Chapter Text
Peter almost had fun at school the next day.
Almost.
He read the first half of chapter one during first period. By fourth period, he’d read the chapter through twice. His teachers largely ignored him, as was normal.
Mr. Harrington, however, was not normal.
Peter was sitting in the back row of his Chemistry class, busy scratching out the problems from the workbook on loose-leaf paper. He made it through the first four questions without much issue.
The rest of the class was working through today’s worksheet, which Mr. Harrington always handed out at the start of class. So Peter had finished it within the first few minutes of his lesson, and spent the rest of the class ignoring the lesson.
Once he was done lecturing, Mr. Harrington walked around the classroom to see if anyone needed help. He paused behind Peter and leaned over his shoulder. “That’s not the worksheet,” he said flatly, his eyes scanning over the sheet Peter was working on.
“Uh, yeah,” Peter said as he pulled the worksheet out from under his textbook. “I finished that.”
“Hm.” Mr. Harrington scanned over the page, then set it back down on Peter’s desk. “What is this, then?”
Peter flushed, smiling nervously. “Uh, it’s, you know. Extracurricular.”
Mr. Harrington lifted the cover of the textbook and read the title. “Are you understanding it?”
“I think so,” Peter said. He pulled his first sheet of loose-leaf out of the workbook and held it out, with the first three equations completed. “The back of the book has the odd answers, and my answers for one and three matched.”
“It looks good to me,” he said, nodding absently as he reviewed Peter’s work. His eyes drifted back down at Peter, and he frowned. “You’re going to make yourself bored in AP Physics next year.”
Peter smiled wryly. “I’m already bored in AP Chemistry.”
“Yes,” Mr. Harrington said dryly, “I can tell.” He pointed at the textbook. “If this starts interfering with your grades in this class, I’m putting an end to it, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Peter said quickly.
Mr. Harrington hummed as he turned a few pages in the workbook. “If you need help, you can come find me during free period. Physics was my major in college.”
“It wasn’t Chemistry?” Peter asked.
“I minored in Chemistry.”
“Oh. You can do that?” Peter asked. He kind of thought you had to pick one thing or another.
“You can do whatever you want in college,” he said with a smile.
“Cool,” Peter whispered.
Getting to pick what he learned in school sounded way more fun. He kind of wanted to major in engineering of some sort, maybe. So he could be an inventor.
“Is chemical engineering a major?” he asked. That was definitely what he enjoyed the most, so far.
“It sure is. I think you’d be quite adept at that.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, smiling wide as he went back to his physics.
- - -
Peter set his textbook down on the table next to Ned, then dumped his lunch out beside it. His apple went rolling, and Ned caught it.
“Dude,” Ned said, grinning as he handed the apple back. “Okay. Does he have robots in the lab? Do the robots do all the work?”
Peter grinned. “Yeah, there are robots.”
“Like, robot arms? Or humanoid robots? Are there suits in there?”
“There were suits lining the walls of his workshop,” Peter said, unwrapping his sandwich. He took a bite and kept talking. “They weren’t doing anything, though. He does have robot arms. I didn’t see any humanoid ones, but I haven’t really explored much yet.”
“Wow,” Ned said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you were in his personal lab.”
“It’s kind of insane,” Peter admitted, still grinning.
Michelle dropped into the seat across from them, setting her tray down with a soft clatter.
“Losers,” she said, already opening her book.
“Hey, MJ,” Ned said easily.
“MJ?” Peter echoed.
“It’s Michelle to you,” she said without looking up.
“Uh, okay…” Peter said, uncertainly. He glanced at Ned, then back at Michelle, and tried to ignore the slight tension that fell over them.
He took another bite of his sandwich. The thick peanut butter felt too dry, suddenly.
“Did you text him yet?” Ned asked.
“No,” Peter replied. “Why would I text him?”
“Because he told you you could?” Ned said.
“If I have questions,” Peter corrected. “I don’t have any yet.”
“Then come up with one.”
“Ned. No.” Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Why would texting him ruin it?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to annoy him into ghosting me.”
“He’s Tony Stark,” Ned said. “He wouldn’t have given you his number if he thought you were annoying.”
“Oh please,” a voice cut in from behind Peter.
Suppressing a groan, Peter closed his eyes for half a second.
“This little fantasy of yours is getting pathetic, Parker.”
Peter rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich.
“You don’t actually expect me to believe you’ve met Tony Stark himself, do you?” Flash continued.
“I don’t really care what you believe,” Peter said, not even looking behind him at Flash.
Across the table, Michelle lowered her book slightly, her eyes landing squarely on Peter, face completely blank.
Peter raised an eyebrow at her.
“And what’s with this?” Flash said, tugging the physics book out from under Peter’s elbow. “Did you seriously go find some old college textbook at a thrift store to LARP Stark’s special little intern?”
Peter snatched his book back and set it firmly on the table. “Go away, Flash.”
“You can’t even defend yourself,” Flash scoffed. “That’s how pathetic this is.”
“You sure pay a lot of attention to Parker,” Michelle said dryly, her eyes already back on her book. “For someone who claims to hate him.”
Flash leaned forward, planting himself between Peter and Ned as he glared at her. “I don’t pay attention to him, I just—”
“—talk about him constantly,” she cut in. “Yeah. I know.”
Flash sputtered.
“It’s okay to have a crush,” she added calmly, turning a page. “But you’re interrupting my reading time, so go have it somewhere else.”
“I do not—” Flash screeched. He huffed an angry breath and scowled fiercely at all three of them. “Whatever. You losers can keep playing into his delusions, but don’t be surprised when he gets expelled for lying.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Bye, Flash.”
Flash shoved him on the way past, not hard, but enough to be annoying, and stormed off.
“Hey,” the lunchroom monitor shouted from across the room. “Hands to yourself, Mr. Thompson.”
“Him having a crush on Peter would make so much sense,” Ned said, after a moment.
Peter snorted.
“He’s just jealous,” Michelle said. “He better not get himself suspended for fighting. They’ll kick him from decathlon, and I’ll kill him.” She looked straight at Peter and said, “Just like I’ll kill you if you get kicked out.”
Peter smiled. “Mr. Stark told me I had to keep up with decathlon if I wanted the internship.”
Michelle nodded once. “Good. Practice this afternoon. No doing homework during it.” She lifted her book back up, completely blocking her face from Peter’s view.
“So…” Ned said, after a beat. “The robots. How many are there?”
Peter grinned.
- - -
Detention on decathlon days wasn’t too bad. He was only trapped during free period, so after school he could attend practice.
Peter trudged into the detention room, where Mr. Wilson was already napping at his desk. Peter signed his name on the sheet at the front of the room, then went to the back and sat down, his physics book already in his hands.
There were a handful of other students in the room, all sitting off to the side together, texting back and forth and snickering at whatever. They looked up every few minutes at Mr. Wilson, but he was completely checked out.
Peter opened his workbook and flipped to the next problem.
It looked simple enough. He wrote out the equation quickly, plugging the given numbers in without much thought.
He solved it in under a minute, then frowned down at his paper.
Something about it looked… off. He tapped his pencil against the paper, then flipped back to the example problem.
Same setup. Same work. He flipped to the answer key, and sure enough, he was wrong.
So what gave?
He read the problem more carefully this time, along with the explanation, and his eyes caught something he’d skimmed over before.
Direction mattered.
“Oh,” he whispered, as he scratched out his error and rewrote the equation, taking into account direction.
He ran through the math again, then paused.
Because the feeling was familiar. The math was familiar. The split second before he jumped off a building. When he pressed down on his web shooter. If he angled wrong, if he didn’t account for where he was going, not just how fast… He’d overshoot. Or undershoot. Slam into something. And that hurt.
Peter stared down at the equation.
Huh.
He finished out the math and looked in fascination as the numbers settled into something that actually made sense.
Flipping to a blank page, Peter sketched out the empire state building, jotting down the basic facts he knew.
Height was 1454 feet, which translated to… about 440 meters.
He scribbled it down, then paused, tapping at the paper. If he just stepped off… height equals… he flipped back to the book and found the equation. He’d fall straight down. Gravity was 9.81…
His handwriting got messier the quicker he went, trying to solve for time. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the fall. Counted the seconds before he’d reach out and shoot his web, then looked back down at his equation.
And… it lined up.
Huh.
He smiled and drew another point on his diagram. If he jumped out, that would add speed… He drew a rough angle and started scribbling numbers next to it. Velocity. Direction.
“This is so cool,” he whispered to himself, as he worked out how fast he could get. How far he could go. How much force he’d exert on his body.
All of this…he already knew.
He could stand at the edge of a building and feel it. Know exactly when to jump, when to fire, how to move, as easy as he knew where to put his feet while walking.
But this? This was why it worked.
Maybe he could push himself further. Take risks he normally wouldn’t, because now he could prove they’d work before he tried them.
The bell rang, and Peter looked up.
“Get out of here,” Mr. Wilson said.
Peter nodded quickly as he shoved everything into his backpack.
Who knew detention could be so fun?
- - -
During decathlon practice, Peter’s phone buzzed. He glanced over at the screen, from where he’d been reading the packet Michelle was making them work through, and froze.
“Dude,” he whispered to Ned, as he gestured to his phone.
Ned leaned in, then his eyes similarly went wide. “Dude,” he whispered back, louder.
Because there on his screen was a text from Tony Stark.
“How’s physics treating you?”
“Well, answer it,” Ned whispered quickly.
Peter grabbed his backpack from under the table and pulled his workbook out. He flipped through and took a picture of some of his work, then sent it back to Tony. “Good! Chapter 1 was pretty easy.”
“Parker,” Michelle snapped from the head of the table. “I told you no homework.”
“Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, as he shoved the workbook back in his bag. He turned the page in his packet and tried to refocus on it.
But then his phone buzzed with Tony’s response.
“Looks good, kid.”
Peter beamed, and then another text popped up under it.
“Go ahead and start on Chapter 2. Once it clicks, skip the rest of the problems and move on.”
“Dude,” Ned whispered, looking at Peter’s screen. “Your life is so cool.”
With another grin, Peter tucked his phone under the table and typed out a response.
“I think I’ve been doing these calculations in my head this whole time. I just didn’t have numbers for it.”
He kept his phone under the table, so when the response came, Ned wouldn’t see it.
“Great,” Tony’s text read. “That’s fantastic. Never confess to me again you’ve been launching yourself off buildings without doing the math first.”
“Did you do the math before flying for the first time?” Peter asked. He could totally see Tony doing that.
But, also, he could totally see Tony not doing that, just from all his interactions with Iron Man in the field.
“Don’t sass me child.”
Peter bit the side of his cheek, trying not to smile too wide as he replied. “So no.” He slipped his notes back out and snapped a picture of his Empire State Building diagram. He shot that off to Tony.
Michelle was glaring at him from across the table, so he rested his head in his hand and went back to reading the packet.
Tony took a few minutes to reply, but as soon as he did, Peter tucked the phone back under the table and looked at it.
“Not bad. You’re off by half a second.” Attached was a photo of a quick sketch scrawled across the back of a printed meeting agenda, numbers and arrows layered over what looked like quarterly projections.
Peter stared at it.
Tony Stark was texting him from the middle of a meeting. About his Spider-Man math.
Half a second, he thought, as he closed his eyes and tried to picture it.
He’d have to do it to feel it.
“Parker,” Michelle snapped. “Packet.”
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.
Flash scoffed from a few seats down, and Peter ignored him completely. He read the next paragraph in his packet and tried to commit the information to his brain, instead of think about the half a second.
“Hey,” Ned whispered. “What’d he say?”
Peter pressed his lips together, trying, and failing, not to smile. “Uh,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I was a little off.”
Ned stared at him, an awed expression on his face. “You’re getting critiqued by Tony Stark.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, ducking his head.
His phone buzzed again. Slowly, cautiously, Peter angled it so only he could read it.
“Also, don’t try that from the Empire State Building. You’ll get arrested and I’m not bailing you out.”
Peter stifled a laugh and tucked his phone back in his pocket.
“Something funny?” Michelle asked.
“No,” Peter said quickly. “Nope.”
She hummed at him, disapprovingly, but the look she shot him was nowhere near as angry as Peter expected.
He smiled and looked back at the packet to start again from the beginning.
- - -
With a mask over his face, Peter felt free in a way he never did.
Spider-Man could do whatever he wanted. He was free to run as fast as he could. To jump as high as he could. Flip around, climb, and be truly himself.
The city was his playground, and Peter was so ready to play that night.
He climbed to the top of a moderately tall apartment building in the middle of Manhattan. Not the Empire State Building, but higher than he could get in Queens. He toed to the edge of the roof and rolled his shoulders.
Half a second. Adjusting for the lower height, it would be a little less than that. A quarter second, maybe. Tony’s chicken scratch flashed through his head as he double-checked the calculations.
Peter exhaled, then stepped off.
The free fall was always the best part. The wind rushed as his body dropped. The cool early spring air bit his face through the mask.
He counted the seconds in his head, and waited just a fraction of a second longer than he normally would.
Then he fired the web.
The line caught. Pulled tight. And the arc carried him forward, smoother and cleaner than normal.
Peter started laughing as he reached the peak of his arc. He shot out another web, pulling himself down the road, adjusting the angle mid-motion as the calculations ran through his head.
Numbers and timing layered over his instinct like a second language.
It was exhilarating.
He should have dug into this months ago. He’d picked up his chemistry studies to perfect his web fluid, but never anything else.
‘What was the point?’ he’d thought. Why study something if he was never going to use it?
This.
This was the point.
“Ya-hoo!” he shouted, launching another web and diving into the next arc.
His phone buzzed from his zippered pocket.
Peter flipped up onto the roof of the next building, landing in a crouch before pulling his phone from his pocket. A text from Tony lit up the screen.
‘You’re trending on twitter. Calm down.’
“Whoa,” Peter said with a grin. He opened twitter and found a video of himself swinging down 34th Street, laughing as he went.
‘That’s so cool,’ he replied.
He scrolled through the comments. Most were some variation of dude’s having fun, or I wish that were me. He deliberately skipped anything that looked even slightly negative.
He also ignored J. Jonah Jameson’s retweet.
He already knew what that comment section looked like.
Another text popped up, blocking the top half of his screen.
‘Yeah, baby’s first viral moment. Go back to Queens. Lay low.’
Peter nodded at the screen and looked over across the river.
He couldn’t swing as well in Queens…
But he didn’t run around Queens to have fun.
He did it to help his people.
Peter looked back down at his phone and tapped out a reply. ‘Yeah yeah sorry. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man coming up.’
Tony’s reply popped up instantly. ‘What is with you and that stupid hyphen? Spiderman or Spider Man.’
Peter rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. ‘It’s a compound word.’
‘That doesn’t mean it needs a hyphen. Iron Man doesn’t have a hyphen.’
Peter scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he stepped toward the edge of the building.
They’d had this argument before.
More than once.
The first time had been after an Avengers press conference, when Peter had seen his name flash across a screen, completely wrong.
He’d found Iron Man the next day and said, “You spelled my name wrong,” in lieu of a greeting.
Tony had lifted his mask to glare at him. “Don’t tell me it’s spelled with a ‘y.’ I will publicly shame you if you tell me that.”
“No,” he’d shot back. “There’s a hyphen. Spider-hyphen-man.”
“That’s equally dumb,” Tony had said, the faceplate snapping back into place with a metallic click.
After that, Tony had referred to him as Hyphen half the time.
Peter couldn’t help his grin as he fell off the roof, already aiming his web shooter.
- - -
Queens was quieter than Manhattan, especially as the afternoon turned into evening.
Fewer cars. Fewer people milling around.
Navigating around Queens was different, too. Shorter buildings and narrower streets meant a lot of running and leaping.
It was fun in its own way.
Peter was currently jumping from roof to roof, taking running leaps and doing flips in the air as he went.
He could probably figure out the equation for that math, too. He’d have to ask Tony to point him in the right direction.
Or just read ahead in his book, himself.
Peter landed on another roof and paused when a voice drifted up from below. It sounded strained, in a familiar sort of way. Like when May was angry to the point of tears, but trying not to cry.
“I paid for in-home delivery,” the lady was complaining.
A flat, unconcerned voice replied, “I don’t do stairs.”
Peter peeked over the edge of the roof and looked down. A delivery truck was parked next to the man and woman, with a washer sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
“You’re a delivery person in New York,” the woman exclaimed, “What do you mean you don’t do stairs? Obviously stairs are involved!”
“Look, lady,” the man scoffed. “I have a bad back. This is far as I’m taking it.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Her voice squeaked, and Peter knew she was about to absolutely lose it.
Peter tilted his head, then shrugged to himself. With a quick jump and little flip, Peter landed next to her on the sidewalk.
“I can help,” he said as he stood to his feet.
The lady jumped sky high, but the man just looked at him lazily, giving him a once-over.
“If he carries it, I’ll install it,” the man said, jerking his head toward Spider-Man.
The woman looked between them, shoulders sagging, but finally she said, “Fine. I just need this inside. I’ve been without a washer for a month. I’m so over the laundromat.”
“Mood,” Peter said as he stepped over to the washer. He put his hands on either side of it, letting his palms stick to the smooth metal, before he lifted it into the air. “Lead the way.”
“That’s so weird,” the lady mumbled, but there was no bite to it. Just bafflement, maybe.
Peter grinned.
“You’ve got a really nice place,” Peter commented as he followed her up two flights of stairs and through a living room where he set the washer down in a laundry closet.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, “And, uh. Thanks for carrying it.”
Peter gave her a quick two-fingered salute. “That’s my job, Friendly neighborhood and all that. Do you need anything else?”
“Nah,” the delivery driver said from behind him, “I can push it into place once I hook it up.”
Peter nodded, then glanced back at the woman. “Alright. If you need anything else, just holler,” he said. “I’ll be around for a bit.”
Spider-Man ran around for another half hour, mostly doing parkour and messing around, until he heard a scuffle and muffled screaming two blocks over.
“Whoa,” he said as he shot out a web and launched himself in that direction. He landed on the roof above where two men were below, exchanging blows.
Well, one guy was doing the punching, and the other was mostly trying to block.
“Hey, nope,” Peter said, shooting a web down and catching the puncher’s wrist before tugging it upward.
The motion knocked the man off balance, and he stumbled backward, away from the victim.
“We’re not doing that tonight,” Spider-Man said, as he dropped down between them. “What’s this about?”
“Fuck off,” the puncher snapped.
Up close, Peter could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Peter scrunched his nose. “Yeah, okay. You should probably go home and sleep that off.”
“Or,” he added, gesturing vaguely down the street, “get a slice, drink some water, rethink your life choices. Lots of options here that don’t involve misdemeanors.”
The guy laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The hell are you supposed to be?” he demanded, jerking his arm free.
“Friendly neighborhood—” Peter started.
“Fuck off,” the other guy snapped from behind him.
Peter blinked and glanced between them. “You were getting punched in the face,” he said, a little bewildered.
“Mind your own fucking business,” the puncher shot back.
“Pretty sure it becomes my business when it’s assault,” Peter said.
“I’m fine,” the second guy snapped. “He’s weak as fuck.”
“Fuck you,” the puncher said, stepping forward again.
Peter threw his hands out, keeping space between them. “Okay. Nope. We’re done. You guys are going in opposite directions now. No more alcohol tonight.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” the second guy snapped at the same time the puncher said, “Fuck off.”
Peter exhaled, patience thinning. “I’m trying to help. I’m the good guy here, remember? Just go home.”
The first guy scoffed. “If you were the good guy, you wouldn’t be hiding behind that mask like a bitch.”
“We don’t need help from a freak,” the second guy spat.
Peter stilled. “…Right,” he said.
He dropped his shoulders and shot a web up to the roof above him.
“Have a good night,” he added quietly. “Go sleep it off and apologize to each other in the morning.”
Neither of them responded.
Peter pulled himself up to the roof.
Spider-Man didn’t stop moving until he was halfway across Queens. Leaping and flipping from rooftop to rooftop until his legs started to burn.
He overshot a building, corrected midair, and landed hard on the next roof. He flopped onto his back and didn’t move for a second.
“Nice going,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his masked face.
The fabric itched. His fingers twitched, ready to pull it off.
He stopped himself.
There was no telling who might be watching.
What might be watching.
We don’t need help from a freak.
Peter let out a slow breath.
People yelled stuff at him all the time. Half of Queens thought he was a menace. That was normal. J. Jonah Jameson went on hour-long rants every time Peter showed up to sell him photos.
That was normal.
The problem was Peter had forgotten.
He’d spent the whole afternoon running around, swinging, and just having fun.
He was such an idiot. He’d got caught up with math and science and Tony Stark and—
College.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut.
Like he could just… go to college. Pick a major. Sit in lectures. Build things in a lab like he was normal.
As if any of that was actually going to matter.
There was no way he was going to make it three more years. Not with the stupid act looming over his head.
SHIELD wasn’t going to look the other way forever. No matter what Tony promised.
All it would take was one person deciding to look a little closer. And that was it.
Gone.
Dragged in and—
Peter swallowed.
And whatever happened to the people who didn’t comply.
No one really knew. That was the worst part.
Peter dragged a hand down his face, the fabric of his mask catching against his skin. He let out a slow breath, then reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket.
The screen lit up instantly. The video was still open.
Peter hovered his thumb over the comments.
Tony had been worried about this. He wouldn’t have texted Peter to calm down if it didn’t matter.
If it wasn’t dangerous.
Something sharp twisted in Peter’s gut as he tapped.
The comments under J. Jonah Jameson’s retweet loaded, and Peter braced himself.
At first, they weren’t bad.
that’s actually kinda sick
wish I could do that
lmao dude’s living his best life
Peter exhaled quietly. Then he switched to the trending page.
#RegisterSpidey was number 19 in the U.S.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath. “Okay,” he whispered.
He tapped it. The feed refreshed.
why isn’t he on the list yet?
mask = hiding something
if he’s legit he’d show his face
SHIELD needs to deal with this
whats the point of the act if no ones enforcing it???
Peter kept scrolling, scanning the words without blinking.
His eyes burned.
freak thinks he’s above the law
another unregistered enhanced running around nyc great
someone report him already
Peter stopped.
His chest felt tight.
He locked his phone and dropped it back onto his chest, staring up at the sky again.
The borough didn’t feel quiet anymore.
- - -
May had dinner ready when Peter trudged through the front door, somewhere close to 8.
Spaghetti and meatballs, one of the few meals she had perfected.
It smelled amazing.
He dropped his bag down by the door, then slumped into a seat at the table.
May set a plate down in front of him and frowned. She ran a hand through his hair, tugging his head slightly so he looked up at her.
“What happened, honey?” she asked gently. “You were so happy yesterday.”
Peter forced a smile as he picked up his fork. “Nothing, May. I’m fine.”
With a sigh, May combed his hair back a few more times, then sat down across from him at their little table. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” he said, twirling his fork in the pasta. “I’m fine.” He shot her another smile, but it wasn’t even convincing to him.
His stomach felt like a rock, but he forced himself to take a bite, anyway.
May didn’t return his smile. She just looked at him, something sad in her eyes.
Peter avoided her gaze.
“How was school today?” May asked after a moment. “I didn’t get a call about you skipping.”
Peter huffed a quiet breath. “Because I didn’t. I worked on the physics Mr. Stark gave me most the day.”
“Yeah?” May asked, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “How’s that going?”
“Good,” Peter said, shrugging as he took another bite. “We, uh, texted about it a little. It’s pretty easy so far.”
May smiled fully. “That’s wonderful. Are you enjoying it?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Is it something you might want to do in college?”
Peter hesitated, twirling his fork slowly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Mr. Harrington said chemical engineering is a thing. That’s kind of what I was doing yesterday in the lab.”
If he had a choice, if he had the opportunity…
Peter resisted the urge to frown deeply.
May nodded. “That sounds like something you’d enjoy.”
Peter hummed faintly. It wasn’t like it mattered.
#RegisterSpidey.
He blinked hard and shoved the thought away.
Silence stretched for a few minutes until Peter abruptly asked, “May?” sitting up and looking at her.
“Yes?”
“What do you think about the Enhanced Registration Act?”
May frowned slightly. “The what? Is that like… enhanced IDs? I got one of those last year.”
“What?” Peter said, furrowing his brow. “No. It’s, like. You know, the thing that says mutants and stuff have to register with the government. Identify themselves and their enhancements.”
May made a face. “I can’t say I’ve been paying much attention.” Her eyes drifted down to her plate as she said softer, “I stopped watching the news after Ben. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Peter said numbly. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I guess I don’t have an opinion on this act. Why do you ask?”
Peter shrugged, and did his best to make it not look as shaky as he felt. “Just curious. We’re… talking about it in social studies.”
May nodded. “Okay. Tell me about it.”
Peter picked at his food for a second, trying to figure out where to even start.
“So. You remember that thing in Sokovia, right?”
“Yes,” May said. “That got the Avengers in trouble.”
“Yeah. So they passed the accords that say the Avengers have to get permission to do anything, right? And then Congress passed this act a few months later, taking it further, that says people with powers have to register their powers with the government.”
May frowned, as her brow knit in concentration. “So what does the government do with this list?” she asked.
Peter shrugged. “We don’t really know.”
“And if someone doesn’t register?”
Peter’s grip tightened slightly on his fork. “We don’t know that, either,” he said quietly. “There are rumors of people disappearing, but nothing's confirmed. SHIELD does arrest people, though. That part’s real.”
“Wow,” May breathed.
“Yeah. Uh. Tony’s been asked to bring people in by SHIELD.” May’s eyes went wide, and Peter quickly added, “He hasn’t. He said it’s dumb and he’s not going to do that. He hates SHIELD.”
“So he’s against this act?” she asked. “You two have talked about it?”
“Yeah,” Peter said with a shrug. “It’s, uh. A big part of his life right now, I guess.” And a bigger part of Peter’s life…
May studied him for a moment, then picked her fork back up. “And what about you? How do you feel about it?”
“I think it’s inhumane,” he said instantly. “People don’t ask for powers, you know? Why are we treating normal people like criminals just for existing?”
May tilted her head slightly. “They aren’t exactly… normal. If they have powers.”
Peter looked up at her. “Who gets to decide what ‘normal’ is?” he asked. “They’re people. That should be enough. No one can control their DNA.”
May held his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “I agree with you,” she said.
“Thanks,” Peter whispered.
“Is Stark working on getting this thing repealed?” she asked.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, so he says.”
“Well,” May said, “I wouldn’t worry, then. That man seems to always get his way.”
Peter nodded again, this time slower.
That… was true.
He looked back down at his plate and twirled his fork again. His stomach felt tight… but not as bad as before.
Across from him, May bumped his foot lightly under the table.
“Eat,” she said softly.
Peter huffed out a small breath, something almost like a laugh, and took another bite.