Hi. So...this took forever to make, and a lot of blood, sweat and tears went into it, so I hope you enjoy! It's a collaboration story I've been working on for months now with AO3's awesome Spidey writer "aloneintherain", known as AITRain here on FF :)

This fic incorporates elements of both the comics and TASM movies. The way New York treats Spider-Man changes rapidly depending on the comic series/movie/etc., but in this, New York is increasingly loyal and fond of its hero, while many officers are still suspicious and hostile towards him.

Feedback is always appreciated, so do let us know how we did :) But most of all, READ, and enjoy the ride :D

Disclaimer: we do not own or claim to own Spider-Man.

On his way to school, Peter passed by three police officers, clustered around a parked cruiser. He felt nauseous—his hands, buried in the deep pockets of his sweatshirt, began to sweat, and he instinctively curled his shoulders to appear smaller. Even though he was dressed in casual clothes, there was still that instinctive fear, learnt from the countless nights he'd been chased away by cops armed with guns and an arrest warrant.

Peter couldn't help but be afraid of police officers. Not after everything he'd been through.

As he passed, Peter overheard snippets of their conversation. A brunette officer was leaning against the door of the car, frowning. "I don't like it," he was saying, shaking his head.

The oldest cop frowned. "You don't have to like it. You just have to accept it."

"I think it's a good idea," said the third. He was the youngest of the three. His face was still thick with baby fat, skin smooth and hair free; clearly inexperienced.

The brunette scoffed. "You would. Trust me; those pencil pushers behind the desks don't know what they're talking about. They're not out on the ground, seeing the damage those goddamn—"

"Neither are you, if I recall," said the oldest coolly. She raised an eyebrow. "You've been stuck with simple muggings and neighbourhood complaints, right? You haven't seen what heroes have been doing."

"And you have?"

The policewoman nodded. "Once, a while ago. You just need to be there, to personally see what good the superheroes are doing. Then you'll understand. You'll understand, you'll know how—how important they are."

"Superheroes?" The brunette cop shook his head, huffing angrily. The youngest was looking between them, eyes wide, invested in their argument. "Like Spider-Man? Don't make me laugh. They're menaces, vigilantes at best—"

"Watch it, buddy!"

Peter hadn't realised he'd slowed on the busy sidewalk, too busy eavesdropping on the off-duty cops, until a grumpy businessman bumped into him as he passed. He was suddenly aware of the officers turning their way, conscious of Peter hovering with his hoodie pulled down, back faced to them. He realised how suspicious he looked, and hurried toward school.


Peter remembered the gunshots like it was yesterday. Sure, he'd been shot many times before, but there was something about this occasion that stayed with him. It spiked fear in his heart whenever he remembered, like a cold nightmare haunting his every move.

It had been an ordinary day, fighting bad guys like he always did. When the cops had arrived though, mid-fight, Peter hadn't been expecting their actions.

His relationship and reputation with the police had been slowly falling, with the majority of them against him for a while now, but this was pretty normal, and he didn't think much of it. He'd usually just deal with the criminals, before making a few smart, witty remarks, and swinging off before the cops knew what to do about it.

From the minute they stepped out of their vehicles though, he knew something was wrong.

All he could remember was the clear view of fully black armoured policemen rushing out of the cars low to the ground with large taser guns in their hands, pointing straight up at him.

He'd barely had time to react from his position mid twist, spider-sense screaming in his head.

The rest was a blur.

Sparks of electricity, burning pain like none other, muscles spasming and unresponsive; they hit him like a tank. How he'd escaped was not something he could easily recall, all he could remember was lashing out in terror, swinging away shivering and aching all over, vision blurry and unfocused, then waking up the next morning sprawled out on his bedroom floor like he couldn't make that extra inch to the bed.

He hadn't been aware of the arrest warrant that happened to have been placed on his head earlier that day. The police's trust had broken from its final thread, completely snapping and leaving him a major threat to the city. And this time, they'd been prepared.

The cold hate in those officer's eyes is what haunted him day and night. That unrelenting disgust, like he wasn't even a person, but a thing, a menace. A menace to be captured, locked up and thrown around like he wasn't even human—Peter wasn't sure it was something he would ever forget.

Since then, their treatment of him had not been pleasant.

That memory still brought Peter fear, affecting his every day crime fighting, making him uneasy and flighty, the feeling creeping down his spine.

The nightmare that had woken him up this morning, legs twisted in sweat-drenched sheets, choking back a panicked scream, was of that day only months ago. Even when asleep, he couldn't forget it.

Peter tried to shake off the memories as he ran up the path to his school, lanky legs carrying him, brown spiky hair flopping all over the place. He raced into the corridors just before the bell rang, his small form unusually hunched over and jumpy. Peter was on edge, anxious. Being in school, surrounded by people and sounds and movement, was awful.

It would be fine, he tried to tell himself. He'd been more cautious lately, leaving crime scenes long before he could even hear sirens.

Surely Peter had no reason to worry about the police.

Peter was exhausted. He'd been on edge all day, anxiety dogging his every thought, and he had found himself jumping at every sound. His spidey-sense had picked up around lunchtime, thrumming lowly at the base of his skull. It did that sometimes, reacting to anxiety Peter couldn't shake, and he had learnt to ignore it.

Still, it was annoying, and Peter couldn't stop the feeling that something, somehow, was going to go very wrong.

Peter stumbled across a growing crowd of people on his way home from school. They were gathering on the sidewalk, looking up at one of the huge screens placed around New York. The screen showed an older man with thinning hair and an official air about him, standing behind a podium and addressing a crowd of reporters.

Peter ventured closer, curious. Some of the crowd was murmuring to one another, and he couldn't help but overhear.

"About time they did something," grumbled an older, college-aged boy.

His girlfriend nodded. "I know, right? Heroes are here to help. I can't believe the NYPD have been allowed to act so—so hostile toward them for so long."

"It's freaking unfair," agreed the young man. "As if Spidey doesn't have enough on his plate as it is."

Peter stiffened at hearing he was the topic of conversation, and crept closer. The block text on the screen beneath the older man read: Mayor announces new program to restore relations between NYPD and Spider-Man.

Lightbulbs flashed over the Mayor's face as he spoke, "Spider-Man is dedicated to protecting this city, just as the police are. They're both trying to achieve the same things—to look after the fine people of New York. It makes sense for them to communicate and work together."

A male reporter in the crowd spoke up, shouting a question over the sound of clicking cameras. "Sir, what about the allegations that the NYPD have been openly hostile toward Spider-Man? How are they supposed to work together?"

"The police are a part of this city, and the majority of them trust in Spider-Man as much as the people do," said the Mayor. Peter knew that was a lie. "Those that do harbour ill-feelings toward Spider-Man—" so most of them, Peter thought, "—will have a chance to work with him close up, and maybe change the way they think."

Work with him. Close up. The anxiety that had been simmering beneath his skin all day was burning, becoming something else, venturing into real fear, panic.

Peter couldn't work with the police. He couldn't. They hated him. They'd—they'd arrest him, first chance they got.

This had to be a trick. A trap. Something to lure him, to give the police an opportunity to hurt him again.

Faintly, Peter was aware of the press conference continuing above him.

Reporters were continuing to question the Mayor; "What about the arrest warrant on Spider-Man?"

"It's been officially dropped."

"What about Spidey's secret identity—"

"We're allowing him to maintain it, so long as he continues to work in the legal guidelines of this program." Allowing him. God, Peter couldn't believe this.

"How does Spider-Man feel about this program?"

The Mayor cleared his throat, and bared his whitened teeth at the camera, offering a wide, political smile. "The city of New York is very excited to work with Spider-Man. He's a blessing to this city. However, he's difficult to contact. He's not exactly someone we can just send a letter in the mail to." There was a low ripple of laughter among the reporters. "Government employees will be approaching Spider-Man in the next week or so, with the program initiated within the next few months."

The Mayor's gaze was intent, heavy. Peter felt as though he was looking straight at him. "We're all looking forward to working with Spider-Man," the Mayor said.

Peter couldn't breathe.

The Mayor expected Peter to work with the police? The people who'd shot him, tasered him, tried to strip him of his mask and lock him up?

His heartbeat was loud in his ears, his hands shaking and wet with sweat. Peter acted on impulse, turning and stumbling through the crowd with his head down. His movements were probably too fast, running faster than a normal teenager should be able to, but he didn't care, he didn't care, he needed to get out of here, get somewhere safe.

By the time Peter fell into his room, panic was choking him, and he was gasping for air. He locked his bedroom door, grateful his Aunt was out, fell onto his bed, and tried not to shake apart.


Peter jolted awake with a start, nearly slamming his head on the ceiling as he'd apparently jumped several feet into the air, before crashing back down onto the mattress.

He lay there, sprawled in a disorientated, messy heap, before he heard the noise again that had originally woken him.

"Peter, dear. Are you up there? Dinner's nearly ready." His Aunt's sweet voice came up from the bottom of the stairs.

Dinner, Peter thought. Had he really slept that long? Quickly getting up from his messy bed, he clicked the mechanism to unlock his door and trudged down the stairs, running a hand through his messy hair, dark circles visible under his eyes. Well, at least he'd gotten some sleep, be it a few hours. His sleeping pattern had been highly messed up of late, due to the plaguing nightmares.

"Oh, there you are, Peter," Aunt May said from the kitchen, leaning over the stove. "I was wondering if you were home," she added, with a slight edge of concern.

"Mmm, twas sleeping," Peter replied, brown eyes blinking the lingering sleep away, while a hand rubbed at his face.

"Sleeping, again? Peter, you've got to get to bed earlier, we can't have you sleeping at all hours of the day. The school has already rung about it several times over the last few months."

"Sorry, homework," Peter lied. Of course, he couldn't tell her that the real reason he wasn't getting any sleep was because he was out all night crime fighting. The nightmares weren't something he could tell her about either (or wanted to).

"You teenagers," Aunt May tutted, "always so caught up in schoolwork lately, but do try to look after yourself, dear. You're a good boy, and I wouldn't want to see you burn yourself out."

"Yes, Aunt May," Peter said, before grabbing a juice from the fridge, and wandering over to the couch.

He immediately regretted the action though when he realised what was playing on TV, bringing a sinking feeling to his stomach, and reminding him of why he had fallen asleep in such a state in the first place.

"Earlier this afternoon, the Mayor officially announced a new program designed to make the New York City Police Department and the local hero, Spider-Man, work together," said a local newsreader, prim in a floral dress. "There has been much speculation as to how exactly this will happen, and citizens' opinions have been varied, but the majority of New Yorkers are hoping for this to be successful, and for the bridge between our crime fighters to be mended, as the gap between them has been an ongoing problem for many months now."

The woman cleared her throat, and continued, "We now cut to the chief of The Daily Bugle for his say on the matter."

The scene changed to a grumpy looking man with graying hair and a thick moustache. "THAT WALL-CRAWLING—!"

Peter slammed on the remote, switching the TV off before he could hear any more. How could his day get any worse? How could the people want him to work with the police, who'd hurt him so badly in the past? Why would they even care?

Man, this whole thing was sending him up the wall, literally. He really wasn't sure he could take anymore of the never ending fear and anxiety—constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting there to be a policeman there with a giant taser gun, waiting to take him down, lock him up somewhere dark and alone.

"Come have your dinner, Peter, or it'll get cold!" Aunt May called suddenly from the kitchen, jarring him from his mental breakdown.

Saved by Aunt May, Peter thought, managing a slight smile. He shook his head, trying to push away his nagging anxiety and questions as he trudged into the kitchen. The whole thing would probably just blow over after a while, once the hype died down. But whatever their sneaky plan was, he was determined not to let them win.

Roughly one week later, that's exactly what he'd done. Peter had so far managed to avoid any official looking people. He stayed as far away from the police as he possibly could, taking out criminals as quickly and discreetly as possible, so as not to be seen and draw attention to himself.

In many ways, Spider-Man had somewhat disappeared, the only sign of him being the webbed up criminals he left behind.

The officials themselves were being very quiet on the matter. He knew the government was just trying not to alert people to it. If it was all over the news they would have to acknowledge the influx of questions that no one wanted to answer. It made Peter smirk, knowing how guilty they were of purposefully harming him; he was certain he had the upper-hand in this situation.

Peter rested his head back where he sat on the side of a wall, happily taking a break from his run of successful crime fighting that morning, when he heard the sirens in the distance.

He sighed. "Oh well, duty calls," he said to himself, disappointed that his break was cut short. He pushed himself off the brick surface of the wall and shot a web, heading in the direction of the disturbance.

So long as Peter was able to continue his patrols; as long as he could protect his people and avoid the NYPD, then everything would be fine. Maybe, if he ignored them long enough, they'd drop the program entirely.

A dozen police cars were stopped outside a bank. Many of the windscreens were shattered, the cars littered with bullet holes. Officers were crouched behind half-destroyed cars for protection. Atop the bank stairs, two men in balaclavas stood, holding machine guns and firing wildly out into the crowd of police cars.

The dozen or so cops, huddled close to the ground to avoid errant bullets, missed the soaring blur of red and blue. No one saw the hero crawl over the roof and down the bank's pillars, but when the rain of bullets immediately stopped, everyone looked up.

The machine guns had been stolen straight from the robbers' hands, and were now webbed against the bank's roof.

The robbers were frozen; the balaclavas did not mask the shock on their faces as they stared at their empty hands with complete disbelief. "Wha—?"

Reflective goggles, dangled upside down, met their confused gaze. The robbers openly gaped. "You know, this really isn't a healthy way to deal with your anger," said the upside down man, gesturing with a gloved hand at the webbed-up guns hanging from the roof. "You should take up something more therapeutic—like knitting. Or yoga! You guys should definitely take up yoga."

The tallest robber spat, "Spider-Man."

Spidey offered them a little, jaunty upside down wave. "Hiya!"

Tallest shook his head, fists clenched at his side. Behind Spidey, the cops began to uncurl from their protective positions. Several cops rushed paramedics inside the bank, where they knew injured hostages laid awaiting help.

"I won't—" Tallest was shaking with rage, mouth twisted up in a defiant snarl. "I won't go down like this!"

Spidey was scratching his head, the beginnings of a nonchalant quip on his lips, and so missed Tallest's partner, who had so far been silent and still, inch away from the hero. The smaller criminal turned abruptly and sprinted toward the police cars before Spidey could so much as flinch.

A brunette cop was only just getting to her feet, moving toward the bank on shaky legs. The other cops around them called out, raising their guns, but it was too late—the robber tackled the young woman, and the both of them went tumbling over the bonnet of a nearby car.

Spider-sense screaming, heart beating frantically, Spidey moved on instinct. With superhuman reflexes, he followed the duo over the car, landing roughly on the asphalt.

The small robber bared yellow teeth at him, his eyes wide and crazy. His arms were wrapped around the cop, keeping her trapped. They were pressed together, but still, Spidey could see the wires of a bomb strapped beneath his jacket.

They were too close to the bank- full of hostages and police officers and paramedics. If it blew…

"BOMB!" Spidey shouted in warning. "EVERYONE GET BACK!"

With one hand, Spidey pried the robber off of the cop. He wasn't gentle as he bodily threw her toward the safety of the bank, before picking up the robber and jumping away, racing towards the back of the clustered police cars. No one was back there, everyone having moved toward the bank.

They landed behind an armoured police van, and Spidey ripped the robber's thick jacket off, trying to get to the bomb. Maybe—maybe he could use his superhuman strength to tear into the bomb—maybe he could save this man—

"It's too late, it's too late," murmured the robber in a litany. His eyes were bloodshot and frantic, and he began to giggle, breathy and high. "It's too late!"

Spidey heard a hitched, panicked breath. He looked up and met the gaze of a young, terrified cop, frozen only metres away from him, the robber, and the ticking bomb. The inexperienced cop must have been the only one that hadn't rushed toward the bank.

The robber threw his head back and cackled, like he'd been told a tremendously funny joke. "It's too late," he gasped at the blue, open sky. His huge grin was visible beneath the balaclava. The bomb had only seconds before detonation.

Spidey abandoned the robber, and leapt at the young cop. He grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him behind a neighbouring police car—Spidey positioning the young man against him, shielding the cop with his body just as the bomb exploded.

Heat surrounded them, throwing cars and knocking cops off their feet. Spidey couldn't see anything, couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears—felt nothing but pain and red hot burning and a squirming, gasping body against his.

Just hold tight, he told himself. Just hold on. Protect this innocent man. Protect, protect, protect…

It took only moments for the fire to fade, but it left destruction all around them. Cars had been reduced to burning husks, plumes of smoke rising from all around, and faint, disorientated screaming could be heard. Shouts of panic, and voices thrown across the space, asking if everyone was okay.

A voice, high and panicked and basically in Peter's ear, screamed back, "Spider-Man! Spidey's—Spidey's injured!"

Spidey gasped for air. A body wriggled against his tight hold, trying to pull him away, but he held tight—he had to protect this man. Spidey was the reason the bomb was so close to him, it was his fault, he had to protect, he had to—!

"Spidey!" The wriggling stopped. A hand traced a soft touch against his webbed mask. He felt numb all over—limbs stiff and faintly wet, still burning red-hot. His back was a mass of consuming agony. "Spidey, you're okay. The—the danger's gone, you—" The voice choked up, words thick with panic and the threat of tears. "—you saved me. You—oh my god—"

"Spider-Man!" More hands joined the shaking first. Fingers pressed into the tender, ripped flesh of his back, and Spidey arched away, his scream cut-off and muffled beneath the mask.

"You have to let go," said the new voice, pulling again at Spidey's grip. "They can't treat you if—"

Spidey could hardly breathe, everything aching and burning and choking, but he knew in his bones that he would die before he let anything happen to an innocent young man. Nothing would hurt this officer.

The pushing fingers were useless against his superhuman grip. Someone else chimed in, voice strong and full of authority, "Spider-Man, you have to let go. You're hurting him."

Spidey dropped his hands immediately, recoiling in horror. Someone was behind him, touching light fingers over the shoulder of his suit. "It's okay," they said in a whisper. "He's okay. It's just bruising."

But it was too much. Spidey, body exhausted and pushed to its extremes, was shaking. His thoughts were tumbling away, and he was aware of nothing but probing hands against his wet skin and distant voices, and burning, burning pain.

His legs buckled suddenly, as he was unable to take any more, and he collapsed forward. The shocked cop only just managed to hold him as he fell, preventing him from falling to the ground.

His head swam and his body went limp as he choked for breath, throat tight and constricted with panic, shivering uncontrollably with fear.

"Oh god, oh god, Spidey. Oh, oh what do I do, what do I do?" The young cop panicked, as he held onto Spidey's form sprawled over him. His shock was mirrored on the surrounding officers' faces, as paramedics moved in.

"Can you get him off you?" one of the medics asked. It took the cop a second to register the question, before he tried pushing Spidey off of him with the assistance of other paramedics.

Spidey screamed as the pain flared worse all down his back, the sound ripping from his throat and bringing tears to the cop's eyes, who immediately stopped and let him rest against him.

"No, I—I can't do it, I can't cause him pain," he protested, crying, as he could feel Spidey's body shaking and shivering against his, chest heaving with harsh, too-fast breaths.

The crew looked at him searchingly for a second, before nodding, and preparing to treat Spidey's wounds standing up.

The second Spidey felt something pull against a piece of shrapnel in his back he screamed again, squirming away.

Head lolling slightly, he weakly grabbed onto the car with one hand, bending the metal in his grip, while the other pressed flat just to the side of the cop's head, whose eyes widened in shock at the action.

"Keep him still. He needs to calm down," one of the paramedics yelled.

Sucking in a shaky breath, the cop reached up a shivery hand towards Spidey's neck, sliding it up to his jaw. Instantly, he felt the mad flutter of Spidey's heartbeat as his fingers brushed the pulse point, and the movement of his throat racking over several pain-filled, panicked gulps.

More tears came to the cop's eyes, as pain filled his heart for the injured hero. "He's—he's scared," he choked. He shifted his position as best he could—trying to make sure Spidey wouldn't fall—as he brought his hand round to cup the vigilante's face, the other his chin. "It's alright, Spidey. You're okay, you're okay. I've got you," he soothed.

Spidey heard the whispered words of the man he'd saved through the pain, along with feeling the soft, shaking hands cupping his face against his spandex covered skin, and instantly, felt himself calming.

The cop felt Spidey's throat swallow hard a few more times, before he seemed to finally begin to relax, letting his chin come to rest on the officer's shoulder. Quickly, the cop moved his hand to cup the back of his head, before looking over to the paramedics.

"Good job," they whispered, slightly awed, before getting to work.

It took a little while for them to clean up Spidey's back, removing bits of shrapnel and treating burns, only a few whimpers and squirming movements from their patient getting past the young cops gentle soothing. By the time they were done, Spidey, exhausted, had fallen asleep with his head rested in the crook of the cops shoulder. Without thinking twice, he slid his arm under Spidey's knees, and carefully lifted the snoozing bundle into his arms—mindful of his now heavily bandaged back—before starting to walk over to a mostly undamaged police car.

"Jack? What are you doing?! Quick, take his mask off now!" One of his fellow colleagues—who'd only just arrived on the scene—yelled suddenly as he came running towards him. Other new arrivals were getting out of cars behind.

Jack instantly curled Spidey tighter into his chest. "No," he said, voice thick with emotion. Instead, he shifted Spidey in his arms, and opened his car door. Slowly, he moved into the back seat, resting Spidey in a sitting position, while he reached over and grabbed a blanket that was sat upon the back dash of the car, spreading it over the seats. Then, without jostling the web-slinger too much, he carefully laid him down on his side, easing his head back, and letting him rest.

The minute Jack pulled his head out of the car, after making sure his charge was comfortable, he was greeted with several angry and confused faces.

"Jack? Why isn't he in handcuffs? He's a menace!" asked Jack's friend. But he only received nervous silence in reply. The other officer made a move for the car.

"No, Morgan! I won't let you hurt him!" Jack shouted, as he bodily moved into the doorway, blocking access to the car's interior. "He's been through enough already! He—he saved my life." The words come out in a soft, choked whisper, causing his friend's face to contort in confusion.

Morgan wouldn't listen, too focused on the red and blue form lying prone behind Jack. "Are you insane? He's—"

A hand on the man's elbow stilled him. The young woman who the robber had tackled, the one who wouldn't be standing there had Spidey not intervened, glared up at him.

"Marissa," Jack said, relieved. He didn't move forward to greet or thank his colleague, still blocking the doorframe with his body. He would fight off anyone who tried to come closer and harm the hero, if he had to.

Marissa was focused on Morgan, her eyes fierce, her shoulders squared. "Morgan," she began, words tight. "Get out of here. Go do your job."

Morgan gestured angrily at Jack and the police car sheltering the unconscious hero. "I'm trying to do my job! Do you have any idea how long we've been trying to nab that freaking—"

"—hero," Marissa interrupted. "That freaking hero is the reason we're all not smouldering ash right now." Morgan glared at her, but Marissa didn't let his anger stop her. She moved in close, her stance aggressive and unwavering, getting right in his face. "So why don't you go and do your job, and help the hostages? Or process the remaining criminals—y'know, the ones who tried to shot us all full of bullets less than half an hour ago—rather than chasing after the guy who saved us?"

Marissa's angry tone, and Jack's previous panicked outburst, body bracketed against the car door—visibly protecting the hero, seemed to chase away any of the other officers in the area who wanted to also arrest Spider-Man. There were grumbles, many angry glances thrown their way, but for the most part, no one came forward.

A smarter man would have backed down at Marissa's glare, run off with his tail between his legs, but Morgan stood tall and gritted out, "I'm trying to do my job, Officer Mandez. Our orders are to arrest Spider-Man."

"Those orders were dropped," she said coolly. "The arrest warrant is gone. Remember?"

There was a long moment of tense, challenging silence. Jack, frozen in the doorframe, started as Spidey whined—a low pained, disorientated noise. "Spidey," he murmured, worried.

Marissa sighed. The tension dissolved, the possibility of a fight having passed. "Go do your job, Morgan," she said tiredly, scrubbing a hand over her face.

Morgan shook himself. He paused for the briefest moment, before huffing and leaving dutifully toward the bank, casting one last disdainful glance over his shoulder. Marissa smiled tightly, and asked the young cop, "How is he, Jack?"

Jack glanced back at Spidey. His suit was wrecked; parts of the spandex had melted onto inflamed skin. Other parts had been scraped away to reveal bloody, torn wounds, most of which had already been bandaged to the best of the paramedic's ability.

Jack wet his lips, and said hoarsely, "Not good."

More officers, the backup that had been requested, were beginning to arrive on the scene. Many of which were casting furtive glances their way, curious, some looking ready to intervene.

"Okay," Marissa decided, coming around the driver side of the car, "get in the back. We're getting out of here."

Jack blinked at her. "What? Where—?"

Morgan could be seen talking with several other cops, all of them taller and bulkier, more menacing than either Marissa or Jack. The group kept glancing back at them, eyes narrowed.

"Somewhere that's not here," Marissa said. "Get in the car, Jack."

Jack got in.

Well, there you go guys :) It's written about equally by both writers, so this chapter's a mashup from each of us. We kinda just started talking about tons of ideas and brainstormed until we came up with a basic outline for the story, and then started writing, taking turns by going backwards and forwards between each writer haha. So if you wanted to know, that's how it was made lol :) It was actually extremely fun :D

Now, updates will most likely be slow on this because it is a collab and joint effort, which means editing takes a while, but most of the story IS already written, so it will all be uploaded eventually. Just be patient :) Until then, I'm still doing Helping Hand and aloneintherain will still be doing her stuff. So, plenty to read :) Oh! And if you haven't checked aloneintherain out yet, you really should; her stories are beyond amazing! :D

Anyway, I hope you liked it and have a nice day! :)