"Hiss... be gentle, it hurts." Clark clutched his chest.
"How can I change your dressing if you don't take your hand away?" Diana lowered her head, fiddling with his chest, "Don't touch it, it might burst open again later..."
Clark's face showed discomfort, and he suddenly cried out again, "Ah!"
Diana stood up helplessly, "No wonder the nurses don't want to change your dressing, can you be a bit more cooperative?"
"I've never been hurt like this in my life," Clark said, aggrieved, "No, I should say I've never been hurt at all. No wonder humans scream so terribly when they're injured, it really does hurt."
Diana sighed helplessly, "Don't touch it, or you'll dislodge all the medicine powder..."
"Does this really work?" Clark looked down at the wound on his chest. "I mean, can human medicine actually work on me?"
"This is a specially developed medicine by the Rebirth Alliance," Diana said, "It may not speed up healing but it will definitely relieve the pain. Be patient, once I finish applying, and wrap it up, it won't hurt anymore..."
"Clark, Clark!" Agent Hill walked in, "Daily patrol, why aren't you..."
She paused, then patted her forehead, "Sorry, lots on my mind lately, I forgot you got hurt."
Clark looked at her slightly anxious face and said, "It's fine, just a small wound, I can still go on patrol."
Diana quickly patted him, "You're not going anywhere, get some good rest, or what if it gets worse?"
"But there's no one to patrol," Clark said, "I'm patrolling the most dangerous streets, you know, the ones that used to be Gotham's slums. The guys there aren't to be trifled with."
"Don't worry, you rest up," Hill said, "I'll find someone else to go."
"Will it be okay?" Clark asked, a little worried, "You need to find someone good, or else they might get taken down instead of patrolling."
Hill waved her hand at him, indicating he should relax. After leaving the room, she sighed, wondering where to find a good hand. Everyone was swirling around the Cathedral, even the regular agents couldn't pull away.
As she was heading out, she bumped into Coulson. She quickly stopped him and said, "Why aren't you at the Cathedral?"
"I just got back from Wayne Enterprises," Coulson said, "They are discussing joint operations. By the way, Spider Man has returned. But Mr. Wayne said, it's better not to let him show up recently..."
"Is he available?" Hill was at her wit's end. Even if Spider Man wasn't that powerful, he's still better than sending no one. She continued, "Clark is injured and needs rest. His area needs someone to patrol, let Spider Man go."
Coulson looked troubled, but after thinking it over, he said, "Alright, I'll let him know."
Not long after, Spider Man appeared above Forward York City. His mood was actually quite bad. He truly didn't expect that what Iron Man said was true, these people have been plotting to frame him all along.
Last time, their plan was abruptly interrupted by the sudden arrival of Iron Man. This time, they tried the same trick again, and he fell into the trap once more. In the end, it was thanks to Peter and Thomas that his reputation was barely salvaged.
Spider Man had heard about the situation of other Bruce Waynes in the cosmos. The basic information he could get was that Bruce Wayne was a playboy during the day and played Batman, the vigilante, at night.
Being a playboy sounds like an insult, but actually, in America's environment, people tend to prefer playboys, whereas the socially awkward nerds tend to be shunned.
For instance, many high schools and universities in America have fraternities and sororities, which are different from student councils in that they don't manage students but form cliques to exchange resources.
And the daily activities of these organizations involve drinking, chatting, and throwing parties, which are all considered forms of socializing. In such settings, people who are articulate and smooth-talking are more popular, and if they are a bit morally loose and do crazy things, they attract even more attention and are more likely to become social luminaries.
Most Bruce Waynes disguise themselves in this manner. Given his background, he should indeed be this kind of person because most organizers of fraternities and sororities are heirs from Old Money Families, and they use these means to win over others.
No one would suspect that the behavior of the heir to the Wayne Family hides some unspeakable secret because everyone behaves like this. Bruce Wayne is just average, neither outstanding nor over the top, so he doesn't spark widespread discussion, and naturally, people won't suspect he's Batman.
But someone like this universe's Spider Man, clearly the heir to a large corporation yet displays a nerdy demeanor, is likely to be suspected of having some special fetish or suffering from a mental illness.
After the incident, many people started digging into his past behaviors, saying he was homosexual, suggesting he had a split personality, accusing him of secret killings, or organizing prostitution. Each analysis was so believable it seemed the only goal was to paint him as a psychopath.
These people couldn't understand how a rich kid raised in the upper-class environment could have a personality like a nerd. To prove that he was just pretending, they would naturally analyze him continuously.
Spider-Man was getting a headache from this kind of noise. He didn't dare show himself right now, as any public appearance would attract reporters. He couldn't even attend school anymore and could only serve as Spider-Man.
Feeling troubled, Spider-Man saw a familiar figure. More accurately, it was a group of familiar figures.
Peter Parker was leading a group of students, conducting a survey on architectural planning on nearby streets. Spider-Man remembered that this old town district was slated for modernization, and it seemed the city planning students from Forward York University were involved.
Thinking of this made Spider-Man even angrier. He wanted to attend college properly and participate in the urban renovation plan, but now he couldn't even go down and greet them. He could only cling to the wall and secretly audit the class.
"Everyone look at this street; the architectural planning here is seriously flawed. Firstly, the spacing between buildings is too narrow, causing severe lighting problems. The layout is unreasonable; if you want to reach the adjacent street, you must circle an entire alleyway. This relates to the lateral and vertical measurements we discussed in class..."
Peter Parker walked backward, pointing in one direction while lecturing to the students. Spider-Man followed them, listening intently. Yet, he didn't forget he was patrolling, occasionally looking up to check his surroundings.
Perhaps because Superman had patrolled earlier, no criminal could escape his vigilant eyes. Most were apprehended, and the remaining few didn't dare show themselves. After observing for a while, with no movement, Spider-Man climbed a bit lower, intending to follow Peter to another street.
Peter undoubtedly noticed Spider-Man but didn't stop him. He sympathized with Spider-Man, having himself experienced media storms several times in his youth. He understood the feeling.
Focused on the lecture, Spider-Man reminisced. As both were a bit distracted, a man in a black jacket suddenly rushed from the street corner and grabbed Peter's bag.
Regardless of everything, Peter had been Spider-Man for so many years. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on the bag, using his waist and abdomen strength to pull back, preventing the attempted robbery.
However, the robber had forward momentum; leveraging this, he tugged, causing Peter to stumble almost to the ground. Peter felt helpless; after being a warrior for so long, transitioning to a mage was a bit awkward. He quickly adjusted his posture.
And in that instant, the robber pulled a gun and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The entire world magnified in Spider-Man's eyes. His Spider-sense screamed to dodge, but his body instinctively rushed toward that direction. Anger, fear, confusion; emotions travel faster than bullets, but the body doesn't.
With a thud, Spider-Man crashed into the crowd. Driven by momentum, he slid all the way to the wall, where screams magnified in his ears. Rain splashed, the crowd clamored. He struggled to open his eyes, yet couldn't see Peter lying on the ground.
Spider-Man felt dizzy, trembling all over. The next second, he saw Peter appear behind the gunman, raising his hand to knock him unconscious. The students had already fled the alley in panic, leaving just the two of them.
Peter helped Spider-Man up; though he was alright, his expression was stern: "Are you okay, Bruce?"
Spider-Man couldn't say he was fine. He didn't know what was happening to him; despite having done nothing physically exhausting, he was already struggling to stand. Since obtaining superpowers, he'd had endless energy daily; feeling physically depleted had been absent for quite some time.
Peter supported him to the wall, propping him against it. He extended a finger, took a deep breath, wanting to speak but seemingly at a loss for words. Then he released his grip, letting Spider-Man slump to the wall.
Peter lowered his head, noticing the moist dirt and puddle in the corner, where Spider-Man's bright battlesuit reflected in the water, almost swallowed by the filth. Peter Parker had never smoked in his life, yet suddenly felt the urge for a cigarette.
"Listen, Bruce. You can't go on like this," Peter said. "Otherwise, you'll keep losing—losing a lot."
"I don't even know what I am now," Spider-Man said. "I haven't found myself. How can I talk about change?"
Peter grabbed his collar, pulling him up violently, harshly pushing him against the wall, "I didn't give you superpowers for you to wallow in self-pity here!"
"Then take them back." Spider-Man seized Peter's hand, raising his voice. "Take back the superpowers, go back to being your Spider-Man! You go, not me!"
Peter suddenly let go, took a deep breath, calming his emotions, "Things aren't that simple, Bruce. The wheel of destiny has started turning."
"Hard to believe you're a proprietor." Spider-Man looked at him and said.
"I'm not joking with you." Peter retreated two steps, eyes filled with sadness, "Once the car's wheels start turning, they won't easily stop; if you don't run fast enough, you'll be crushed."
Peter's Adam's apple moved, paused for a moment before saying, "It's my fault. You should see beyond the car's superficial splendor when it speeds up, to the bloodstains left on the hub."
"You sound like a poet," Spider-Man said. "Tell me what to do, Peter...what should I do?"
Peter silently watched him. The gloomy daylight accentuated facial furrows, making him seem ten years older; perhaps he had originally been this old, held up by some spiritual support, and as that dissipated, weariness inevitably painted his features, making him resemble a piece of gray-white basalt.
"I don't know, Bruce." Peter's voice choked a bit, "I haven't succeeded; I don't know either."