Chapter 30: Low Battery, High Heels
By the time Peter decided to officially retire for the night, his body had already filed several formal complaints.
His legs ached.
His shoulders screamed.
His brain felt like it had been run through a blender set to existential crisis.
Even with the healing pills Naruto had given him—tiny miracles in tablet form—and stamina that laughed at Olympic records, tonight had been… a lot.
Crime didn't politely take turns.
It stacked.
It multiplied.
It ganged up like it had a group chat.
Peter's power hadn't grown exactly—but it had settled into him, like muscles finally learning what they were meant to do. Every swing felt smoother. Every landing quieter. His body was adapting.
Unfortunately, adaptation didn't cancel exhaustion.
So he swung.
Not toward home—not yet—but toward his favorite place.
A tall, forgotten building with a perfect view of the city. High enough that the lights looked like constellations. Old enough that no one bothered it. Decorated with stone gargoyles who looked like they'd seen everything and decided never to comment on it.
Peter landed beside one of them and sat down, legs dangling over the edge.
"Rough night?" he muttered to the statue.
The gargoyle, shockingly, did not answer.
The city stretched out below him—beautiful, broken, alive. Somewhere out there, Daredevil was questioning his entire existence. Somewhere else, Luke Cage was probably filling out paperwork with a sigh. Somewhere else, criminals were already planning tomorrow.
Peter leaned back, resting his palms on the cold stone.
This was the first time he'd seen an active hero hesitate—not from fear, but from love.
And that… shook him.
He stared up at the sky.
"I could really use a mentor right now," he said quietly.
The universe listened.
Because of course it did.
Peter reached inward, following the familiar thread—the strange, impossible connection that ignored distance, logic, and common sense—and called out.
Naruto.
The response came instantly.
"You don't need to shout, you know."
Naruto's presence settled around him—not physically, but like warmth after a cold night. Calm. Solid. Annoyingly aware.
"I've been watching," Naruto continued. "You've been spiraling for… let's see… twelve minutes."
Peter blinked. "That's creepy."
"That's mentorship."
Peter exhaled slowly. "I met Daredevil."
"I know."
"He's… conflicted. He might quit. For love." Peter frowned. "I thought you'd hate that. Giving up the fight."
Naruto chuckled.
Actually chuckled.
"Kid," Naruto said, "heroes are still people. We're not carved out of destiny stone."
Peter listened.
"Even I reached points where love made me stop," Naruto continued. "Times where protecting someone meant stepping away from the battlefield."
Peter's eyes widened slightly.
"You? Really?"
"Love is a double-edged sword," Naruto said calmly. "Hold it right, and it protects what matters. Hold it wrong, and it cuts you down."
The wind brushed past the gargoyles.
"Balance matters," Naruto added. "Everything in excess becomes poison. Even sugar."
Peter snorted. "Never thought I'd hear a ninja lecture me about nutrition."
"I've seen things," Naruto replied gravely.
Silence settled again.
"Daredevil has to choose," Naruto said. "And whatever he chooses—that's his burden, not yours."
Peter swallowed. "So… giving up isn't wrong?"
Naruto's presence felt thoughtful now.
"Sometimes," he said, "giving up isn't surrender. It's freedom."
Peter stared at the city, surprised.
He'd expected anger. Disappointment. A lecture about never backing down.
Instead, he got understanding.
"…Huh," Peter muttered. "Didn't expect that."
Naruto laughed softly.
"You're young," he said. "You think fighters must always fight. But the strongest ones know when to stop."
Peter leaned back against the gargoyle, exhaustion finally winning.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Get some rest," Naruto replied. "Tomorrow, you'll need it."
The presence faded.
The city hummed below.
Peter sat there a little longer, letting the cool night air clear his head, before finally standing.
Time to go home.
Time to sleep.
Even heroes needed that.
--------------------------------
Peter had just bent his knees, ready to leap off the gargoyle and swing home like a responsible, exhausted superhero—
—when the universe decided he hadn't suffered quite enough yet.
WHIP—!
Peter launched himself sideways on pure instinct as something snapped through the air where his legs had been a millisecond earlier.
He landed in a crouch, heart spiking.
"…Nope," he muttered. "Absolutely not."
He hadn't even seen her yet.
But he smelled her.
That faint, dangerous scent—sharp and intoxicating, like trouble mixed with expensive perfume and very bad life choices.
Peter slowly straightened.
"Black Cat," he said flatly. "You know, most people knock."
A soft laugh echoed from behind a stone gargoyle.
Then she appeared.
Felicia Hardy stepped into the moonlight like it had been waiting just for her—white hair shimmering, black suit hugging her like it had signed a legally binding agreement, emerald eyes glowing with mischief.
She twirled her whip once, casually, like she hadn't just tried to hog-tie him mid-leap.
"All in black. Sitting on a gargoyle. Brooding at the skyline," she purred. "Wow, Spidey. You really are dramatic."
Peter sighed. A long, tired, spiritually exhausted sigh.
"I am way too tired for this," he said. "Can we reschedule? Maybe next week? I'll bring snacks. You can steal something morally questionable. We'll call it even."
Felicia tilted her head, genuinely considering it.
For exactly two seconds.
"…No."
Peter groaned. "I knew you were gonna say that."
She stepped closer, boots silent on stone.
"This," she said, gesturing at him with her whip, "is the perfect moment. You're tired. Your guard's down. You smell like stress and hero burnout."
"That's not a compliment."
"It absolutely is."
Peter rubbed his temples. "I just stopped a city-wide crime spree, had a heart-to-heart with a ninja demigod, and nearly fell asleep on a gargoyle. Please tell me this isn't about stealing something."
Felicia's grin widened.
"Oh, no," she said sweetly. "This is about you."
That did not improve his mood.
She cracked the whip again—CRACK!—this time wrapping it around a nearby gargoyle's neck and swinging lazily closer, landing within arm's reach.
"You walked away from me last night," she said, mock-pouting. "That's rude."
"I was being responsible."
"Disgusting."
Peter raised a finger. "I am not in the mood for flirting, fighting, or psychological warfare."
Felicia leaned in, close enough that he could feel her presence like static.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I'm in the mood for all three."
His spider-sense twitched—not danger, exactly, but chaos.
Peter took a step back. She took one forward.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, circling him, "most guys would be thrilled to see me again."
"Most guys don't have a city's worth of trauma and zero sleep."
She laughed, genuinely delighted.
"Oh, Spider," she said. "That's what makes this fun."
Peter lowered into a stance, tired but alert.
"…You realize I'm still going to win, right?"
Felicia's eyes sparkled.
"Maybe," she said. "But tonight? I just want to see how you fight when you're exhausted."
The moonlight gleamed off her whip.
Peter sighed.
"Great," he muttered. "I should've stayed home."
Because this was going to be one of those nights.
--------------------------------
Peter didn't wait.
The moment Black Cat finished saying no, he fired a web straight at her face and hurled himself off the gargoyle like gravity had personally insulted him.
"Good night!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We'll do this when I'm conscious!"
The web missed.
Of course it did.
Felicia twisted mid-air with lazy elegance, the web skimming past her hair like it had manners. She laughed—a bright, delighted sound that carried far too well over the rooftops.
"Oh no you don't, Spider," she called. "You don't get to run after yesterday."
She fired her grappling line and swung after him, boots skimming chimneys, landing and launching again like the city was her personal obstacle course.
Peter swung hard, fast—
—and immediately felt it.
His timing was off.
Just slightly.
But slightly was dangerous.
His web attached a half-second late. His arc dipped lower than intended. He clipped a fire escape with his shoulder and hissed as pain flared.
"Okay," he muttered, "that's new. Don't love that."
Behind him, Felicia landed flawlessly on the same fire escape, crouched like a hunting cat.
"You're slower," she observed cheerfully. "Rough night?"
"Very," Peter said, breath already heavier than it should've been.
He launched again, forcing more speed, more distance—normally effortless.
Tonight?
His muscles protested. His lungs burned. His spider-sense still worked, but it felt… fuzzy. Like it was yelling through a pillow.
Black Cat, meanwhile, looked thrilled.
She leapt rooftop to rooftop, teasing him with near-misses—whip snapping just close enough to tangle, but never committing.
She was herding him.
Peter realized that about three rooftops too late.
"Hey!" he called, trying to sound annoyed instead of tired. "This isn't fair!"
Felicia laughed, swinging ahead of him and landing backwards on a ledge.
"Since when has fair ever mattered?"
She cracked her whip again.
This time, it wrapped around his ankle.
Peter yelped as he lost momentum, crashing hard onto a rooftop and skidding across gravel.
His arms trembled as he pushed himself up.
Felicia landed lightly a few feet away, head tilted, studying him like a puzzle.
"You're exhausted," she said softly now. "You shouldn't push yourself like this."
That was worse.
Peter forced himself upright, eyes narrowing.
"Funny," he said, "coming from someone who might stab me for fun."
"Oh, I wouldn't stab you," she replied. "Not unless you asked nicely."
She stepped closer.
The scent hit him again.
Stronger this time.
Warm. Sweet. Dangerous.
His thoughts slowed.
Just for a second.
Maybe…
Just for tonight…
His body leaned forward—
—then ZAP.
Pain lanced up his spine as the spider tattoo on his body reacted, sharp and unmistakable, like an electric slap to the soul.
Peter gasped, eyes snapping wide.
Focus.
He snarled, chakra surging instinctively—
WHOOM.
A translucent barrier exploded outward from his body.
Felicia was caught completely off guard.
"Whoa—!"
She was thrown backward, flipping end over end before landing hard on the next rooftop, skidding to a stop.
Peter stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes burning behind the mask.
For the first time that night, he wasn't joking.
"Game over," he said coldly. "Don't ever assume I won't fight back."
Felicia stared at him for a long moment.
Then—
She laughed.
Not mocking. Not cruel.
Excited.
"Ohhh," she said, pushing herself up, brushing dust off her suit. "That was hot."
Peter groaned. "Why are you like this?"
She blew him a kiss.
"Because you're fun, Spider. And dangerous. And very bad at resting."
She stepped back, already fading into the shadows.
"Sleep well," she purred. "I'll see you again."
And then she was gone—vanishing into the city like she'd never been there at all.
Peter sagged against a vent, finally letting out the breath he'd been holding.
"…Naruto was right," he muttered. "Some women really will kill you."
He looked up at the stars, exhausted beyond words.
"Next time," he said, "I'm bringing coffee."
Then he swung home—
very carefully—
because tonight, even heroes needed sleep.