In case any of you were wondering... (locked)
((This is mostly to explain Nate's behavior towards the recently resurrected Spidey spinsaweb))
Dear Peter Parker,
This is everything that I'll more than likely never be able to say to your face. Of course, you'll never read this letter either, cause I'll burn it as soon as I finish writing it. Cowardly of me? Perhaps, but I need to get some things of my chest and this allows me to be as flippant as I want to be and not worry about hurting your feelings. For starters, I can say something like this:
YOU SHOULD STILL BE DEAD!
I could never say that your face, but that's how I feel. Yeah, I know. I'm a complete hypocrit for saying that. Hell, you know my family's reputation. We probably couldn't stay dead even if we wanted to. But you? You're not one of us, Peter. We jump through time, we dance among the stars, we move mountains with a single thought. You stick to walls. Ok, there's that whole "spider sense" and proportionate blah, blah, blah of a spider. But you're still a regular schmuck.
You died. I saw your corpse. I was the one who found your broken battered mangled body under a pile of trash in the back of an alley. (and as an aside: you owe me a new leather jacket, cause the one I laid over your dead body? I did not take it back, and even if you did find it and return it to be? I would never EVER wear it again). You were dead. Not disappeared somewhere, but DEAD dead! You got cremated. You were reduced to nothing more than a small pile of ashes and a mountain of memories. You were supposed to be gone, forever. You're not The Phoenix, you don't get to rise from the ashes.
You were gone. For good. That was a fact. And I mourned you.
It hurt when you died. I really hurt when you died.
You were one of the few that I trusted, one of the few that I respected, and yet another who was taken from me far too soon.
I was mad. I was upset. Even more so because, Namor, fucking Namor, had to go and kill the fucker who killed you. I couldn’t even get revenge. There was no solace for me, no making peace. All I had was more pain.
I couldn’t handle it, and I refused to let anyone help me with it. So I just wallowed in it instead. Hey, I’m a Summers, I never miss a chance to make myself miserable when I don’t have to be.
And now you’re back. But guess what? Shit doesn’t just return to normal. Not for me That pain is still there, because you should not be here.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to die again. Really, I don’t. I know I keep harping on how you should still be dead (and you should), but I don’t want you to die on me again. I am happy you’re back, and I do hope you stay for a long time and get to be happy and all that good stuff. You’re still my friend and I still care. Hell, if I had thought, even for a second, that you would return? I would have thrown the biggest damn party in the nexus for you.
But I didn’t think you would ever be back. When I look at you now, it’s difficult not to still see the corpse I found back in that alley. That was you, Peter. Not a clone, not an LMD, that was you. That should still be you, but you’re here now.
It’ll take a little getting used to, at least on my part, to see you still walking, talking, and sucking air like the rest of us (and wasting said air on bad jokes). Just give me a week or three and then I’ll be able to pretend that it doesn’t matter until it finally doesn’t matter anymore. I’m good at that, it’s how I deal with most of my problems.
So, In conclusion, you owe me a new leather jacket.
Also, I’m a dick for not telling you any of this to your face, for being all weird around you now, and for wanting you to still be dead. And I’m sorry. For all of that. And for a lot of other things. I only hope you don’t take my behavior too personally.
Welcome back, Peter.
Sincerely,
Nate Grey
Dear Peter Parker,
This is everything that I'll more than likely never be able to say to your face. Of course, you'll never read this letter either, cause I'll burn it as soon as I finish writing it. Cowardly of me? Perhaps, but I need to get some things of my chest and this allows me to be as flippant as I want to be and not worry about hurting your feelings. For starters, I can say something like this:
YOU SHOULD STILL BE DEAD!
I could never say that your face, but that's how I feel. Yeah, I know. I'm a complete hypocrit for saying that. Hell, you know my family's reputation. We probably couldn't stay dead even if we wanted to. But you? You're not one of us, Peter. We jump through time, we dance among the stars, we move mountains with a single thought. You stick to walls. Ok, there's that whole "spider sense" and proportionate blah, blah, blah of a spider. But you're still a regular schmuck.
You died. I saw your corpse. I was the one who found your broken battered mangled body under a pile of trash in the back of an alley. (and as an aside: you owe me a new leather jacket, cause the one I laid over your dead body? I did not take it back, and even if you did find it and return it to be? I would never EVER wear it again). You were dead. Not disappeared somewhere, but DEAD dead! You got cremated. You were reduced to nothing more than a small pile of ashes and a mountain of memories. You were supposed to be gone, forever. You're not The Phoenix, you don't get to rise from the ashes.
You were gone. For good. That was a fact. And I mourned you.
It hurt when you died. I really hurt when you died.
You were one of the few that I trusted, one of the few that I respected, and yet another who was taken from me far too soon.
I was mad. I was upset. Even more so because, Namor, fucking Namor, had to go and kill the fucker who killed you. I couldn’t even get revenge. There was no solace for me, no making peace. All I had was more pain.
I couldn’t handle it, and I refused to let anyone help me with it. So I just wallowed in it instead. Hey, I’m a Summers, I never miss a chance to make myself miserable when I don’t have to be.
And now you’re back. But guess what? Shit doesn’t just return to normal. Not for me That pain is still there, because you should not be here.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to die again. Really, I don’t. I know I keep harping on how you should still be dead (and you should), but I don’t want you to die on me again. I am happy you’re back, and I do hope you stay for a long time and get to be happy and all that good stuff. You’re still my friend and I still care. Hell, if I had thought, even for a second, that you would return? I would have thrown the biggest damn party in the nexus for you.
But I didn’t think you would ever be back. When I look at you now, it’s difficult not to still see the corpse I found back in that alley. That was you, Peter. Not a clone, not an LMD, that was you. That should still be you, but you’re here now.
It’ll take a little getting used to, at least on my part, to see you still walking, talking, and sucking air like the rest of us (and wasting said air on bad jokes). Just give me a week or three and then I’ll be able to pretend that it doesn’t matter until it finally doesn’t matter anymore. I’m good at that, it’s how I deal with most of my problems.
So, In conclusion, you owe me a new leather jacket.
Also, I’m a dick for not telling you any of this to your face, for being all weird around you now, and for wanting you to still be dead. And I’m sorry. For all of that. And for a lot of other things. I only hope you don’t take my behavior too personally.
Welcome back, Peter.
Sincerely,
Nate Grey