aunt May is here. Not that I'm saying I wish we were alone—!"

"Peter," May interrupted. "Remember to breathe in between sentences."

"Right," he blushed. "Breathing now."

"Shall we?" May asked, gesturing to the small, brightly lit restaurant in front of them.

"Sure," Peter said.

Will just nodded.

They sat down at a table in the corner, May and Will on one side and Peter on the other. Will instantly regretted her decision to sit across from Peter. Every time she looked up she made eye contact with him, and her cheeks turned a violent shade of pink.

Peter's gaze shifted to something above her shoulder. Will turned to see a TV mounted in the corner, the news playing in crackling, faded green. A reporter was standing outside the wreckage of Delmar's Sandwiches. Will watched Peter flinch when they showed pictures of the remains of the building.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked.

"Huh?" Peter asked absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the news.

"Delmar's. Do you know what happened to it?" Will repeated.

The dazed look slipped off his face. "Oh. Yeah. There was an explosion. Um, something about a powerful blast from across the street."

"So scary how this kind of stuff is happening," May shook her head. "And so close to us too."

Will sat forward. "Blast? From what?"

"Uh, I heard some kind of weapon the ATM robbers were using. Apparently, a kind of weapon strong enough to slice through metal and concrete."

Will shifted in her seat, the back of her neck prickling with unease. All the pieces were lying in front of her, but she refused to put them together. Bank robbers could get weapons anywhere, she told herself.

"Luckily, Spider-Man was there to stop them," Peter continued, clearing his throat. "He saved the day."

"What's Spider-Man?" May chimed in, looking from Peter to Will.

"Queens' own vigilante," Will supplied. "Wearer of spandex and savior of sandwich shops. Although not a savior of sandwiches themselves."

May looked at her questioningly.

"Spider-Man crushed my sandwich the other day," Will explained.

Peter made a strangled sound.

"Spider-Man saved you from being crushed!" he protested.

Will looked at him.

"How did you know about that?"

He turned pink. "Oh, I, uh, heard you talking about it at lunch with Michelle."

"Oh, right." Will nodded. "I almost forgot you eavesdrop on all our conversations."

"Says you," Peter shot back.

"And nobody knows who this vigilante is?" May asked.

"Nope," Peter said.

Will turned to May.

"You know what the craziest thing is? Even if I didn't know him, I think he knew me."

"Really?" May asked.

"He knew my name," Will said.

"Well, how do we even know it's a guy?" Peter scoffed.

Will looked at him. "Spider-Man. Just a bit of subtle implication of masculinity there."

"Maybe it's just to throw people off the scent," he suggested. "You know, lead them astray."

"Peter, he wears a suit made of spandex. A very tight suit made of spandex. Trust me, it's a guy."

Peter choked, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. May tried to hide her smile as she took a sip of water. She turned to Will to spare Peter, who was clearing his throat and pounding his chest, cheeks red.

"So, Will" she said. "How have you been? I feel like it's been ages since I've seen you."

"I've been good. Just, um, busy. With school and stuff."

"How's school?"

"School is. . ."

"School?"

"I was going to say legalized torture paid for by the American tax-payer, but yeah."

May laughed.

"And your sister? How is she?"

Peter had stopped coughing and was suddenly paying very close attention. Will swallowed hard and forced a smile.

"Liz is great. Really busy, though. With her senior year and homecoming and everything."

"Oh, homecoming. I loved homecoming!"

"I bet that was really fun in the Roaring Twenties," Peter said innocently. "Or were you guys still stuck in Prohibition?"

"Ha. Funny, Pete. I get it, I'm old."

She turned to Will and rolled her eyes.

"He isn't even going to homecoming. Can you believe that?"

Peter shot her a look.

"Well, I might," he said to Will. "If. . .If I can get a date."

"Oh, is Ned not available?" Will teased.

"Funny," he deadpanned.

"What about you, Will?" May asked.

"Michelle and I will be continuing our time-honored tradition of boycotting school-mandated dances and watching foreign films about suffering and baking cookies instead."

"I'd expect nothing less pretentious," Peter said.

"Oh, Will, you should go!" May protested. "You only get so many chances to be a kid. Take them while you can."

"If being a kid means drinking Crystal Light in the school gym and dancing to cheesy pop songs with Tank Top Todd, then I'm good."

"Don't break Tank Top Todd's heart like that," Peter grinned. 

"I'm not the girl for Tank Top Todd, sorry. One day he'll find Miniskirt Miranda and they'll be very happy together."

"With their two kids Flip Flop Ferdinand and Sweatshirt Sammy, right?"

Will laughed.

It felt strange to be sitting at this crooked plastic table, hidden away from the city with Peter and May. It felt even stranger knowing that it didn't really feel strange at all. Will felt like she had somehow slipped back years to a time when she spent her afternoons lying on her stomach with Peter on his balcony, dreaming up plans to run away and start a sandwich shop together. She could almost feel the sun on her skin, hear the traffic, smell the cookies May had routinely baked and burned for them.

"You two still get along so well," May smiled, shaking her head slightly, echoing Will's thoughts. "I'll never understand why you stopped hanging out."

Will's smile slipped as she was reminded why those were memories and not realities.

She was saved from responding to May as the waiter came, hands full of steaming hot dishes. For a few minutes, the air was filled with silence as they dug into their meals. Will chewed her tofu and tried not to think about what had changed.

May cleared her throat awkwardly after a while, clearly sensing she had caused some sort of tension.

"Will. Remind me what that's short for again?" she asked.

Will thought about her answer. She got this question a lot. What she wanted to say was:

Nothing. See, my parents had the daughter they wanted. And so they convinced themselves I was going to be the son they wanted. But I wasn't, and by the time I was born the name had already stuck. So here I am. I'm not unloved, mind you. Just unnecessary.

But she knew that was self-pitying, so what she said instead was:

"Nothing. I'm just Will."

"Right," May said, and they returned to silence.

May made a few more attempts at conversation, but the light, easy atmosphere had disappeared. Peter was back to stammering, and Will was back to silence. The rest of the meal passed with painful sluggishness, until May finally stood to go get the bill.

"Why don't you kids wait outside for me?" she suggested, pulling on her jacket.

Peter nodded. They walked outside, the tiny bell above the door chiming their exit. It had begun to drizzle slightly, the sky darkening to an emerald green and the air becoming heavy with moisture. The neon lights of the restaurant reflected into pools of color on the damp pavement.

Will forced herself to focus on the wet ground and the mirror of the city above in water. She tried to convince herself her dirty sneakers were the most fascinating thing in the world, and that the way Peter's damp hair curled against his forehead was meaningless in comparison.

It wasn't working.

Will tugged at the fraying hem of her striped sweater, twisting one of the loose threads around her thumb until the skin turned purple.

"I don't think we should do this," she blurted out suddenly.

"What?" Peter asked, looked over at her, startled.

Will didn't meet his gaze.

"I. . .I just don't think we should spend time together."

"What? Will, why?"

She didn't respond.

"Seriously, Will. I don't get it. Why do you always do this? One second things are fine, and then the next, everything's changed. I don't even know why we stopped being friends."

"It's like you said, Peter. Everything changed."

She shook her head.

"I-I'm sorry. I have to go," she said quietly.

Will turned on her heel and began to walk away.

"What? Wait! Will, wait!" Peter called after her, but she ignored him, turning her head away and walking faster.

Will wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking until she couldn't see Peter or the hurt on his face illuminated in the neon lights anymore. She kept walking until the drizzle had become a downpour and her clothes stuck to her skin. She kept walking until she convinced herself that all she was doing was walking and not running away.

Her plan was going to shit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: yes, i know will is a dramatic little shit. she's fifteen what were you expecting? when i was fifteen i went on a week long hunger strike because my mom wouldn't fund my flight to the uk to meet one direction. she will continue to be dramatic and feel bad for herself because she's an angsty teen with a crush on a boy in love with her sister. don't @ me

( ps: i'm thinking of incorporating little multimedia bits like this into the story. thoughts?

btw all credit for this idea goes to the awe-inspiring skrewts who taught me how to do this, although mine will never compare to the sheer art of the ones in jude. if you haven't read jude and witnessed this genius don't even talk to me. i'm serious. don't speak to me. it's a work of unparalleled genius that i will reread until they nail the lid on my coffin and lower me into the ground. )