As it turned out, I did not see Kate on Monday. I didn't see her at all that week. What was just a three-day cold for Peter kept me more or less bedridden until the morning of Valentine's Day, when I was finally able to crawl out of bed just before Peter left for class. Fortunately, we didn't have any grand, romantic plans for our first Valentine's Day together, because that was unfortunately no longer an option. We curled up on the couch that night with takeout and a marathon of Hugh Grant romcoms. And I was able to convince him to stay in with me for the night, rather than going out and being Spider-Man, so when the sun came up the following morning, it was in Peter's room that I found myself.

His arms were wrapped around me, so my stirring woke him up.

"Did I fall asleep on the couch?" I croaked.

"Yeah, you were out like a light," Peter replied. He rested a hand against my forehead for a second before pushing my hair out of my face. "I was worried you'd wake up when I moved you, but you didn't react, not even a little bit. How are you feeling?"

"A little better, finally."

"Your fever's broken, so that's good." Peter propped himself up on his elbow to kiss me on the cheek. "Do you want to come with me to the lab today? Since it's a holiday weekend, I thought it would be a good time to take a closer look at that suit Kate found."

"I'd be no help in a lab, I only barely survived chemistry," I mumbled.

"You could be my moral support," Peter said. "No chemistry required."

"Except for the chemistry between us?"

Peter laughed. "If you're making bad jokes again, you must be feeling better."

I smiled to myself and snuggled back up against him. "I think I'm going to stay here and catch up on everything I missed this week, but maybe tomorrow."

"Ah, that's fair. I'll be back by — " Peter stopped abruptly. "Actually, I'll stay here with you today. I forgot that I have an essay due tonight that I definitely have not started."

"It's so unfair that Spider-Man has to write essays, isn't it?" I teased.

"It is!" he agreed. "Oh well. Fortunately, Spider-Man is dating someone who may not be a spider but who weaves wonderful webs of words, so he's going to survive GE English class."

"That was an impressive amount of alliteration for someone who didn't know how to pronounce onomatopoeia just a couple weeks ago. You've learned so much."

"Pronouncing onomatopoeia — which has far too many letters, mind you — is far more difficult than complimenting you," Peter insisted.

I rolled my eyes even as I blushed. "If you say so. Alright, Spider-Man, time to get up, you've got an essay to write, and I've got at least three discussion posts to write and about a hundred pages to read and thus several pages of notes to take."

"It's so interesting to me that you still use pencil and paper to take notes when you could easily afford an iPad like everyone else," Peter said. "You're so cute and old-fashioned."

"Okay, that's enough out of you," I muttered with a good-natured smile as I hurriedly extracted myself from his bed.

I stumbled a bit on the way up, and Peter, as always, was right there to steady me.

The rest of the day passed slowly, sleepily, and studiously. I didn't finish everything I needed to finish, but I made a good amount of progress, and I had just enough brainpower left at the end of the day to make sure Peter's essay was good before I retreated to bed. I tried to stay awake until he got back from being Spider-Man, but exhaustion won out after a week of being too sick to sleep much at all, and I was jolted awake by a squeak.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Peter murmured as he slipped in through the window. He sealed it shut with a generous number of webs and pulled the curtains over the window before removing his mask. "How're you feeling?"

I hummed. "Sleepy. But better, a lot better. Are you hurt at all?"

"No. It was an oddly quiet night, not that I'm ever one to complain about that. Sleep well."

With that, Peter kissed my forehead and slipped from the room, and I drifted back off to sleep. By the time I opened my eyes the next day, it was early afternoon, a true testament to how sick I had been and how much better I was feeling. I never slept in that late. I checked my phone to see a handful of unopened text messages.

I opened Peter's first.

Headed to the lab, not sure how long this will take, but I'll be back before you go to bed tonight, I hope you're feeling better <3

I sent off a reply to him, then waded through the other messages. Kate had sent several updates concerning her Baldur's Gate 3 campaign, my dad wanted to know why I hadn't left my apartment all week, another one of my classmates had sent me a picture of her notes, and my mom was trying to guilt me into coming back to California by sending cute pictures of the dogs I hadn't seen since I moved to New York City. I replied to everyone except my mother, then hauled myself over to my desk to finish up the last of my homework.

By the time I was done, I was feeling rather suffocated by the apartment. I was itching to break free. The sun was just beginning to set over the city, and I figured I could surprise Peter at the lab and get a bit of fresh air into my system all at once. He'd be excited to see me on my feet again, and he'd be thrilled that I'd taken him up on his offer of hanging out at the lab with him after all.

I refreshed myself as best I could after a week of just muddling through existence, taking extra care to brush all of the knots from my hair and scrub the last remnants of sickness from my face. I bundled up for the February twilight chill, then set off in the direction of the Oscorp lab where I knew I'd find Peter.

My enthusiasm dimmed a little as the walk dragged on, but I pressed onward. I was out of breath and trembling by the time I reached the lab, so once I'd gotten inside, I lowered myself onto a nearby bench just inside the front doors to recover a bit before trying to find Peter.

I was only halfway through sending a text to Peter to let him know I was there when rapid footsteps approached me. My head whipped up to see who it was, only to meet the charcoal blue eyes of a man in a nice suit.

He smiled, looking halfway in between anxiety and excitement.

"Hi," he said breathlessly, "sorry, forgive the question, but you're Cassidy Riddle, aren't you?"

The question caught me so off-guard I knew my facial expression had surely given me away and there was no point in lying.

"I prefer Cass, but yeah, unfortunately, that's me," I replied.

The man switched his briefcase to his left hand and extended his right for me to shake. "I'm James Wesley, I worked rather closely with your brother, before he..." His face fell. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I should have led with that."

"It's alright," I said as I accepted the handshake. "Nice to meet you. You were involved with his internship, then?"

"Yes, I was. He was a hard worker. Thought the world of his sister. You, I'm realizing. His was the brightest mind we'd seen in his lab in years."

I tried not to let myself get choked up as my life once again intersected with what was left of Carter's legacy. "Yeah. He was brilliant."

"I wasn't sure if it was you at first, but I see it now." James Wesley squinted at me. "Your eyes are the same. You're his ghost."

There was an awkward pause where neither of us knew what to say, but he recovered after a second and straightened up.

"Would you like to see what we were working on?" he asked.

I blinked. "I don't know if I'd have the clearance for — I'm not a premed student — I'm only here to find my boyfriend — "

"Oh, there's no need to worry about that." Wesley grinned, looking so sincerely eager and excited I felt my resolve crumbling. "I happen to have clearance to take whoever I want wherever I want. It won't take long, then you can run along and find your boyfriend. Come on, it would be an honor to show Carter Riddle's sister something that truly would not be as remarkable as it is today without his influence."

Unable to say no, I nodded, and the two of us set off into the lab.

"So what exactly was he working on?" I asked. "He told me he wasn't allowed to talk about it."

"Ah, yes, well, I'm afraid it's still rather secretive," Wesley replied. "I don't even know myself the full extent of what it does. I'm just a supervisor. That said, the machine is very impressive, and I thought you'd enjoy seeing it. Carter's fingerprints are all over it, so to speak."

"I didn't realize it was a machine. He always made it sound like the work he was doing was more... diagnostic, I suppose, as opposed to innovative."

"In all fairness, he was here for the earlier stages of the project. He was here for the sweet spot in between diagnostics and innovation. He helped bridge the gap."

I fell silent then, pondering everything he'd said. The mystery surrounding it all made me paranoid, but that had always been a struggle of mine. I hated uncertainty, I hated secrets, I hated doubts, even shadows of doubts. I always wondered about the people around me, always wanted to know more about everyone, always wanted everyone to bare their souls for me before I decided if it was safe for me to bare mine. It was hypocritical of me, I knew that, and I was trying to be more trusting, more open, and I supposed wading into Carter's work was enough of a grey area to be worth the leap of faith.

I could kill two birds with one stone. I could satisfy at least part of my lingering curiosities concerning the last months of Carter's life while simultaneously pushing myself past the limits of the cardboard walls around me that I deemed safe. I could answer questions in the pursuit of finding more to ask. It could be worth it.

In time, we reached the back corner of the lab. My apprehension mounted as we reached and then bypassed doors locked with advanced biometric mechanics I'd only ever seen in sci-fi movies, but Wesley just kept walking, so I just kept following him. I looked for Carter, for his ghost, with every step, trying not to think about how long ago he'd walked those same halls. Trying not to wonder if he was still there, somehow, buried beneath the secrets.

"Here we are!" Wesley declared as we passed through the last set of doors into the room that housed the machine.

"This is... crazy," I murmured.

Wesley laughed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

I was truly too out of my depth to even begin to comprehend what the machine was or what all of the wires and tubes and beams of green energy were supposed to do, but my eyes were glued to the machine anyway.

"So Carter... he helped build this?"

"We started building it shortly before his tragic passing," Wesley said. He walked past me and started typing furiously at one of the many computers circling the room. "I'm sure I could find a recording of him in here somewhere. You see, we don't allow anyone to have personal copies, either written or digital, of what takes place here. Instead, everything lives here, and we rely on an intricate system of video recordings where researchers explain their findings as they stumble upon discoveries and epiphanies. That way, everyone gets credit where credit is due, and security leaks are far less likely. It's eccentric, I'm aware, but what the bosses want, the bosses get."

"The bosses?" I echoed.

Wesley nodded, not looking up. "Norman Osborn and Wilson Fisk. It's rare those two want to work together on anything, but here we are, so we try to make the most of it. This work is very generously funded. Ah, here we go."

Before I could even think about asking another question, Carter's face was on the computer screen.

I gravitated toward it as if drawn by an invisible rope around my waist. Wesley stepped out of the way for me, and I froze as soon as Carter started talking.

"I haven't done one of these before, this is my first breakthrough ever, so sorry in advance if this is a little disjointed," he said, "but I've just finished a series of calculations, finally, after weeks, and I don't think this is going to be sufficient, we need more — " He bowed his head low. "Radiation. I think. I think radiation is the key. Which sounds counterintuitive at first, I know, but I really think that's what's needed to stabilize the — "

The video cut out abruptly, and I realized all at once that there was a steady whirring sound behind me.

I whirled around to see, with horror, that the machine was brighter than before, the room was hotter than before.

"Uh — " I called anxiously. "Are you seeing — "

"Yes!" Wesley responded from somewhere in the distance. "It started malfunctioning as soon as the video started playing! Something about digging up that old video must have overwhelmed the system! Stay put, I'll shut it off!"

There was a loud buzz from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder as Carter returned to the screen.

" — the effects, though, are entirely unknown, and I really don't think anyone should — "

The video cut again just as the machine emitted a high-pitched squeal. The green glow was almost blinding.

"WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!" I shouted. "LEAVE THE MACHINE!"

Every instinct of mine screamed at me to run away, but I couldn't. I hurried deeper into the room, pounding on darkened windows, because Wesley was still in there somewhere.

The line between Wesley and Carter blurred.

I couldn't leave without him, I couldn't just save myself, Carter had been there, Carter was there, Carter, Carter, Carter, Carter —

The world exploded into green.

I was knocked flat on my back. I had the presence of mind to shield my face, but there was a searing flash of something that seemed to infuse into my skin. It didn't hurt, not really, it was over too soon to hurt.

And then, it all just stopped.

The machine quieted, dimmed. The world seemed to go back to normal.

No. Not back to normal. Something was different.

I could still feel it, something, something was different under my skin.

I was too disoriented to move, to think, to do anything other than lie there, flat on my back, knowing something was different but not being able to gather the wits or will or wherewithal to figure out what or how or why.

I heard a distant door slam. I heard a different door sliding open, then another door sliding open, closer, then another door sliding open, closer, then running footsteps, then another door sliding open, closer, then running footsteps and the final door sliding open.

"Cass!" Peter was on his knees beside me in a second, moving my arms away from my face. "Oh, good, you're awake, what — are you okay, what — what happened?"

I pointed at the machine with no small amount of effort. "That exploded. I think."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Lots of green. Knocked me over."

Peter's hands were a blur of motion as he scrambled to inspect every part of my body that he could. I wanted to say or do something to reassure him that I was okay, but something was different. Better or worse, I wasn't sure, but different. Definitely different. The reassuring words got trapped in my throat next to the nauseating sense of change.

Something was different. Something was different. I could feel it, just under my skin, spreading down my arms, a slow but steady trickle. Coating me from the inside out. Something was different.

Down my arms, to my shoulders, creeping up into my neck, crawling down into my chest —

"Talk to me, please," Peter said. "What hurts?"

I shook my head. "Just knocked over. Nothing other than — " I was cut off by a wave of dizziness that made stars dance in my vision. "Something's — I don't know."

"Wrong?" Peter guessed, his voice little more than a panicked squeak.

"I don't know," I replied honestly.

Peter scooped me up then, and I used what little effort I had left in me to curl my upper body into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut as I just let myself be held.

Something was different. It was making my head spin, making my stomach churn. It was sinking lower, lower, lower, as Peter hurried through the halls.

"No one's here," he panted. "No one's — Cass, how did you even get in there?"

"Someone was here," I managed. "Don't know where he is now."

"No one's here," Peter said again.

Doors opened and closed. My eyes remained shut.

Peter laid me flat on a cold, hard surface just as the something that was different finished coating every last inch of my body.

Something was different, but it was no longer just something. Everything was different.

I held my breath for a moment, waiting for yet another shoe to drop. I waited for Peter to scream that I'd grown a horn or turned green or something, but nothing happened.

"Breathe, Cass, come on," Peter murmured.

His hand found my forehead, and I blinked my eyes open at him as I inhaled.

Peter offered me a shaky smile. "Good. Keep doing that. Well, seeing as this place is empty, I guess it's up to me to try to figure out what happened. It won't hurt, don't worry, I'm just going to run a couple of tests."

He kept talking then — explaining what he was about to do, most likely — but I found it hard to focus. I was too preoccupied by the fact that something different was under my skin, and by the look in Peter's eyes. There was something so endearing about the storm brewing there, the concern and the love and the confusion and the determination to fix whatever he thought was wrong.

Peter blinked and furrowed his brow at me. "What?"

"What?" I asked right back.

"You're smiling."

"You're cute."

Peter flushed. "Why must you always flirt with me when I'm most worried about you?"

"Your worried face is cute."

Peter turned his back on me and rushed over to rifle through a drawer, but not before I could see the little smile on his face in spite of himself.

I closed my eyes again, wishing I could just slip away into unconsciousness, but I couldn't. My body trembled with every beat of my heart, Peter was talking to himself, something had been poked into my arm for a moment and it was still stinging, and the nagging sensation beneath my skin got increasingly unbearable with every passing second.

Something was different. Everything was different.

It felt like a second skin had grown under my skin. Which was ridiculous, I knew, skin itself was already layers of skin, there was no room for a new layer of skin, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something under my skin, clinging to the inside of me like caramel that had cooled in the pan, the kind that was almost impossible to remove.

"Boiling water," I mumbled.

"What?" Peter asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing. Sorry."

The shaking of my head made me feel a little more awake, so I forced my eyes open. Peter was perched on a stool in a rather typical Spider-Man stance, squinting into a microscope.

"I feel okay," I said after a minute.

Peter turned to face me. "Don't. Please. Okay?"

"Don't what?"

"I know better than to believe that. Your heart rate's all over the place, you're insanely pale, and you can barely string three words together. Something's wrong, I just — I just don't know what. Yet. I don't know what yet. I will. I'll find it."

"I feel better," I insisted, which wasn't a lie. I didn't feel okay, that was a lie, but I was feeling better. "Clearer."

"What was the bit about boiling water, then?" Peter asked.

I bit the inside of my mouth. I didn't want to tell him about the caramel, about the second skin. That was too hard to explain. I didn't want to make him even more scared than he already was. It was all just in my head anyway, surely, I was just making it up.

"Did you see anything abnormal?" I inquired instead.

"I don't even know what I should be looking for," Peter admitted with a sigh, "but no. I don't even know what's back there, I've never been back there."

"You had the clearance," I pointed out.

"I have access to the whole lab. I was able to pull strings with Norman Osborn years ago, since I was friends with his son and whatnot. I've never been back there, though, and I've never seen any files about anything that happens back there. I fully thought it was abandoned, until tonight, when I heard the machine go off. I thought that it was odd so I went to check it out, and then I realized you were somehow in there, and — how did you get back there?"

"I was coming here to surprise you," I confessed in a whisper, face heating as I pushed myself to a sitting position. "I had just gotten here when someone recognized me, he said he knew my brother and offered to show me what Carter had been working on when he interned here."

Peter looked away from me, staring at the ground instead. "I didn't know your brother was an intern here."

"Neither did I," I replied.

I went on to describe everything that happened, ending with the explosion. Peter nodded along in silence the whole time, not looking at me again, not speaking again until I asked him what he thought, at the end of my story.

"I have no idea who James Wesley is, if that's even his real name," Peter muttered. "If he even works here in the first place. Our paths have never crossed. I don't know who he is or what he was thinking, bringing you back there, but — Cass, next time, please don't wander into this lab with a stranger — "

"I thought maybe he'd know something about Carter," I cut in. "I followed him. Something exploded. He disappeared. Lesson learned."

Peter shook his head. "It didn't explode. The machine was still intact. It went off, it didn't explode. Which is... arguably worse, at least until we figure out what happened."

A heavy silence settled over the room then. Peter sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked, finally making eye contact with me again.

I nodded. "Can we?"

My voice came out far smaller than I intended, and it shattered any last frustration Peter may have been harboring for my admittedly-foolish decision that could very well have gotten me killed.

"Of course," he said, his voice gentle. "Long way, or short way?"

"Short way? Please? Do you have...?"

Peter nodded. "Short way it is. You think you can walk to the front?"

I swung my legs over the counter experimentally, placing down one foot at a time.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm good. Just a little — I hit my head, that's all."

Peter didn't argue, instead just slipping his hand in mine and leading the way out of the building.

Before I knew it, I was clinging to him once again as we swung through the city. Fortunately, the sun had fully set, so no one really paid us any mind.

Once we were back home, I wasted no time in showering. I was in there for an eternity, water as hot as I could get it, scrubbing at my skin with every last ounce of strength I possessed, as if I could wash away the metaphorical caramel that was sticking to the inside of the pan. Boiling water helped in that case, so why not in my situation too?

It didn't work. I emerged from the shower raw and shaking, heart racing, head spinning, feeling no better. Something was still wrong. Everything was still wrong.

I all but collapsed onto the couch, and I let Peter coax me into eating a little something before I stumbled off to bed.

Peter followed, saying he'd feel better if he could keep an eye on me overnight while he tried to figure out what that machine could have possibly done. Something about the clacking of his keyboard as he frantically searched every database available for any kind of answers soothed me, and I found myself drifting off to sleep, curled up in a ball as if I could squeeze the second skin out of me if I held myself tight enough.

When I opened my eyes next, Peter was gone. It was still dark outside, it was the middle of the night according to the clock on my nightstand, so it was pitch black in my room.

Something was different, again. A different kind of different.

"Peter?" I called.

I was expecting him to come rushing in to check on me, I had never called out for him like that before, but nothing happened.

I thought maybe he was just focusing so intently on something that he hadn't heard me, so I pushed myself out of bed and tapped on the door to his room. When there was no answer, I pushed the door open to find that his room was empty too.

"Peter?" I called again, more desperately. "Peter, are you here?"

He wasn't. I checked every room in the apartment. He was nowhere to be found.

I braced myself against the kitchen counter and tried to calm myself down.

He's Spider-Man. He's probably just off being Spider-Man. He'll be back in a couple hours.

But why would he leave me? Why would he leave me after what happened just a couple hours ago? After he said he wanted to keep an eye on me? After he was so worried about me?

Maybe he's mad at me. Maybe he thinks I'm stupid for following James Wesley. He's not wrong, I was stupid, but who can blame me, really, for wanting answers about Carter? It's not like I ever would have expected that I was going to be hit by whatever green sci-fi horror movie energy beam that machine had produced. He must be mad at me, but I can fix it, I can make him understand —

Maybe he's mad at himself.

My blood ran cold. If Peter was mad at himself — if he thought what had happened to me was at all similar to what had happened to Gwen — if he was scared of losing me the way he'd lost Gwen —

Maybe he left me. Maybe he left me before I could leave him.

He's gone. He's never coming back.

He's going to be Spider-Man forever.

I rushed to my closet and pulled an extra layer on over my pajamas, zipping my jacket hurriedly and shoving my feet into an extra pair of socks. Somewhere in the middle of all of the chaos, I asked Siri if I had any notifications from Peter, and when she said no, I asked her to call him. When he didn't answer, I shoved my phone into the pocket of my coat, tugged a beanie on, pulled my hood over my head, and set off into the night.

If Peter wasn't coming back to me, I was going to go find him. Spider-Man always helped a damsel in distress. I'd never fancied myself much of a damsel, but I was certain Peter would come running if I were to put myself in position that invited distress.

The bitter cold seeped into my bones more and more with every step. I trembled, though I wasn't sure if that was from terror or cold or whatever the green beam had been or all of the above.

I realized far too late that I was lost. My panic spiked, and I spun around in a circle, staring up at the sky, hoping to see Peter just swinging along above me, ready to come to my rescue. But the skies were empty, a blank black slate, and I had no idea where I was.

I hurried along the street until I found a sign in front of one of the buildings.

"'Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law,'" I muttered to myself.

I fumbled for my phone to see where I was on a map, but when I looked down, at where my feet and legs and torso should have been, I saw... nothing.

I yanked my hand out of my pocket and waved it in front of my face. Nothing.

I was dreaming. Surely, I was dreaming.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited to wake up.

One second. Two seconds. Ten seconds. Nothing.

I pinched my nose and slapped my cheeks, trying desperately to wake myself up.

Nothing. Nothing.

"This can't be real," I moaned. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket once again, to try calling Peter, but when I pulled it out, there was nothing there. "This can't be real."

I sprinted forward to the window of the office.

I had no reflection.

I tapped on the glass. I was real. The glass was real. I watched the glass wobble. I watched my fingerprints appear on the glass. I wasn't dreaming.

I could barely hear the sound of my own voice over the roar in my ears. "This is impossible."

But it was. It was somehow possible.

I was invisible.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been standing in front of that window, staring at the street behind me, staring through me, staring through where I was supposed to be, when I heard the telltale sounds of a scuffle.

The shouts and grunts and the sound of blows being exchanged jerked me from my trance, and I sprinted toward the commotion.

It was Peter, it had to be. And he'd help me, he'd be there for me. I was invisible. Somehow, the impossible had happened. He was the only person in the world who would understand. He'd help me. I was sure of it.

Except, as I skidded around the corner, I had a horrible realization.

It wasn't Peter. Spider-Man was nowhere to be seen.

There were a couple of bodies on the ground, fortunately none of which were dressed in red and blue spandex like Peter. The last man standing was wearing red, though, an all-red suit with devil horns atop the helmet he was wearing. The helmet covered most of his nose, and there were translucent red lenses covering his eyes.

What on earth was happening? There was another vigilante running around New York City?

I was invisible. I could just retreat, the random man standing in the midst of a bunch of most-likely-dead bodies didn't need to know I was there.

Before I could take one step backward, though, the man turned to face me, batons in hand.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said.

I froze in place. I was silent for a long minute, hoping he would assume I was just a person hiding in the shadows who had run the opposite direction.

However, he stepped closer to me. "Please just go."

"You can see me?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Yes," the strange man said quickly. "Of course I can. You're not good at choosing hiding places, are you?"

"You can see me," I repeated. "Who are you?"

Another superhero, surely, someone with super vision of one form or another, or maybe it was something about the red lenses over his eyes that helped him see —

"Who are you?" the man asked. "What are you doing in the middle of Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night? You're just a kid."

"I'm nineteen," I argued, which certainly didn't help my case.

The man snorted, a not-unkind grin spreading across his face. "Okay. Listen, I pose no threat to you, despite what this — " He gestured to the bodies. " — undoubtedly has led you to believe. They're not dead, and, well, they deserved it for reasons I can explain if you really want to know. Again, what are you doing out here?"

"I — " I considered lying, but no good lies came to mind fast enough. So, instead, I sighed and said, "I'm looking for Spider-Man. Do you know him?"

"Ah... no, our paths have yet to formally cross. I've heard he's back, though."

"Yeah. He is. And I need his help, like, as soon as possible. Have you seen him tonight, by any chance? Or, well, heard anything about where he might be from... your friends on the ground there?"

"First of all, they're not my friends. They're involved in human trafficking, or, well, they were, until tonight. With any luck, they'll never be able to hurt anyone else ever again. Second of all, no, I'm sorry, I haven't heard anything about Spider-Man's whereabouts tonight." The man shifted uncomfortably, placing his hands on his hips. "Do you need..." He sighed. "...vigilante help? Is that why you're out here in the middle of the night on the brink of a panic attack?"

"No offense, but no, I need his help specifically." I echoed his sigh. "Look, I'm his girlfriend, and I'm in the middle of something of a personal crisis, so thank you for the offer, I really do appreciate it, but I just need to find my boyfriend before I go insane."

"I'd argue you've already gone insane. You shouldn't be walking around the city by yourself at this hour."

"Why, are there other strange men dressed in devil costumes running around here?" I retorted.

The man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, no, I'm the only one, as far as I know."

"I appreciate the concern, but I really think I'll be okay," I said as I started to back away. "I'm sure you're great and all, Mr. Devil-Man sir, but I'm afraid I'm in this situation in the first place because of a run-in with a different strange man a few hours ago, so I think I'm just going to stick to the shadows and hope for the best — "

"Please," he interrupted. "I just want to help. Clearly you need it. I'm not — listen, this whole devil suit business is just a bit, I'm Catholic — "

In spite of myself, a laugh escaped me. "What?"

"Yeah. I just needed a way to hide my identity, and spandex didn't work for me, the sensory issues were insane — "

I laughed again. "Fair enough. I don't know how he does it."

The man grinned. "Do you have a name, Spider-Man's girlfriend?"

"Do you, Mr. Catholic Devil Not-Devil Man?"

"Fair. If you really want to know, most people call me Daredevil."

"And most people call me a saint," I fired back. "I think it would be funnier to call you Saint, though, so I'm going to do that."

"And it would be more fitting to call you Little Daredevil, seeing as you just decided to wander into the city in the middle of the night instead of just calling your boyfriend — "

"I tried calling first, he didn't answer — "

"The longer you stand here arguing with me, the longer it'll be before we find your boyfriend. Please, I don't know how many more of these guys are on the street tonight." Daredevil walked around in a circle, kicking each man on the ground, none of which stirred. "They're not dead, just unconscious. And I'm no saint, but I did all of this just to protect a group of girls like you that they were targeting, so if you don't mind, Little Daredevil, I'd rather protect you upfront than rescue you later."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Who says I'd need rescuing?"

Daredevil tilted his head at me. "Don't we all, in one way or another?"

"Don't get all Catholic with me, Saint, I go to church," I retorted.

"No, I just meant — " Daredevil stepped closer. "You're scared."

"Didn't I mention the personal crisis?" I asked defensively.

"There's more to it than that."

"Look — " I huffed. "You don't know me, and trust me when I say that's for the best. You don't want to know me. I'm... trouble."

"I thought most people considered you a saint."

"Well, they're wrong. I'm unfortunately very painfully human."

I think, I added to myself, looking down at the ground, where I cast no shadow, no visible indication of my presence.

"So am I." I looked up at Daredevil as he sighed and tucked his batons away. "Matt. My name is Matt."

"Saint Matthew," I replied, voice sounding a little faint even to my own ears.

"Just Matt. Come on, let's find your boyfriend."

All out of protests, when Matt approached me, I didn't back away. Instead, I fell into step with him, and the two of us made our way down the sidewalk in silence for a minute before I could find my voice again.

"So you're a vigilante too?" I asked, a sad excuse at small talk.

"Spider-Man was gone. I figured — I don't know. I had the ability to help. I had the desire to help. By the time he came back, I was too... I don't know... established, I guess, to just let it go. I'd like to think what I do helps him, too. He's just one man, and this a big city, with a lot of secrets."

"Hear, hear," I replied weakly.

"I'll admit I'm becoming very interested in whatever yours are," Matt said.

"You'd better hope you stay interested forever, Saint Matthew," I muttered. "You don't want to know me, or my secrets. I'm trouble."

"I'm sure I could handle it."

"The same way you handled those men on the ground earlier?"

"No, of course not. I'd handle you far more delicately."

I sighed. "I'm not delicate. I do appreciate your stubbornness in trying to save me from my own stubbornness, though. I'm not saying I trust you, but — I think I'd be more nervous if I was alone right now, believe it or not. Thank you for walking with me."

"Of course. And I don't think you're delicate, for the record. Young, sure, a little insane, sure, scared, absolutely, but not delicate."

There was another brief moment of silence, this time broken by Matt.

"So what's the personal — "

"No," I interrupted.

"What scares you?"

"Other than strange men dressed in devil costumes?"

"Ouch."

I grinned. "I'm teasing. You seem alright. Fire scares me, if you must know."

"That's not what I — "

"And heights. I'm not scared of heights when I'm looking down, oddly enough, but when I see what's level with me, that's when I start to freak out. I'm scared of airplanes too, and snakes, and landslides. Oh, and I'm scared of the possibility that the 49ers will never win another Super Bowl, after the fiasco that was last season."

"A football fan? Now that's interesting."

I snorted. "Thanks. Go on, your turn. What scares you?"

For the first time all night, Matt seemed at a loss for words. After a long moment, he opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a distant shout before he got the chance.

"HEY! HEY, WAIT, STOP!"

The sound of Peter's voice brought with it a wave of relief. I stopped just as he landed on the sidewalk in front of us.

"Hey, what's — what's — "

Peter looked at Matt, then where I was standing, then Matt, then where I was standing.

"Are you — "

"Yeah," I said. "I know."

I reached out, fumbling for him with both invisible hands. Peter found my hands and held tight, then used those two anchor points to pull me into a tight hug.

I deflated against him with something in between a sigh and a sob.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he said. "We can figure this out. It's okay."

I nodded. "Okay."

Breaking away from Peter's hug but keeping a death grip on his hand, I turned back to face Matt.

"Are you the one who's been running around Hell's Kitchen dropping all of those bodies?" Peter demanded, sounding torn between being irritated and impressed. "The police don't believe me when I say I have no idea who's behind all of it. They're worried it's me, they think I've gotten violent."

"Not all of us have the convenience of webs when it comes to keeping criminals down and out until the proper authorities arrive to handle the situation from there," Matt replied as he lifted his hands in diplomatic surrender, "but I don't kill anyone, and I'm sorry for any extra headaches I've caused you. I'm just trying to help, honestly."

"I was looking for you when I found him," I explained to Peter.

"You have a name, man?" Peter asked.

Matt shrugged. "I've been unofficially dubbed Daredevil. Not quite as straightforward as Spider-Man, but I digress."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you. I'll see you around, I'm sure, should I ever find myself in Hell's Kitchen. And thanks for keeping an eye on her. It's been — a long day."

"Any time." Matt smiled at me. "To answer your question, I'm afraid of the dark. Good night, Little Daredevil."

"Good night, Daredevil," I replied with a heavy sigh.

With that, Peter pressed me close to his side, and we were airborne once again.

"Do I even want to know why he called you Little Daredevil?" Peter asked, but the frigid night air whipping past me rendered me speechless, leaving me no choice but to shiver helplessly until we were in the safety of my bedroom.

"I'm sorry," I choked out as soon as my feet touched the floor. "I — "

Peter ripped his mask off and flung it at the wall with such force he managed to flip the light switch. His eyes were wide and panicked.

"Stop apologizing. All that matters right now is that you're okay. Where are you?"

I hurried over to my bed and yanked the outermost blanket off of it with the intent of tossing the blanket over me so he could see my outline, only for that to become invisible too as soon as it touched my skin.

"I'm here," I said desperately. I shed the blanket and gently reached for Peter's cheek with my bare hand. "Right here."

"You didn't even grab gloves."

Peter sounded so woefully sad I started to retract my hand, but he grabbed it and pressed it tight against his flushed face.

"I'm sorry," I choked out again. "I shouldn't have just — I was scared, and I assumed you were off being Spider-Man and I was scared you were never coming back and — "

"What?" Peter's voice was gentle, heartbroken. "No, no no no. No. Cass, once you fell asleep, I went back to the lab as Spider-Man to sneak around and try to find more answers for you. I was going to text you, but I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry, I should have left a note — "

I shook my head. "I'm sorry for catastrophizing."

"You were invisible, I can't blame you for panicking and reaching such an insane conclusion," Peter replied with a wet laugh.

I was silent for a long moment, my face heating.

Peter smiled a little to himself. "Are you blushing?"

"No," I said, too quickly to be believed.

Peter reached out with the hand not holding mine to his face and found my hip. From there, he traced his hand slowly upward until he was holding the back of my neck. He dragged his hand forward and pressed the back of it to my burning cheek.

He smirked. "I knew it."

"I didn't even realize I was invisible until I'd been walking for a long time," I confessed. "I was lost and pulled my phone out to see where I was, but I couldn't see it. I think — I think anything touching my skin turns invisible too."

"I'm not invisible," Peter said. "I can see my hand on your cheek."

I groaned. "I don't know what's happening. I can't just stay invisible forever... can I? Actually, that doesn't sound like the worst fate in the world — "

"You can't stay invisible forever," Peter interrupted. "There must be a way to — to switch between the states. I mean, you were perfectly visible before you fell asleep. Maybe sleep is how you switch."

"Do you ever switch between being normal and being Spider-Man?"

"I — no, but — yours must be different. I got bitten by a spider. It's part of me. You were exposed to something externally. Maybe — I don't know, there must be a way to switch, you can't — you can't be invisible forever."

"I'm not convinced it's just external," I whispered.

Peter blinked. "What do you mean, Cass?"

"I felt — after the blast, I felt — I don't even know if you're going to believe me, it's crazy — "

"I was bitten by a radioactive spider and now I have superpowers," Peter said with a small, sad smile. "Try me."

"It felt like there was a second skin growing beneath my skin," I confessed. "Which sounds crazy, I know — "

"Stop trying to undermine how serious this is by saying it's crazy. Crazy or not, it's happening, and it's okay, it's going to be okay. Do you still feel that skin now?"

I paused, taking inventory of my body for the first time since waking up.

I felt... better, being invisible. There was no gnawing discomfort trying to break out of my skin. The clenched fist usually wrapped around my chest had loosened. My muscles seemed less taut.

"No, I don't," I said. "I don't think so, anyway."

"Maybe — I don't know — this is such a horrible comparison, but you know how the angels in Supernatural refer to their human vessels as meat suits?"

"I hate that so much."

"I know, I know, I know, I'm sorry," Peter said, releasing my hand against his face so he could hold my invisible face in his hands. "Maybe you're an angel now, and you need to step back into your meat suit to become visible."

I stamped down the nausea swelling in me at the word "angel" and sighed shakily. Unfortunately, Peter's theory had a bit of credibility. Maybe my visible skin was what had been making me feel so trapped before.

Like Matt, in the Daredevil suit, or Peter, in his Spider-Man suit. Maybe my invisible state was where I had been meant to exist all along, and my visible state was just the mask I wore. Maybe I just had to don my costume again.

"I can't switch between being normal and being Spider-Man, but I can focus more or less on certain abilities a lot of the time depending on what I need," Peter said. "You're safe now. I'm here, I'm back, I won't leave without warning ever again, I promise. Maybe you can just will yourself back into being visible. It's okay. It's safe."

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. Donning a costume. Stepping back into reality, the real world, where I couldn't just be invisible forever.

The second I sensed a bit of the trapped feeling, I latched onto it, forcing myself into it. It felt like trying to squeeze into clothes I had outgrown, but Peter gasped, so I assumed I was on the right track and leaned harder into the feeling until I felt it on every square inch of my skin.

"There you are," Peter said as he offered me a watery smile. "How'd you do that?"

I shrugged. "I just... forced it. I don't know for sure. I'll have to practice going back and forth. Not tonight, though, I — I'm kinda done with today, even though it's technically tomorrow already."

"That's okay. Good thing it's a holiday weekend, yeah? You have all day tomorrow to practice."

"Yeah," I whispered. I cleared my throat and backed away from Peter, ashamed of my visibility, ashamed of my naivety, ashamed of the fact that I'd worried him so much, ashamed of the fact that I'd been so quick to assume he'd abandoned me when in reality he'd just been so desperate to try to help me he'd forgotten to leave a note. "So did you... find anything? Either in regards to Kate's suit or what happened to me or both?"

"Yeah, actually," Peter replied with a nod, "something about the suit. Come on, I'll show you."

I followed Peter to the couch but left a bit of space between us, suddenly more shy than I had been around him in a long time. The vulnerability of being visible again, the vulnerability of shame, of having been so wrong about Peter and his intentions and his love for me, made me want to run with my tail between my legs.

If he thought anything of the sudden yawning distance between us, he didn't say anything, instead pulling his laptop out of his backpack and opening complicated software I'd never seen before.

"Okay, so I found Kate's hair in the mask, obviously, but I found short brown hair too, definitely not hers. The fascinating part, though, is the pattern of sweat that I found in the mask. I think whoever wore it before Kate wore it the exact same way, only without the eye holes, meaning they either could see through it, or didn't need to see through it. At first I was assuming the first person just wore it like a hat or something, but now I think there's a strong possibility our mystery person has super vision."

I blinked. "Like Matt?"

"Who?"

"Daredevil. He said he could see me."

I was worried for a second that Peter would be jealous, but he just looked confused before grinning. "You're on a first-name basis with him?"

"No, I didn't tell him my name," I replied, "hence the Little Daredevil nickname."

With a sigh, I launched into a detailed play-by-play of my encounter with Daredevil, starting with my crisis in front of Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law and ending with Peter's arrival in front of us. By the time my story was over, Peter had an "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" look on his face.

"Sounds like he's the original owner of Kate's suit, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah, it does," Peter agreed. "I guess he got an upgrade. But — why on earth would his original suit be there of all places, just hidden in a box?"

I shrugged. "Vigilantes need day jobs, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess. Come morning, we can ask Kate to see if any Catholics named Matt work for her mom's security company. That's a good place to start."

"Oh no," I whispered.

Peter looked at me with wide, worried eyes. "What? Are you okay? Is something else happening?"

"I'm okay," I said, "it's just..." I glitched out of existence again, mortified, invisible once more. "Someone has to tell Kate."

Peter tossed his head back and laughed, tugging me into a hug, and I let myself relax just a little as the knots of guilt loosened a bit in my chest. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

And, if nothing else, Kate's reaction to the events of the day was going to be entertaining.