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Chapter Text

Midtown School of Science and Technology - March 22, 2016

The final bell rang, the sound of blessed release, and everyone scrambled out of their seats. 

Mr. Palmer, the ninth-grade AP Biology teacher, droned out end-of-class announcements sitting at his desk. “We have a quiz tomorrow, and Friday is our class field trip to Oscorp. I'm still missing three permission slips. You know who you are. Please deliver those to me by tomorrow.” By the end of the teacher's spiel, two-thirds of the class had long since gone, and the other third followed not far behind them.

But not Peter Parker.

With grudging reluctance, Peter rose from his seat, slinging his battered backpack onto his shoulder. He readjusted his glasses and shuffled over to Mr. Palmer’s desk, like a dead man to the gallows. Standing there for a moment, he wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans. Mr. Palmer kept his eyes on his computer, engrossed with whatever was on the screen. Peter shifted on his feet, waiting a few moments before clearing his throat to gain his teacher's attention.  

“What do you want?” grunted the man, not looking up from his computer.

Peter took a deep breath. “Yeah, so I wanted to ask about the genetics project you mentioned during class. You said we needed to use our family's DNA to see how diseases are passed through generations and discuss how the technology we use is still imprecise. Then write about where our families are from, and how it differs from family member to family member, and um the whole project, basically?” Peter rambled.  “It sounds cool and kinda easy considering the super big final and other stuff due, but, um… well, I have no clue how well I can do on it." Peter ended his spiel on a hard-to-hear mumble.

“You live with your Aunt and Uncle, right?” Mr. Palmer's tone stayed flat and bored. Peter cringed. He hated reminding people that his parents were dead. Flash did it enough for him.

“Yeah, and I’m only actually related to my uncle. I don’t have any other family, not even May's adopted family because they're dead, so… yeah.”

Peter internally groaned; oh God, let this torture end soon. Why was he such a mess all the time? 

“Um… well, thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Parker. Can you think of an alternative solution to uh… compensate for the lack of data available?” Mr. Palmer kept his eyes glued to his computer screen. 

Peter rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hoping for the patience to deal with this moron. “You want me to invent a solution for my whole family being dead?” 

“No, I meant…" At last, the man turned towards Peter. "Look, Mr. Parker, uh... You can do as much of the project as possible with your and your uncle's DNA. Put in the effort, and I won’t dock points for length or cross-examination. Your grade is the highest in the class. Make an A on the final, and I’ll turn the project grade into a classwork grade, and we’ll call it even.” The teacher viewed him with a pitying indifference, making Peter's ears burn. Peter nodded in agreement and left, desperate for the conversation to end as much as his teacher.

Peter never wanted special treatment. He wanted to be normal. Now, he'd show off a modified project and call attention to different, wimpy, nerdy, Penis Parker. On days like today, the idea of crawling under a rock and never coming out sounded ridiculously appealing.

The other students rushed to leave, clearing out the hallways. Peter trekked to his locker and picked up the books he needed for homework.

“Hey, dude!” called Ned from behind him. Peter, startled, dropped his math textbook on his foot. He crouched to grab it, glaring at Ned.

“Geeze, give me a warning, would ya.” Peter placed the offending textbook in his locker. He wouldn't need it. He completed the math homework before the teacher even finished the lesson. 

“Sorry, man. Still on for a sleepover tonight though?" Ned always invited Peter over so they could build new Lego sets together. 

Peter smiled at his friend's excitement. “Yeah, we are. But it's not a sleepover, we’re fourteen, not four. It's not cool. We're just, ya know, hanging out.” Peter closed his locker, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. He winced at the weight. Even with half his homework finished, he still needed three textbooks. He would suffer from back problems by twenty at this rate. 

“You're fourteen, I'm fifteen, and dude, who cares about cool when Legos exist?" Ned grabbed his phone and showed Peter an unopened box of Legos sitting on Ned's bed. 

Peter grinned, excitement bubbling through him. “Yeah, you're right! Come on, let's ditch this place.”

The Parker’s Apartment – March 23, 2016

Peter sprawled on the couch watching mindless TV. His finished homework sat in his bag. His phone - old and cracked and rescued from a dumpster - sat idle on his lap. Since he arrived home an hour ago, he texted Ned, checked his Twitter account, texted Ned again, and read six pirated bioengineering articles. He groaned; he didn't want to get up, but he didn't want to stay seated either. 

He perked up when the lock clicked, and the front door swung open.

“Hey, Uncle Ben. How was work?” he called.

“Work was fine, bud. You make it here all right?" Peter rolled his eyes at the question. His aunt and uncle worked out shifts where Peter stayed by himself for a few hours every evening. Otherwise, one or the other always watched him. It stifled, especially after convincing them he could travel to and from school himself. Normally, May took the day shifts, and his uncle took the night ones, so Peter only saw his uncle briefly when he arrived home from school, and on the weekends. Today, with May's emergency shift, they needed to switch

"Yeah, I'm fine. No, I'm not injured. No, I didn't get robbed. Yes, I walked straight home. Geeze, when will you guys treat me like an adult?"

His uncle removed his coat and plodded over to the couch. He settled down with a groan, kicking off his shoes. 

"Talk to me about adulting, when you don't call spending the night at a friend's house a sleepover." Peter glared. "I kid, I kid. Did you have a nice time at Ned’s last night?”

Peter let the comment go and gushed about his and Ned's evening. 

“It was awesome. Ms. Tamar made pork and Lomi-Lomi Salmon. Kayla stayed at her friend's house, so we played video games on the big TV. And we built Ned's new Lego set from the Force Awakens collection. It was the scene where Han and Kylo talk on the bridge. It had a cool mechanism where you could crank the bridge out, and you attach Chewie to a rope swing and have him shoot a crossbow piece at Kylo.” 

Ben hummed, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds cool. And the English project you and Ned were supposed to work on?” 

Peter flushed. “Yeah, we finished it. I know Midtown is a school for super-smart genius kids, but I could do this in my sleep. I wish the teachers would give us a real challenge.” Peter hadn't learned new material in school for years. Unless you count learning how to get punched in a way so your guardians don't notice. Skipping grades wasn't an option. At least, not if May held a say about it. Already younger than everyone in his grade, she insisted his "social development" would stunt if he skipped. It annoyed him on the best of days and shredded his last nerve on his worst days, but at least he liked his clubs, and he didn't want to leave Ned behind. 

“Well, what do you expect when you read through old college textbooks and work out the answers for fun? Speaking of work, is your homework for today done?" Ben asked. 

Peter rolled his eyes. May and Ben always made sure he completed his homework by the time they arrived home. They hardly needed to. Peter never brought work that took him longer than an hour.

"Yeah, it's done," he grumbled. 

Ben ruffled his hair, "Good job, bud. But drop the attitude." 

"Yes, sir." Uncle Ben usually played the "fun parent" but had no patience for bad attitudes. Peter loved May and Ben and tried not to complain often. They took him in when they didn't have to, when others would have let him go into the system. The least he could do was be grateful.  

Ben sighed, rubbing a rough, callused hand over his short-cropped hair. "Sorry, class is boring for you, Peter. You inherited Richard's smarts for sure, but your extracurriculars should keep you busy. Don’t you have an Academic Decathlon competition soon?”

Peter sighed dramatically, draping himself over his uncle. “Nah, I didn’t get chosen for the main team or as an alternate. But since six people graduate this year, there will be free spots open next semester. I know Liz plans on submitting for the captain's spot. I just hope I beat out Flash for a spot on the main team.”

Both paused when a deep grumble emitted from Ben's stomach. The man chuckled. "Looks like dinner should be our priority this evening. What are ya in the mood for, bud?"

Peter's face lit up with a broad, stretching grin. "May said this morning she would be home late, and to order a pizza for dinner.” 

“Sounds good to me, bud. Let me change out of my uniform, and I’ll put in the order, okay?” His uncle left before Peter dropped the smile off his face. He didn’t want to mention the whole genetics project, but waiting would just make the whole conversation worse. Later, though, he promised himself. After pizza.

Once the box lay empty between them, Peter found himself with no more excuses and explained the project to his uncle.

Ben stayed quiet until Peter finished. Then he thought it over for a minute. “Peter, you can still do the project, don't worry. Here's what we'll do: we'll buy the expensive kit and do a full workup. Even using only my DNA and yours, you'll do an impressive project.” A weight lifted off Peter's shoulders. His uncle made the problems Peter multiplied in his head appear manageable.

“Really?”

“Sure. Do you want to head out to Walmart and buy the kits we need? I’ll drop off the samples at the post office tomorrow on my way to the precinct.” Peter rushed over and hugged his uncle.

“ThanksuncleBen,ohmygosh!Youarethebest.”

Ben returned the hug with an amused chuckle. “Not a problem, Peter.”

An hour later, they were back at the apartment, fancy genetic testing kits in hand. After reading through the instructions, they did the samples and labeled the containers. Peter worked on opening their accounts. His cobbled-together laptop chugged loading the site, and its ridiculous number of pages. The instructions said it would take two to three weeks for the results to come through once the samples arrived at the lab in Utah. 

“There we go,” said Ben, once finished and packed. “Now let's put it out of our minds until the results come back, and you do a kick-butt project putting the rest of your class to shame. Okay, bud?” Ben ruffled Peter's hair.

Peter smiled, “Yeah, okay.” 

"Do you want me to make something for dessert?" Ben asked. "I haven't baked since last month. Brownies sound acceptable?" Peter thought about the warm, gooey brownies his uncle made to perfection and nodded. Peter sat at the table as his uncle pulled out the ingredients. 

"What's this I hear about a field trip on Friday?" asked Ben, as he warmed the butter. 

Peter leaned back in the chair. "Eh, we're going to Oscorp, which is cool, I guess. I mean, the bioengineering division there is supposed to be the best in the country. Which is great. Visiting Stark Industries like the seniors would be ten times better, though." Since he understood the word science, Peter adored Tony Stark. He watched the news coverage of the man's disappearance and stayed glued to the TV the moment the man returned from Afghanistan. He based his first three science fair projects on Stark's work in clean energy. 

Peter continued, "Michelle - you know Michelle, she's on the Decathlon team - agrees with me, but she wants to go because the CEO, Virginia Potts-Stark, is her role model. I’m not too disappointed, because I visited the exhibits at the expo a few years ago. Hopefully, they won’t switch any field trip locations and I can go in a couple of years.”

Ben mixed the batter. “Maybe we'll buy a set of tickets for the expo next year.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, no Ben. Those tickets are super expensive, and we won them last time. You don’t have to.” They weren’t poor, but both May and Ben worked hard. Raising a teen in Queens did not come cheap, even though a scholarship paid for most of Peter’s schooling.

Ben placed down the whisk and bowl. He walked over to Peter and squeezed his shoulder. “You should have fun and exciting experiences. I’ll talk to May, okay? Leave the money to us – worry about being a kid and doing kid stuff. You’ll worry about being an adult soon enough as it is." Peter nodded; if his uncle said he and May would take care of it, they would. The kitchen quieted for a few moments. Ben finished the brownies and placed them in the oven. Peter asked to put on a movie while they waited for the brownies to bake. 

"I hope you have fun on your field trip, even if it's not Stark Industries," said Ben, once they moved to the living room. 

“It’s not supposed to be fun; it’s supposed to be educational and enriching,” mocked Peter, in Mr. Palmer's monotone voice. 

"Well, does Mr. Educational and Enriching want to watch National Treasure or Fast and Furious?" Peter grabbed a blanket from the basket sitting next to the couch. He curled next to his uncle, head resting on the man's shoulder, covering himself with the blanket.

"National Treasure, please," Peter asked. They loaded the movie and dimmed the lights. With the day's drama over, Ben's fingers playing with Peter's curls, and the familiar images on the screen, the grip of sleep overcame him. The third time he yawned, Ben's fingers paused in his hair. The TV's volume drops low. 

“It’s getting late, bud. Do you want to go to bed?" asked Ben. 

Peter shook his head," No, no. I want to watch the movie. And I want a brownie." 

"You can eat one tomorrow." 

Peter, determined to stay awake for a warm gooey one straight from the oven, rubbed his eyes and straightened up. "I'm good," he stated, even though his eyelids fluttered shut every few seconds. 

"Okay," said Ben, increasing the volume and continuing to stroke his fingers through Peter's hair. Peter soon lost entire sections of the movie, his eyes staying closed for longer and longer. Finally, they closed all the way. Only briefly waking when Ben picked him up and carried him into his room. 

A soft kiss pressed against his forehead. He would have snarled his nose and protested if not seconds away from falling asleep. He had teenager cred to maintain. Drifting between awake and asleep, though, the gesture came across as more soothing than embarrassing. His covers settled on top of him, and Peter snuggled deeper. 

"Goodnight, bud," whispered Ben. The door clicked shut, and within moments Peter fell sound asleep. 

Oscorp Laboratories - March 25, 2016

The class followed the tour guide through the chrome and glass-filled facility. Peter took back everything he said about being disappointed with the field trip. Everywhere Peter turned, people in lab coats scurried from one place to another. Machines and scientists and cutting-edge biotech filled huge laboratories; Peter officially had died and gone to heaven. The perfection could have only been topped if he managed to wrangle a little one-on-one time with a scientist, Google, and several cups of coffee. 

Lost in science-induced coma dreams, he didn't pay too much attention to the tour guide when she announced a five-minute bathroom break before leaving for lunch. By the time the class was ready to leave, he hadn’t gone to the restroom.

“Hey man,” called Ned, “don’t get left behind.”

Peter waved him off. “I won’t, I’m gonna head to the restroom. If Mr. Palmer or the tour guide asks, I’m right behind you guys.” He ducked inside the facilities, and once finished, entered the hallway to find it empty. His class was nowhere in sight. The hallways echoed, entirely deserted. Where in the world should he go? 

Trying to remember the half-forgotten words of the peppy tour guide, when she mentioned the cafeteria, he wandered over to the elevator. Once inside the metal box, Peter groaned; the panel with the buttons wasn't labeled, not even one for the lobby. Peter racked his brain; okay, they traveled down several floors earlier, so if he headed in the upward direction, he would run across his class eventually, right? He pushed a button for a higher floor, hoping to find an employee he could ask for directions.

Once the elevator ascended and opened its doors, he wandered into another hallway. Peter sighed. Well, this wasn't it. He turned back to the elevator when the lights in the hallway flickered, and the whole area was plunged into darkness; only the dim glow of red emergency lights lit the space. 

"Oh, this is so fucking creepy," Peter muttered. Jamming the button on the elevator panel multiple times, he waited fruitlessly for the metal box to arrive. But it seemed like whatever knocked out the power had taken the elevator with it. "Well, at least I wasn't trapped in there when the power went out." No alarm had gone off yet, but Peter didn't want to wait around in the dark. There had to be stairs somewhere around here. 

Looking back at the elevator once more, he ventured further into a maze of darkened halls lit only by the faint hum of emergency lights. Eyes peeled for a stairs sign that just felt farther and farther away as he turned down each darkened hallway filled with more empty doors. 

"Fuck, why did I have to get separated," Peter mumbled. "I'm going to be in so much trouble. I'm going to end up as a withered corpse, curled up on some unused floor of Oscorp. Fuck, this wouldn't be happening it we were at Stark Industries. I bet the seniors aren't dealing with building blackouts." Turning down another near pitch black hallway, he groaned. "FuuuUUuuck, I'm gonna get jumped. I'm going to be the stupid white protagonist of an indie horror game in three years, who dies to some shitty creepypasta." 

But about halfway down the hallway, it seemed like the whole building groaned before the lights flickered back on. "Yes!" cheered Peter. Before his shoulders slumped again, he was still totally lost. "Fuck." 

Now, the dark abyss hallways, lit by emergency lights, were transformed. The light revealed boring beige-painted walls and closed doors stretching as far as the eye could see. Peter searched around for a directory, signage, anything. But it was just endless doors. Making his way back to the elevator was impossible. 

"Fuck," he muttered. "How does anyone find anything here?" At this rate, he still might end up a withered corpse in an unused corner of the building, but at least he wouldn't die in the dark. 

He hadn’t run into anyone on this floor. Granted, if he'd run into someone in the dark, he might have passed out in fright. Peter tried the door handles one by one; maybe if he found an employee, he could ask where the elevator and cafeteria were. To no avail, though, key-coded access panels kept the doors locked. Eventually, he passed one where the lock had not latched all the way. Finally. He didn't want to miss the rest of the tour.

His stomach growled. Peter dreamed of corporate cafeterias; even half-cold pizza or a turkey sandwich sounded good right about now. 

When he opened the door, though, thoughts of lunch quickly jumped ship.

The darkened room, lit only by red-tinted heat lamps, contained glass cages reaching from floor to ceiling. Inside sat snakes and spiders and other insects Peter didn’t even begin to guess the names of, but wouldn't be surprised if the average syllable count exceeded twelve. Wandering closer in, he approached a massive spider housed inside a cage. The bright purple and green monstrosity had to be twice the size of his hand. Leaning in to gaze at the eight-legged creature, the spider crawled to the cage's wall and slammed against the glass. Peter jumped back.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya,” he whispered, obscenely loud in comparison to the room's oppressive silence. The hair on Peter's arm stood on end. Yeah, okay, this was creepy; he shouldn't be here. Unfortunately, or fortunately (depending on the day), as he turned back to the door, an object in the room's center, a cage on a table, caught his attention.

He took a set of stairs into the dimly lit space containing a work table. Test tubes and beakers littered the metal surface, and a cramped, plastic cage held a spider the size of a tennis ball. It scurried back and forth between the walls. In the room's silence, Peter swore the spider's legs hitting the container beneath echoed like a pounding drum.

Without warning, the spider barreled into the plastic cage's side, tipping it over. The lid popped off, and the spider scrambled free.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter exclaimed, and he rushed over to the table, trying to grab the spider to return it to its cage. No doubt whoever was in charge would be pissed if it escaped. He reached for the spider as it tried to scurry off the table. “Come here, little guy, time to go back to your cage,” Peter whispered, trying not to knock over the equipment on the table. He trapped the arachnid between a few beakers and triumphantly scooped it onto his hand. He’d never been afraid of spiders, but he hadn't touched one before. It rested on his hand, still and docile. 

Cool.

And then, it bit him.

“Ouch! Oh, shit, that hurts.” Thankfully, he didn’t drop or crush the spider. Peter grabbed the cage and dropped the ungrateful creature back in, securing the lid's top. It rocketed back and forth, unhappily enclosed in its tiny plastic prison. Peter, a tad vindictive, shook the container as punishment before placing it back in its spot and fixing the few beakers he knocked over. Hopefully, no one would notice the different placement. Peter didn't want to get sued or sent to jail for screwing up a super important experiment. Peter dashed up the stairs and left the room, making sure to latch the door behind him.

He studied his hand, where two little drops of blood welled where the spider had bitten him. Rubbing away the sting, he searched the nondescript hallway and found it as empty as before. With no other choice, Peter continued to wander. It couldn't have been more than five minutes before he finally heard another human voice. 

"Hey!" Peter turned to his left; a doctor in a white lab coat jogged towards him. The man, in his late 40s and dressed in black except for his lab coat, scowled at him. As he came closer, a pair of squinty eyes hidden behind a large pair of round glasses became visible.

“What the hell are you doing here? No unauthorized personnel are allowed to be on these floors," demanded the man when he reached Peter.

“I’m sorry, I ended up separated from my tour group from Midtown, and I tried to find them, but ended up here. And then the power went out, and I got stuck, and then I tried to find the stairs, because what if I needed to evacuate and the elevator wasn't coming?  And then I was lost in the halls when the power came back on, and there was no signage anywhere, and I tried looking for anyone to take me back-” Peter heaved a deep breath and smiled weakly at the man. "Sorry?" 

The man gave Peter a once-over, and the piercing gaze unsettled him enough to want to back away and use a stick to fend off the man. Peter wasn’t supposed to be here. What if he got into a ton of trouble? Was he gonna get sued?

The frown disappeared to a smile, the gesture's display softening his appearance.

“Well, I can't quite blame you with the whole power outage. Everyone is kinda scrambling right now. I’m gonna take you to security, and we’ll find your tour group, okay?”  

The bubble of anxiety in Peter's stomach disappeared. “Thank you so much. I’ve wandered around these hallways forever, normally I'm good with drections, but the power outtage screwed me up. How do you guys ever know where you’re going?” Peter followed the man through the hallways.

“Well, these doors lead to storage rooms, and people don’t have a reason to wander here. The actual labs and offices are on different floors and are labeled much better.” The man turned his head to Peter, “You didn’t go into any of the rooms, did you?”

Peter froze. Should he tell the man about the weird cage room and the spider biting his hand?

No. He would land in so much trouble if anyone found he entered an out-of-bounds room.

“No, the doors were locked. Not that I tried to break in. I just wanted to find someone to give me directions.” The man relaxed, and Peter figured he gave the right response. Good. If he landed in trouble, May and Ben would have had his head.

“That’s alright. Here we are." They rounded a corner, and the elevator stood at the end of the hall. Soon enough, they entered the building's lobby, and the man brought Peter over to the security office. Several guards were rushing in and out. Three people sat at the computer monitors, pinched expressions on their faces as they typed away at their keyboards. In the middle stood a thin woman with a severe frown, speaking rapidly into a walkie-talkie in another language. 

“Hey, Lisbon, is the tour group from Midtown missing anyone? I found a kid wandering through the storage rooms.”

The woman whipped her head around and glared at the man. "Am busy. Is he trouble?" she asked in a heavy Russian accent. Peter shook his head frantically; the last place he wanted to be was on this woman's bad side. 

The man who found him was calm in the face of the woman's brusque question. "Nah, the poor kid got turned around during the power outage." 

Lisbon scoffed, "Yes, tour guide called, said they were missing kid." She looked down at a notepad. "In conference room 10, floor 24. You take?" 

The man nodded. "Sure, I have nothing better to do until the systems are reset. How long..." 

Lisbon glared at him, eyes beady and menacing, Peter shuffled behind the man a little more. "Busy finding the засранец who blew the power. Will worry about systems when no more threat." 

"Of course," shrugged the man. "Take your time. Come on, kid." Peter and the man left the office and crossed through the lobby's shiny floors, back to the elevators.

“Thank you for accompanying me back to my group, sir.”

“Not a problem, kid. Luckily, I found you. Not many people work on that floor.” A shiver crawled down Peter's spine. The man's tone sounded perfectly pleasant, but the ominous words landed on the wrong side of creepy. However, the helpful man had done nothing to him so far; he offered his hand. 

“I’m Peter, by the way." 

The man reached back and shook it. “Dr. Jakob Callari, nice to meet you, Peter.” Peter's hand, the one the spider bit, pulsed, emitting an uncomfortable heat. He didn’t want to pay too much attention to it with Dr. Callari so close. He shoved it into his pocket.

Eventually, they reached floor twenty-four, his tour group visible through the conference room's window. He turned to Dr. Callari, thanked him one more time, and tried to enter the room as inconspicuously as possible. Unfortunately, his threadbare shoelaces had come undone, and he tripped over them when he slinked into the room.

“Well, Mr. Parker, how nice of you to join us,” droned Mr. Palmer.

“Heh, sorry. I ended up lost.” Peter's cheeks burned as the whole class laughed.

“Take a seat, Mr. Parker.”

Peter rose, and the world tilted around him. He stumbled over to the seat Ned had saved for him.

“Dude, where did you go?” whispered Ned when Peter collapsed into the chair. Even sitting, the world spun in his vision. 

“Nowhere, I’ll tell you later.” Peter wanted the rest of this field trip finished.

They stayed in the conference room as several scientists talked about the work they did at Oscorp. An hour later, when the final person finished, they prepared to leave. Peter's head pounded, and his stomach turned. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he deeply regretted missing lunch. The hour's drive back to the school and another thirty minutes to travel home stretched out in front of him like an eternity.  

Later, on the bus, Ned asked a whole bunch of questions about his disappearance. He wanted to know if Peter had seen anything cool. What happened when the power went out? 

“Nah, dude, I got turned around on a storage level in the dark. I didn’t see anything.” Peter didn’t know why he kept the spider room a secret from Ned. But he didn’t want to tell anyone. His hand, hidden in his pocket, still uncomfortably warm, throbbed from the bite. Every creak and groan as the bus traversed through the city streets grated on his brain. Peter wanted nothing more than to go home, eat, and pass out.

The Parker’s Apartment – March 25, 2016

Peter stumbled through the front door of his apartment. Surprised he arrived home at all, in one piece, or without ending up robbed. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his stomach growled, but the chances of keeping anything down lessened by the minute. His head throbbed. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Hey Pete,r honey, how was the field trip?” called May from the kitchen.

“It was fine, Aunt May. I’m not feeling well, though. I think I caught a bug.” Peter’s mind flashed to the spider biting his hand. The bite still throbbed, and the heaviness had spread to his arm. He hoped the spider wasn't venomous, but at this point, he was too exhausted to care.

“From that germ-infested school bus, no doubt,” commented May, as she came into the living room.

Peter pouted, but even the minor movement sent shrieking spikes of pain through his brain. "Aunt May, I take the train to school every day; they don't clean those seats either."

She placed her hand against Peter’s forehead. “You do feel warm. Why don’t you change out of these clothes, take a cool, not cold, shower, and I’ll bring you Ibuprofen and a mug of broth? Okay, sweetie?” Peter nodded, glad May knew exactly what to do.

The shower washed away only a fraction of the sticky awfulness infecting his body. He trudged back to his room, shivering in a tank top and shorts. He was cold, miserable, aching, and done with existing. Peter wanted to sleep until the sun burned out, or at least until he didn't have a jackhammer pounding at his skull. He crawled under his covers, the weight of texture of his blankets emphasized in his exceedingly foggy mind. His aunt brought in a mug and a piece of toast - the only things she could make without burning them to bits.

“What did you have for lunch?” she asked.

The toast and the broth slithered down Peter's throat like serrated knives. “Not much,” he croaked. He didn’t want to explain what happened with murky clouds fogging his head.

May sighed, caressing a gentle hand over his face. “Well, this should help you feel better.” Peter finished his food, took the Ibuprofen, and closed his eyes; convinced that if he could go to sleep, he would feel better...

.

.

.

Darkness

Murmurs

“…I feel like we should wake him, and get food in him.”

“Let him sleep longer, he was up early and walking around all day for the field trip.”

Floating. 

Darkness.

.

.

.

Darkness

Floating.

A hand rocked his shoulder. A calm voice in his ear:

“Hey Peter buddy, do you feel like getting up and eating?”

Hot.

Fuzzy.

Pain.

“Mrph…”

“How about water?”

Glass against his lips.

Cold in his throat.

Throat.

Air.

Breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Hey buddy slowly, slowly – don’t choke yourself.”

Small nod.

Tired… so tired.

Floating.

Darkness.

.

.

.

Darkness.

Heat.

Hot.

Burning.

BURNING.

BURNING!

BURNING!

B

              U           

                             R

                                           N

                                                          I

                                                                        N

                                                                                       G

                                                                                                                                  …is this what dying feels like?

.

.

.

Darkness.

no…

Light.

LIGHT.

TOO MUCH LIGHT.

p

a

i

n

.

.

.

“peter…”

.

.

.

“Peter.”

.

.

.

“PETER!”

.

.

.

*THUMP thump*

*THUMP thump*

*THUMP thump*

.

.

.

Darkness.

Pain.

when

will

the

pain

S T O P

.

.

.

Darkness.

Hot.

Pain.

                                                                                         he was used to it now

                                                                                                                                                                            hadn’t the pain always been there?

.

.

.

Darkness.

noise

Noise.

NOISE.

NOISE!

where is it coming from?

“… Good Morning America…”

                                                                                                                                                              “Don’t forget to drop off the kids…”

Thump thump

              *Screech! Crash! *

                                                                                                                                        “~Bum, bum, bum, another one bites the dust~”

                                                  “Hey, I’ma walkin’ ‘ere!”

                                                                                                                                                                                             “I am your father.”

THUMP thump

             “FIND OUT WHO WAS IN HERE, OR I’LL HAVE YOUR HEADS!”

                                                                                                                                   “~I’M FLYING HIGH I’M DEFYING GRAVITY~”

              ¡NO TE AMO, NUNCA LO HE HECHO!

                                                                                                                               *WEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOO*

THUMP thump

THUMP thump

THMUP thump

…

Q

U

I

E

T

.

.

.

Darkness.

“It’s not good that he can’t remember.”

Floating.

“Peter, love, don’t touch that.”

Pain.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Heat.

“Have a good first day at school.”

Noise.

“I’m Ned. Do you want to be friends?”

Darkness.

“ Good work, kid.”

Floating.

“ARE THOSE ALIENS!”

Pain.

“I’m going to Ned’s house."

Heat.

“You live with your Aunt and Uncle, right?”

Noise.

“Dr. Jakob Callari, nice to meet you, Peter.”

“Peter.”

“PETER!”

“PETER!”

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – March 29, 2016

Peter woke slowly, emerging from the depths of black, endless sleep, his eyes glued closed. Floating between blissful unconsciousness and a vague understanding that he was lying in bed. Growing more aware, the ache pulsing from every part of his body hit him. Wincing at the pain, he groaned, and the sound reverberated through his throat like coarse sandpaper.

His brain, awake enough to realize the problem, tried to move his clumsy limbs. After failing to budge even a single throbbing pinky finger, he acknowledged the situation’s severity.

Peter searched his jumbled memories; images floating in and out, wisps on the wind of his clouded mind. 

A painful bus ride.

A muddled conversation.

Comforting hands, and then... 

Pain.

Endless pain. 

Where... where had the pain come from? 

A bite...

Oh...

The spider bite. 

Peter's eyes shot open, and he regretted it instantly. Light from the windows scorched his eyes, and he shut them again. Sunspots danced on the back of his eyelids. It took a few minutes of concentrated effort to open his eyes, so the light didn't blind him.

He studied his hand—the one the spider had bitten—and found the heated skin and throbbing pain were missing. In fact, if Peter didn't know for sure the bite happened, he would say there was never a bite there at all. The skin appeared unblemished except for two faint, faded spots.

Peter didn’t want to drag himself out of his comfortable bed, but between the ickiness of his body and the pressure from his bladder, he reluctantly pushed off his covers. Every movement lagged; his limbs refused to cooperate, as if made from hardened lead. It took an insane amount of effort, but eventually, he dragged himself off the bed and onto his feet.

He collapsed on the floor.

Peter blinked.

Well…

That wasn’t ideal.

Slowly, Peter rose, keeping a firm grip on his bedpost. He stumbled to the door, out into the hallway, and across the hall to the bathroom. Underestimating how much his body hated him, a few wobbly steps later caused his legs to give out again, and Peter grabbed the bathroom door frame to keep himself from falling flat on his face. After a minute of heavy breathing, he took another step forward.

Peter entered the bathroom and used the toilet. Stumbling over to the sink, he rinsed his hands and face and swallowed a few mouthfuls of water from the sink; the cold water a soothing balm against his throat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes greeted him as if he had stayed up playing video games all night. His normally tan skin appeared sheet white, and his cheekbones jutted from his face without an inch of fat. Clammy skin and matted hair were clear signs he hadn't showered for a while.  

What the hell happened to him?

“Peter?” asked a tired voice behind him. The sound hit his ears uncomfortably; thousands of nails scraping a chalkboard. May, pajamas wrinkled, and deep bags under her eyes, stood in the hallway looking at him like he would crumble to dust.

“Oh my gosh, you're awake," she said, hand pressed to her chest. "Are you feeling okay? Why are you out of bed?"

"Needed the bathroom," he croaked out. He winced at the sound of his voice and the pain in his throat.

May yawned, rubbing a hand across a tired face. "Well, at least you're moving. This is the first time you've done that in days.”

Peter blinked. Had he heard her right?

“Days? ” he repeated raspily.

She nodded. “It’s Tuesday, you fell asleep Friday afternoon when you arrived after your field trip. You said you weren't feeling well, which was a massive understatement,” she commented wryly. She rushed over and hugged him tightly. At her touch, Peter's legs folded, and he collapsed into her arms. "Oh, yeah, you should still be in bed. Come on."

They stumbled back over to his room and he flopped onto the bed, exhausted and sore limbs fully done with him and the concept of moving. May brought over a thermometer and put it under his tongue. A minute later, it beeped, and she sighed.

“99.7, it’s not perfect, but better than yesterday at 104.”

"104?” croaked Peter, glad he was already seated. A 104 fever can kill. 

May placed aside the thermometer, running a hand through his hair to calm him. "We nearly took you to the hospital. Thankfully, we cooled you down long enough to break the fever. You've been out of it since early Saturday morning. You woke up screaming in pain." 

"I'm sorry," Peter said immediately, curling his arms around himself.

May chuckled, it sounded thin and weak to Peter's ears. "Oh, honey, don’t apologize. It's not your fault you caught a horrific bug." Peter rubbed at the non-existent bite mark on his hand underneath his covers. "You gave us a scare. Your fever and pain had you tossing and turning and screaming all weekend; the neighbors must hate us. You woke up a few times, but you were out of it, babbling or crying about the pain."

Peter didn't remember a single second, but between his aching body and scratchy throat, he was glad his brain forgot the whole experience. A rumbling sound emerged from his stomach.

May smiled softly. "Do you think you can eat? I bet you feel hungry. You weren't able to keep food down for longer than a few hours.” 

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I want to try. I’m starving.” The few handfuls of water hadn’t soothed his cramping stomach. Without food all weekend, no wonder it ached like a bottomless cavern. May left the room, and Peter dropped his head into his hands, threading his fingers through mussed and greasy hair.

104 fever?

Screaming and in pain?

Sick for four days?

He glanced at his hand again. The faint bite marks mocked him.

What the hell sort of spider bit him?

Midtown School of Science and Technology – March 31, 2016    

Living in a post-bite world, Peter had, unfortunately, discovered a few new facts.

Hearing every sound in a ten-mile radius, from the smallest fluttering heartbeat to blaring sirens to arguments happening three floors above and two buildings over fucking sucked. 

Moving around outside the apartment’s relative safety, from the grimy trains to dirty city streets to the person two feet away sneezing constantly, all of which sent shivers down his spine fucking sucked.

Crowded high school hallways filled with sweaty, yelling teenagers, slamming locker doors, and achingly loud bells every hour fucking sucked. 

And the age-old adage of 'so hungry you could eat a horse' was not a joke. 

It fucking sucked.

Peter also found choosing between what he hated more; the school cafeteria’s noise - which had always been overwhelming, but now teetered on mind gratingly awful - or the smell - which, again, had never smelled great, but now reeked like a melted stew of horrors; perfume, makeup, sweat, fresh food, rotting garbage, old gum, sneakers, clothes, just bodies in general, and- 

Peter dug his fingernails into his hand, dragging his attention back to his own body and not the messy, confusing world around him.

He cursed his curious self of six days ago; he would never, ever go anywhere he shouldn’t ever again.

And spiders fucking sucked.

“I’m telling you, dude, Rey is totally a Skywalker. Nothing you say will change my mind." Ned's voice filtered past Peter's spiraling internal thoughts. Peter rolled his eyes; he loved Ned, really, he did, but if there was one thing that vexed him, it was his best friend's wrong opinions on Star Wars. 

And they were wrong.

“Yeah, nothing I can say will change your mind. The plot and character interactions in The Force Awakens should be proof enough. When there is a clear romantic relationship between Kylo and Rey in episode eight, I will have vindication." He pointed his plastic spork at Ned. "This ship is so unbelievably canon. You will lose and I will win.”

Ned scoffed. “Dude, you’re delusional.”

“I’m a visionary, they're meant for each other.”

"As I said, delusional. You risk the Luke and Leia curse."

“You're both wrong," drawled Michelle Jones, seated at the table’s end, her face buried in a huge book. "I would stop worrying about the two-dimensional main protagonists and worry more about the potential Disney has in fucking up their obvious diversity-point characters." Her eyes lifted from the page. "And the fact that not a single writer on that team has a clue how to tell a consistent and engaging story." 

“Two... two-dimensional?" stuttered Peter, aghast; not sure whether to focus on the grave insult or the largest amount of words he'd ever heard Michelle voluntarily speak at once. 

"If you can pinpoint a moment where anyone in that movie has a clue what they're doing, then a conversation about the merits of character building through interpersonal relationships can be held. Later, dorks." She flipped the book shut and rose from her seat, walking away from the table. 

"Oh, and Parker?" Peter turned to Michelle. "Good choice on the contacts, your glasses were a bullseye." She turned, walking lazily through the cafeteria unfazed by the masses surrounding her till she slipped out the door. 

"Michelle Jones watches Star Wars?" Ned asked, his voice high and disbelieving. 

Peter ignored the question. "Were the glasses really that much of a target?" 

Ned shrugged. "They weren't that bad, but combined with, uh..." he gestured at Peter. 

"You just pointed at all of me." 

Ned smiled brightly. "Exactly. The glasses didn't help your general 'kick me, I won't fight back' aesthetic." 

"Hey!" exclaimed Peter, crossing his arms. "I would totally fight back." 

"Yeah, with words, until they start pummeling you with fists. You gotta admit a tiny, sassy, asthmatic nerd will always be a target."

"I'm not tiny, " whined Peter. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t hit a growth spurt yet. 

Ned raised a brow. "Really? That's what you took from the conversation? Anyway, why did you switch to the contacts? I thought you hated the feeling." 

"Felt like a change," lied Peter. The truth was he didn’t have contacts, but explaining a spider bit him, causing a near-fatal illness, then waking four days later to fixed vision, radar dishes for ears, and a nose better than the average hunting dog, without sounding like he should be admitted, didn't sound fun.

So... lying. 

“Well, I think it looks good,” commented Ned. “Opens up the face.” He pointed at Peter’s untouched meatloaf. “Hey, you eating that?” 

“Uh, yeah. Go get more food if you want it, leave mine alone.” Peter didn’t want to eat the meatloaf, but too hungry to waste his food, he shoved another sporkful into his mouth and tried not to puke at the off-putting texture. He choked on the next bite, kicking off a coughing fit. 

"Peter? Peter, breathe," Ned pleaded. 

Grabbing his drink, Peter swallowed a mouthful of water, reducing the urge to choke. 

"Dude, are you okay?" Ned asked. 

"Yeah," Peter croaked. "I'm fine." 

Ned peered at him, his brow furrowed with a displeased turn to his mouth. "Maybe you shouldn't have come back to school so soon. May sounded super worried when I called her this weekend."  

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, Ned, seriously. If I hadn’t known I was sick, I wouldn’t be able to tell." True. Besides his super fucked up senses and an aching emptiness from his stomach, all the muscle aches, sore throat, and pale skin had faded. 

He was fine. Except when the school bell rang in between classes or the buzzing underneath his skin turned into a billion painful pinpricks, or the horrible smell of thousands of teens crammed into one building overwhelmed him, or- 

He was fine. 

Completely. 

And. 

Totally. 

Fine. 

Peter scraped the last bite of food off his plate, and although he piled the tray high, his hunger remained. The noise of the cafeteria, which he’d been drowning out with conversation and food, threatened to overwhelm him.

Peter forced himself to take a deep breath. 

He needed to get the fuck out of here. "Hey Ned, I'm gonna run to the bathroom before class. Catch ya in 5th period?”

Ned glanced at him with pursed lips. "If you're sure, dude...”

"I am, stop fussing, you're such a mother hen. See you later." Swinging his book bag onto his back, Peter rushed from the cafeteria as fast as he could without looking suspicious. His shoulders lowered the second he entered the empty hallway. The chattering crowded cafeteria faded in the distance behind him, but his ears still picked out the sound of every classroom full of students and the cars driving outside on the streets, and-

Peter dug his nails into the back of his hand again, and the pain brought him crashing into his own body. He rubbed out the crescent-shaped marks on his skin. He needed to find a better way to handle his roaming senses. 

He reached the nearest bathroom and found it empty. Thank goodness; he needed a moment alone. He walked over to the sink and splashed his face with water. The cold dragged him out of his head even further, decreasing his anxiety.

The door banged open behind him 

"Hey, Parker!" called an irritating voice, echoing into the empty bathroom. 

Crap.

Anxiety back again.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter sighed. He and Flash hadn't had class today, and the other boy kept his distance before now; had it been too much to hope the bully would mind his own business the whole day?

Apparently. Yes. 

Flash let the door shut behind him. He leaned against the first stall, his face twisted into an arrogant sneer. 

“You’ve been suspiciously absent the past few days, Parker. I had hoped they finally expelled you for the stunt you pulled at Oscorp.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ve been sick, Flash. It might be news to you, but not everyone fantasizes about ways to make my life a living hell as you do.” 

Flash scoffed. “One day you'll screw up big enough and stupid enough that your grades won't stop them from kicking you out." 

Peter, incapable of the principle of 'keep your mouth shut', shot back with, "At least they keep in mind my contributions to the prestige of the school. How much did your parents pay to get you and keep you here?"

Flash's face reddened, and he stepped forward to intimidate Peter. An odd choice considering Flash usually liked to come at him with words. 

Peter braced himself for a punch to the shoulder or a shove, but one moment the world was normal, and the next-

The clarity he'd lived in the last few days sharpened even further. Noise buzzing in his ears narrowed until its focus rested solely on the tiny restroom; the creaking tiles, the drips of water, and his and Flash's heartbeats. The hairs on Peter's arm raised, sending shivers down his spine. Time slowed, and Flash's movements lingered in the air as if the boy moved through molasses. Peter stepped backward, once, then twice, far enough out of the bully's range.

And, like the spell was broken when the lights rose in a movie theatre, the world snapped back to normal, leaving Flash pushing at the air. He stumbled forward while Peter stood off to the side. 

What in the actual fuck just happened?

Flash lurched forward and snagged Peter's wrist before he could react. "You don't get to say shit about my parents, at least I have them," Flash sneered.

Peter rolled his eyes, ignoring his rising panic. "Oh, well done, Eugene, insulting the orphan by reminding him he doesn't have parents. Points for effective emotional distress, but I have to take off for lack of originality." Flash's face twisted again, but before he could say anything-

* BRRRRINNNGGGGG!*

The bell’s deafening sound tore through Peter's ears, and he closed his eyes, shrinking in on himself to fight the stab of pain accompanying it. Between one blink and the next, he found himself lying on the floor. Flash stood above him.

“Heh..." Flash laughed, eyes flickering uncomfortably at Peter's reaction to the bell. "Can't even handle a little noise, Parker?" he asked hesitantly. "What a fucking wimp." Flash buried the ounce of concern under derision and insults; Peter scoffed, typical. "Catch you later, loser.” Flash turned away, and the bathroom door slammed shut behind him.

Peter blinked.

What the fuck?

The ringing in his ears subsided, and he gently picked himself off the ground. Wiping his hands off on his pants, tiny granules of powder flaked off.

Peter glanced at the ground and recoiled. Right where he landed, two hand-shaped dents caved in the tile. Concrete dust covered his hands.  

What the fuck?

Was he hallucinating? He had to be hallucinating. Peter prodded the dents with his shoe. Nope. The dirty tiles still sat dented beyond what any normal person could hope to achieve.

What the-?

How the-?

Why???

The hairs on the back of his arms stood straight up again, as the bathroom door hinges creaked open.

No, no. He couldn’t let anybody find him like this. Think, Peter, think!

His muscles tightened, and as the door inched open bit by bit, his body reacted by catapulting him into the air. Dusty hands hit the ceiling, but instead of falling back to the floor in a heap, they stuck to the ceiling.

HIS. HANDS. STUCK. TO. THE. CEILING.

Peter's lungs stopped working, and his brain followed out the door along with them. Thankfully, the rest of his body didn't need instruction from the two traitorous organs and balanced itself on the plaster tiles as if he kelt on the floor, instead of on the ceiling. 

The door swung open, hallway noise filtering in, and a teen stepped inside, passing over the dented tile without a second glance, and went about his normal business.

With Peter still stuck on the fucking ceiling.

A few minutes passed, and the guy left the bathroom; thankfully, the thought to look up never occurred, but Peter didn't move. 

He had no clue how he got on the ceiling, much less how to get down.

Cautiously, Peter lifted a hand from the tile and found he remained stuck with a single hand supporting his weight; he could feel gravity dragging at him, but the strength from his arm kept him in place. Weird. He didn't dare remove the other. The distance from the floor to the ceiling may not be too much, but Peter didn't want to risk the fall.

Fully aware that every second spent marveling at the absurdity of his situation meant another second likely to get him caught, descending from his makeshift perch took main priority. It took several seconds of pumping himself up before he convinced his hands to move, one in front of the other, crawling where the tiled wall met the ceiling. It took another moment to awkwardly crawl down. But a few seconds later, he stood back on his own two feet.

Peter brought his hands closer to his face. They didn’t look any different. 

Great. 

Now what?

Should he go to the nurse's office?

Call May and Ben?

Give in to the rising panic attack, curl into a ball, and hide in a corner?

He sucked in a shaky breath. Maybe he should leave the restroom?

Yeah. He'd do that. 

As soon as he trusted his legs not to give out from underneath him. 

In a daze, Peter left the bathroom. Empty halls greeted him; 4th period was fully in session. Shit. Peter continued past the stairs for his English class. Whatever. He was skipping. He needed time to think through this latest development. 

And if he forced himself into a tiny classroom with too many people, he might puke.

Sneaking into the library, he disappeared into the towering wooden shelves packed with books. Veering away from the computers, too many people. Peter picked a spot far enough away from everyone else. A table squished into the back of the library. Stumbling behind the wooden structure, he collapsed in the corner, his legs finally giving out. 

Peter drew breath after heavy breath, fighting back burning tears as his forced calmness succumbed to pure and utter panic. 

What was happening to him? 

Why was he like this? 

How could he fix it?  

His fingers clawed at the carpeted floor beneath him as he counted his breaths. 

In for four and out for eight. 

In for four and out for eight.

By a miracle, or maybe his body had just given up due to exhaustion, he didn’t cave to a full-on panic attack. Eventually, his choked sobs subsided, and the overwhelming buzzing in his ears lessened to the library’s soothing soft sounds.

"Okay, okay," Peter mumbled to himself. He slipped off his backpack, noticing for the first time today how light it felt. "Break it down. Work the problem." 

What caused him to panic? 

Sticking to the ceiling. 

How did he stick to the ceiling? 

Data unknown. 

Could he stick to the ceiling before today? 

No. 

What changed? 

He got sick from a spider bite.

What else had changed?

Enhanced hearing, vision, touch, and taste. Larger appetite. Preternatural reaction time. Increased strength.

With this list, if Peter didn’t know any better, he would say the spider bite gave him…

Superpowers.

He huffed out a breathy, manic laugh at the idea.

Yeah...

No.

This shit didn't happen to people like Peter. It happened to people like Bruce Banner or Steve Rogers. The idea of superpowers from a spider bite was certifiably insane.

Then again, it was a spider bite from a spider in a genetics laboratory...

A genetics laboratory that kinda gave off sketch vibes. 

And a spider that acted really weird. 

And- 

Peter groaned, clutching his face with hands.

Shit.

It would explain his sickness; his throbbing hand and stuffy head, falling into near catatonia for four days, and almost dying. The aches and pains; rewriting a human body enough to give it superpowers probably rearranged a lot inside and out.

Enhanced senses usually come with the package, or, as it had for Steve Rogers, along with curing his other physical ailments. This would explain Peter's perfect vision, reduced tiredness, and even the lack of an asthma attack when he broke down crying.

His strength increased - the dented floor demonstrated that - but what else could his body do? Could he run faster? Longer? He could jump better. The bathroom ceiling was at least fifteen feet in the air. 

If his body suffered through a… genetic mutation, the number of calories and energy he used would explain his rapid weight loss and intense hunger. And maintaining such a system... Well, increased performance equals more fuel. 

And spiders could crawl over sheer surfaces and hang upside down easily. He didn't exactly know how - he’d have to do research - but for now, he knew they could.

The idea of literal superpowers explained every weird-ass response his body experienced since he woke up.

Well, it didn’t explain how a bite from a supposed genetically altered spider granted him superpowers instead of a normal reaction like cancer, or even why, but…

Huh…Okay.

He had superpowers.

…what the actual fuck?

The Parker’s Apartment – April 2, 2016

Dinner, with everyone home, was rarely silent. They weren't a loud family like the Leeds', but Parker family dinners meant talking and laughing and inside jokes and fun. They took the time to hang out and talk about their week. 

Tonight, the table was silent.

Peter didn’t want to eat. He hadn’t wanted to eat since Thursday. He wanted to poke at his food, swirl it around, cut it up into tiny pieces, and go to bed without taking more than a few bites. 

Peter didn’t have that luxury anymore. The aching hole where his stomach used to sit demanded substance. He shoveled in another tasteless bite.

His gloomy mood persisted since he arrived Thursday after school. It wasn’t fair to Ben and May; they’d done nothing wrong.

A better nephew, a more considerate and kinder one, would try harder to seem normal. 

But Peter just… 

Couldn’t.  

He had superpowers.

From a spider bite.

That he’d gotten on a field trip.

Peter, so far past caring, found himself torn between screaming, crying, or passing out from the stress he was under. He settled on sullen silence. Finishing the last of his food, he found his stomach aching for more. 

His stomach would have to suck it up; staying at this table a minute longer sounded like pure hell.

“Can I be excused?” he asked dully. 

May placed down her glass of wine and looked at Ben expectantly. His uncle cleared his throat.

"Is something bothering you, Peter? You’ve been out of it since you recovered from the flu." 

Oh God, they thought he’d caught the flu? Peter laughed inside his head.  

May reached out to touch his hand. "Are you still in pain? Feeling any side effects? Please, Peter, talk to us."

Peter opened his mouth.

He wanted to tell them.

He should tell them.

But…

How? 

How do you begin talking about something like this? Everything about him was weird, and… wrong. Peter didn’t fit inside his own body anymore. He couldn’t control anything. It was all his fault, sure, but he didn’t know what to do. 

In this situation, Peter didn’t think anyone would know what to do. 

“I’m fine,” Peter murmured, wanting the conversation to end.

“Sweetie,” pleaded May. “Tell us what’s wrong, we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s –”

“NOTHING’S WRONG!” Peter exclaimed, pushing away his plate. “I just- I just-” He tried to say something, say anything, but the longer his mouth refused to work, the more frustrated he became. 

His head grew foggy, and his hands clenched into fists. He needed May and Ben to shut up. His breath stopped short of his lungs, and, shit, he could hear everything around him.

Sirens screeching.

A child’s scream from down the street.

Thousands of cars honk their horns.

Conversations, chattering, laughing, crying.

Make it stop.

MAKE IT STOP!

“Peter?”

Awareness snapped back to the apartment. Peter shoved himself back from the table, or maybe he shoved the table away from him, heaving out frustrated breaths. Ben and May looked at him in shock. Their concern should be comforting. 

But it wasn’t. 

It made him angry.

“I’m fine. Mind your own business. God, why are you on my case every time I act a little weird? Stop hovering. I’m fine! ” Maybe if he kept repeating the words, they would come true. 

“Peter!” his aunt exclaimed. Ben's mouth drew into a frown.

"You don’t need to yell, champ. We’re concerned about you. This attitude isn’t like you." His uncle's stern tone and eyes full of steel would normally be enough to cause Peter to back off. But today, the rage burned in his mind, driving out every rational thought.

"Well, stop it! I don’t need your concern. And I don’t have an attitude. I’m fine! Everything is fine! You’re just overreacting.” 

“You’re overreacting!” Ben shot back. 

The light above the stove buzzed, growing louder and louder in Peter’s ears. Another incoming tidal wave of sound and sensation threatened to crash down and drag him out to sea. His body tensed, readying to fight. 

But there was nothing to fight. 

He did the next best thing. 

He left.

Peter stumbled to the front door and wrenched it open. Shooting out of the apartment, like a bat out of hell, ignoring Ben and May yelling behind him.

Down the stairs - two at a time - through the lobby, and out of the building. Crisp evening wind blew through his hair as he ran down the sidewalk. Heart pounding out a war beat in his chest.

Without a destination in mind, he turned corners whenever the mood struck, dodging around pedestrians, weaving in and out of obstacles, and ignoring their frustrated cries in his wake. Peter ran and ran and ran, pumping his legs and swinging his arms until his lungs burned. Until every sensation, every light, and every sound faded from his mind.

It was quiet.

Well, the world settled back to normal at least, and Peter no longer wanted to tear his brain out through his ears. 

Slowing to a staggered walk, he dropped onto a nearby wooden bench and leaned against the back. Harsh breaths dragged out of his lungs, and his legs burned. Despite his anger and frustration, the physical exertion felt good; Peter never ran or strenuously exercised for fear of risking an asthma attack, and now he could run like crazy. 

His bare feet rested against the ground, gravel, and dirt sticking to his soles. For some reason, Peter found the idea hilarious, and a giggle escaped his mouth. A giggle that soon transformed into a full belly laugh. He must look insane to any passersby. A tiny fourteen-year-old child, no coat and no shoes, maniacally laughing his head off on the side of a street in Queens. 

Then again, this was New York. 

The chuckles slowly subsided, and so did the lingering elements of frustration and rage until only an empty pit of horrified tiredness remained.

He had yelled at May and Ben.

Peter never yelled at them.

He'd rebuffed their comfort and concern and ran away like an over-emotional child.

"Oh, I'm in so much trouble," he muttered to himself. Daylight slowly seeped away, replaced by blinding artificial brightness. Peter hadn't noticed the heaviness in his bones, the lingering exhaustion from a week of lies. He could barely keep a secret for a few days. How the hell could he keep this up forever?

He couldn’t.

Peter sighed. He would go home, apologize to his aunt and uncle, beg for their forgiveness, and take whatever punishment they would give him. Then Peter would tell them the truth because he couldn’t do this by himself. 

Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He was an overly emotional child, and he wanted a hug.

Angry screaming erupted from across the street. A corner bodega’s door burst open, and a man with a black bag in his hand ran out. He disappeared soon enough, but Peter heard rapid-fire Spanish spoken inside.

“¡ Detén ese ladrón! ¡ Alguien llame a la policía!”

Stop that thief! Someone call the police!

Peter had grown up in the city, and crime happened all the time. He couldn’t help.

‘You could stop him,’ whispered a quiet voice in his mind.

No, he couldn’t. Even if he could run fast enough, even if he did have superpowers, how would he stop the guy? Run him down? Punch him? Peter had never thrown a punch in his life. Sure, a superhero could stop the thief, but they were adults, trained adults who knew what they were doing. Peter, a kid with no jacket, no shoes, and two straws away from another panic attack, couldn’t do shit.

No. Trying to shove himself into the situation wouldn’t end well for anyone.

He picked himself off the bench and walked away.

He’d run pretty far, in his stress-induced panic, at least a half-hour walk back to his apartment complex. At the moment, the distance didn’t register - lost in his mind - he must have run really fast.

Peter turned onto a side street, taking the long way back to the apartment to give himself more time to think about explaining the situation to Ben and May without sounding insane.

Wandering through the city, Peter tried to focus on his breathing. He’d had these powers for less than a week, but already he knew better than letting his mind wander and focus on whatever little sounds it wanted. It gave him a splitting headache. He didn’t know how to prevent what happened in the kitchen from happening again, but hopefully May and Ben would have a solution. 

Peter groaned; they would ground him for life.

He deserved it, though.

Turning another street corner, shouts of anger assaulted Peter's ears. The hair on the back of his arms rose; he searched for whatever set it off. Two men stood on the sidewalk, arguing. Concentrating, the voices became clear enough to understand…

Wait!

That was Uncle Ben. 

The other person held a black bag – the guy from the bodega.

The one who robbed –

BANG!

BANG!

The shots rang like tolling bells in Peter’s ears, drowning out the rest of the world.

His uncle collapsed on the sidewalk, and the other man stumbled back before bolting away. 

"Ben," he called. "Uncle Ben!" Peter ran over to his uncle and fell to his knees at his side. Ben's eyes were closed, shut in pain, and crimson bloodstains spread quickly across his shirt. Peter didn't know what to do.

“P-peter?” his uncle croaked, opening his eyes.

"Uncle Ben, where's your phone? I'm gonna call 911, and hang on a bit longer. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay," Peter whispered the last part, more to himself than to Ben. Several people came out of the buildings, but Peter didn't pay them attention. Before he could search any further for his uncle's phone, Ben grabbed his hand.

“P... P-peter… I’m… sorry. A-re you okay?” The pulse of his uncle’s heart stuttered.

“Yeah, Ben, I’m fine. Don’t be sorry, I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have told you what was wrong. I’m sorry.” A voice in the background talked on the phone, calling an ambulance, but Peter's focus stayed on his uncle. “Please, please hang on, you’ll be fine.”

“Peter,” his uncle’s voice was softer now, “I…I’m not mad, it’s go-going to-" he coughed deeply "-be o-okay.” Peter couldn’t breathe. Oh no, oh no please, someone else, please not Ben, he thought. A girl, not much older than Peter, knelt on the other side of his uncle. She took two pieces of cloth and pressed them against the bullet holes.

“Here,” she said, handing him another piece. “I called an ambulance. Can you keep pressure on his wounds until it comes?” Peter nodded numbly; anything was better than doing nothing. He held the cloth against his uncle's wound. Immediately, it soaked through with blood. Was he pressing too hard? He had super strength now. What if he hurt his uncle more than helping him?

Peter and the stranger tried to keep Ben alive. Every so often, his uncle coughed, and Peter kept repeating assurances. Eventually, sirens echoed in the distance.

“Hey Ben, the ambulance is almost here. You have to hold on a little longer.” His uncle tried to smile, but his eyes had gone hazy, and his skin had paled. “Uncle Ben?”

“P…Peter...” His uncle’s voice croaked barely above a whisper, but Peter could hear it clear as day. “I-if I don’t m…make it… t-tell May I love her, take care of her f-for me. Y..you’re a good kid, bud. I…

“No, no, no,” Peter cried, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t let them fall; he needed to act brave for his uncle. “You'll make it, Ben; tell May yourself. I love you. Please don’t leave me too. I can’t do this by myself, Ben.” He pushed harder on the blood-soaked cloth beneath him. Ambulance sirens rang out louder now. A little bit longer, a little bit longer.  

Ben took in a long, shuddering breath, and the sirens deafened Peter’s sensitive ears. A pair of hands on his shoulders pulled him away from Ben, who started to hack, a sickly deep sound, and blood trickled from his mouth… 

Red and white lights flashed too brightly, and Peter turned away. He could hear everything: medics shouting, his blood pumping through his veins. Every steady heartbeat next to him, and the one that flickered…

Flickered…

“Hey.” 

Peter turned. 

The girl who tried to keep pressure on Ben’s wounds with him stood at his side. Her brown eyes dripped with sorrow, even though her face remained stone still. “Do you need me to call anyone for you?” Peter’s mind remained blank; he didn’t know what to do.

“My- my Aunt May,” he stuttered out eventually. “I need to call my Aunt May.” The girl offered him her hand; he reached out to take it before he realized his hands were soaked in blood.

His uncle’s blood.

That's when Peter remembered.

The guy Peter hadn’t stopped earlier, had shot Ben. It was his fault Ben was on the way to the hospital; it was his fault his uncle could…

A hand landed on his shoulder, and a voice whispered in his ear.

“Whatever you’re thinking isn’t true. Your uncle loves you, and that’s what you need to keep in mind. Now tell me what your aunt’s number is, and I’ll call her.” The girl knelt at his side, trying to calm him.

Peter wanted to argue with her, wanted to scream at the world, and whatever sick twisted person controlled it. He did not want to be responsible for his uncle's bullet wound. He wanted to cry.

But instead, he was empty and numb, and unable to do anything else, Peter told her May’s number. The paramedics loaded Ben onto a stretcher, and the ambulance doors shut behind him. The crowd slowly dispersed until only he and the girl were waiting for Aunt May to arrive. 

It was quiet.

Peter - seated on the sidewalk with no shoes, no coat, and his uncle's blood on his hands - finally cried.

Queens Funeral Home - April 4, 2016

They held the funeral on Monday.

Peter wished he remembered every detail, but he was so lost inside his head that the blurry service slipped from his memory.

He remembered Aunt May crying.

They had a big service; Ben was… had been a well-respected police officer. He vaguely remembered a speech from one of Ben’s coworkers, Aunt May might have done one too, or she could have just cried.

He couldn’t remember.

After another person expressed how sorry they were for his loss. He excused himself and raced to the bathroom, escaping the throng of people with nothing to say but sorry. They shouldn't say sorry to him when he was the one responsible.

He shuffled over to the sink to look at himself in the mirror. Dull eyes and sallow skin greeted him; his appetite had all but disappeared since the doctor told him and May, his uncle was in surgery. Ben died an hour later. Peter needed to eat soon or risk passing out, but for the moment, he didn’t care.

His uncle was dead.

And it was Peter’s fault.

Turning on the faucet and letting the hot water run over his hands, he scrubbed vigorously with the soap until raw. And then he scrubbed some more. Peter had done this more times than he could count since Saturday night. Trying to erase the feel of his uncle’s blood soaking his hands.

After a few minutes, even though he swore the stickiness and the warmth remained, and oh god, he’s dead – Uncle Ben is dead, he stopped and left the bathroom. He'd stand with May and let the meaningless apologies wash over him. They'd leave and bury one of the most important people in his life, and he and May would be alone. Alone to mourn and try to reconstruct their lives without Ben.

Peter wanted to cry, but the tears had stopped coming.

Standing in the hallway outside the reception room, he prepared himself to face the crowds again. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything else than the overwhelming sadness engulfing him.

“Hey there,” said a quiet voice. Peter opened his eyes. The girl from the night Ben died stood in front of him, dressed in black pants and a button-up shirt, and a bracelet, her brown hair messily braided over her shoulder. She stood slightly taller than him, maybe in her late teens. “I’m sorry about your uncle.” 

The words took a moment to register. "Thanks,” he said. “Be–” Peter's breath caught in his throat; he couldn’t even say Ben's name out loud; it hurt too much. “He always told me to help others whenever I could. You did a lot that night, he would have liked you.”

“Maybe." She hesitated, biting her lip, rubbing at the bracelet on her arm, a bright green gem on a black band. "Peter?”

"Yeah?" 

“I know it’s bad now. You're in pain and you're hurt and you feel like it will never end. Trust me, I understand." Peter shook his head. What did she know about his pain? How could she understand this numb hole gaping inside of him, sucking away every bit of light? 

"What happened wasn’t your fault, no matter how much you think it was. Your uncle loved you, and his death is on the guy who shot him; not you.” 

Peter gritted his teeth, turning away from the kind but false words. He knew the truth. He could have stopped the man earlier if he hadn’t turned a blind eye. Uncle Ben would never have been on the streets if Peter hadn’t left. Peter had run away from his problems and acted cruel and petty to the best man he’d ever known, and now Ben was dead.

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Life goes on, and it will knock you down again, and again, and again. But... One day you’ll wake up, and the pain – it won’t be gone, but your life will be a little bit brighter and a little bit happier, and you’ll face the day without wanting to cry.” She paused for a second, her voice full of held-back tears.

Swiping a hand across her eyes to wipe them away, she continued, "I know you don't believe me now. I wouldn't either, but it's going to be okay. Don’t isolate yourself; you have people willing to support you. It will get better, I promise.” A moment passed, and she wrapped her arms around Peter and hugged him. 

“I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could’ve helped more. I wish I could’ve stopped it,” she whispered. Peter raised his arms and hugged her back. 

“It’s not your fault, you did what you could to help, and without you, I... I don’t know what I would’ve done.” 

She pulled back, tears finally pouring down her face. “I think, I think, I’m finally starting to believe that.” 

She lingered for a moment, but finally let go. Clutching his shoulders tightly, her hands curling around his arms painfully. “I need to go. Good luck.” Without another word from Peter, she headed down the hallway and disappeared as quickly as she arrived.

Peter stared after her. Her words hardly resolved the guilt bubbling in his stomach, but he was grateful for them all the same. The hug had been nice, too.

Slowly, he headed back to the viewing room. Peter, already dreading the next few hours, the way a condemned prisoner dreads the gallows, but at least a prisoner knew death would come soon. He would spend the rest of his life responsible for his uncle's death. 

In the distance, thunder rumbled and rain pattered on the church’s roof.

Maybe it was cliché to think the world stopped to mourn right along with him, but Peter didn’t care. His uncle was dead, and Peter had no more tears left; the sky could cry enough for both of them.

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – April 7, 2016

The days following Ben’s funeral blurred together. Peter drifted from his bedroom to the living room to the kitchen and back to his bedroom, listless and hollow. He ate when his stomach ached and slept when his eyes couldn’t stay open. The world around him was wholly submerged in a murky sea, bleached of color and sound.

In a twist of painful fate, his heightened senses ramped up in the wake of his grief and overwhelming guilt. When he woke up from nightmares, the sounds of the city assaulted his ears until he wanted to pass out in pain. 

May wasn’t any better. The hospital gave her two weeks off, but it wasn’t like it did much good. She drifted between the couch and her bedroom, alternating between grief-stricken silence and unhinged sobbing. 

Peter didn’t need enhanced hearing to hear her loud and clear. 

Thursday night found both of them seated at the kitchen table. Eating takeout for the third time in three days. 

Peter ate small bites, hoping to savor the flavor as long as he could. He couldn’t ask for anything more - May ordered their normal portions - and the fridge lay empty. Unless he wanted to brave the mysterious-looking casserole Ms. Zarroni on the third floor made for them. 

His stomach could starve if that was his only other option. 

May picked at her food slowly, occasionally taking long sips of wine from a deep glass. 

Peter kept to his silence; what could he say without causing more pain? He found himself almost glad May expected nothing but sadness from him; it helped hide the crushing regret and guilt. 

Finally, May took the initiative and cleared her throat, “I know it’s soon, but do you feel ready enough to go back to school?”

The question jogged him out of his foggy head. “Oh, um…I don’t know.” 

Peter received a personal email from Principal Morita telling him to take off the whole week without the fear of it affecting his grades, and the platitude that if he could do anything to help Peter, ‘during this tough time,’ do not hesitate to ask. A nice, if effectively hollow sentiment. 

Peter didn't respond past a cursory ‘thank you.’  

Peter was far from okay. He didn't eat enough and didn't sleep either. The emotional whiplash, bouncing between apathy, grief, and anger, made him unstable and exhausted. 

His own problems aside, he should go back to school tomorrow. Between the sickness from the spider bite and his uncle’s death, he had missed a full week. But dealing with pitying stares sounded like torture.

May traced the edge of her wine glass with a finger. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You can wait a little longer and go back on Monday.” 

Peter sighed, shaking his head. “No, no, I can go back tomorrow. I'll pick up my missed work and do it over the weekend.” He’d have a ton to do; better go to school than lie in his bed staring at the ceiling.

“I wanted to ask because I’m headed back to work tomorrow.” 

Peter frowned. “I thought the hospital gave you another week and a half off?” 

May shrugged, taking another bite of food. “They offered me a full-time position with benefits. I have to train for it, so I’ll only work partial hours until I’m certified. Figured I could start it now.” She lifted her glass to her lips. “It’s not like I have anything else to do,” she muttered. 

Peter shifted in his seat. He didn’t know if he was supposed to have heard the comment or not. 

“Congratulations,” he finally said. “I know you wanted to work full-time for a while.” He kept his reaction positive, even though inside he wanted to curl into a ball at the wave of grief knocking into him  

She sighed. “Not exactly the circumstances I had hoped for.” 

“Yeah... “ 

Silence. 

“Will we be okay?” he asked. “Money-wise, I mean.”

May’s mouth tightened, and her eyes turned cold. “We’ll be fine,” she snapped. Peter glanced at his plate, avoiding her annoyed glare; his chest tightened. 

The dripping drain pipe in the bathroom kept ticking time to the silence.

May sighed, taking another long sip of wine. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. This is- it’s been… stressful,” she said, barely contained sadness creeping into her words. “But that’s no reason for snippiness.” Her offered smile was small, warbling, but apologetic. 

“It’s fine, May. I forgive you.” Burying another lash of guilt in his chest, he should have known better. He shouldn’t have asked. 

“On the days I have work, you can go with Ned to his house, Tamar said she’d look after you.” 

“May,” Peter sighed, trying not to whine. “No. Please. Ms. Tamar is super busy and already runs Kayla everywhere. I’m fourteen, I can stay home alone.” Not that Peter wouldn’t mind staying over at Ned’s house on occasion, but he didn’t need watching like some little kid. 

She shook her head. “I’ll be gone some nights for evening shifts. You can’t be by yourself.” 

“So what? Am I supposed to spend the next four years bouncing back and forth between here and Ned’s place, because you can’t trust me?” 

May gritted her teeth. “It’s not about trust, Peter. It’s about what’s right for us right now, considering the circumstances.” 

“It’s gonna have to happen eventually. I already wake myself up, get to school, and come home from school, so what’s the big deal if some nights I make dinner and go to bed by myself? I have a phone you can check in with me.” May opened her mouth. “And don’t say that you can’t because of work restrictions, they would let you check in on me.” 

“It’s not about what you're capable of, Peter...” she started.

“Yes, it is!” he snapped back. “Face it, May, I’m not a kid anymore, it was already ridiculous enough that you and-” he inhaled a sharp breath, not quite ready to say Ben’s name out loud. “It was already ridiculous that you switched off shifts to watch me. I don’t need it anymore.” 

“Well, what if something happens? Huh? Ever thought of what might happen if you’re alone and you need help? What if you're hurt or an accident happens, and then they take-” she stopped short. 

Oh, she was worried about him being taken away. That... that was fair. “That’s not going to happen, May,” he said, his voice much calmer now. “I can call Ms.Tamar or Mrs. Levee next door, or anyone else who would be willing to help. But I can take care of myself now.” Peter was far from worried about any normal problem. He was fast enough to avoid being hurt, and he was smart enough to figure out anything else that might pop up. The only problems he had to worry about were ones stemming from his powers, and no one else could deal with that but him.

May smiled sadly. “I know you can, Peter, you’re just growing up, and it makes it hard when the boy who used to crawl into your bed because of nightmares can stay alone at home without supervision.” She took another sip of her wine. “I’m just worried. I have a right to be after…” 

Peter barely swallowed his food without choking. “I know May,” he managed. “But we can’t let it stop us from… living. I’ll be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Nothing that hadn't already happened. Peter’s life couldn’t get any weirder. “I promise.” 

May reached for Peter's hand, squeezing it. “You can’t make that promise. No one can.” She pulled away and picked up her glass again, fingering the stem as her face did a series of emotional gymnastics. Eventually, she sighed and looked him in the eye. “Alright, here’s the deal: you go to school, come home, and stay here while I’m away – unless you’re at Ned’s or an after-school activity. I don’t want you running around and getting yourself hurt. If you have a problem, call Tamar and text me. The second it all becomes too much, we’re going to go with my original idea.” 

Peter couldn’t feel much but exhaustion and guilt these days, but at May’s words, the tension, building in his chest and stomach for days, released.  

“Yes, May,” Peter promised. “Thank you.” 

They finished the rest of their dinner, and May retired to the living room to watch Hallmark movies with a glass of wine. Peter headed to his room. He told May he needed to go to sleep early to help balance his screwed-up sleep schedule. 

It was kinda true. His sleep schedule was messed up. 

He just had no intentions of doing anything about it. 

Peter lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling instead. The seventy-six cracks and the fourteen water damage spots mocked him in their unchanging appearance. Soon enough, recounting the imperfections on the ceiling couldn't keep his mind from wandering to thoughts of panic and guilt and blood. 

He picked up his phone and texted Ned.

Peter: hey Ned see you at school tmrw 

A second later. 

Ned: Are you sure you’re up for that?

Peter rolled his eyes. Ned’s constant worrying grated at times. 

Peter: Yeah, May’s going back to work and I’ve gotta get caught up 

Ned: I can still bring you your stuff. The teachers totally understand

Peter: Nah, it’ll be fine 

A long pause, three dots danced on the bottom of Peter’s phone. 

Ned: okay see you tmrw in 2nd 

Throwing his phone on his nightstand, Peter quietly headed over to his desk and booted up his cobbled-together laptop. 

Scrolling through his news and Twitter feed, nothing kept his attention for long. He jumped into his email, nothing import-

Wait…

There sat an email from the genetic testing website he and Uncle Ben sent their DNA to. The results were ready. Peter stared at the email for a minute before moving it to a separate folder and clearing his inbox. 

This was the last project he and his uncle worked on together. The stupid genetics project he couldn't even do right because his family was dead, and now Uncle Ben was dead too. He didn’t want to even look at those results, much less do a project on them. Peter wanted to scream.

His finger hovered over the keypad.

All his energy drained from him, and the thought of dealing with those cold numbers and facts exhausted him. 

He clicked over to his school's website instead. He could do a little bit of prep work for school tomorrow. His teachers understood the situation, but he had top grades for a reason, and missing a week of school would not help him maintain those grades. He would deal with the results tomorrow; the project wasn't due until the last week of April. He had plenty of time.

One more day.

Midtown School of Science and Technology – April 8, 2016

Going back to school was exhausting.

No one but the teachers said anything outright, but the constant side-eyes, averted gazes, and pitying looks made it very clear everyone knew exactly what happened. His senses, still dialed up to eleven - he didn’t even bother sitting in the cafeteria today - and the constant thrum under his skin of that sixth sense had Peter suffering a brain-splitting headache by the time the last bell pierced his ears and called the school day to an end. 

He left without looking at anyone. 

Exiting the suffocating brick building felt like a breath of fresh air. The cool spring day washed over him, and despite the faint pressure of his overwhelming senses threatening to invade in the background, a slight bit of the weight which had followed him around for the past two weeks lightened.

Finding a secluded corner on the edge of the building. Students streamed out of the brick halls by the hundreds, chattering loudly. Meanwhile, honking cars and rumbling buses joined in a metallic symphony playing in his ears like a high-def soundtrack. 

He could go home. 

But there would be no one waiting for him. 

Peter glanced down at his phone. There was a waiting message from Ned telling him he was running late. Ned, for the classes they shared, stuck by him like glue today. A shield against the rest of their nosy classmates and the student body in general. Peter would have been lost without him. So, without anyone to return home, they would wait in the shadow of the school until they could catch the train together. 

Sliding down the brick wall, he sat on the dirty concrete. Rough texture like gritted sandpaper brushed beneath his sensitive hands. Most of his skin was sensitive these days. Peter took to wearing multiple layers lately, with the first layer inside out to avoid the seams on the inside of the clothing. A practice becoming unsustainable the warmer the weather grew.

Curling his legs against his chest, Peter lay his head down on his knees and tried to block out the world. 

He wished he could have stayed home. 

The real world was bright, nosy, and loud. 

But the apartment brought nothing but painful memories, and a thick dread-sense of guilt and sorrow. Peter could almost smell the grief floating in the air in their apartment, and even nosy-loud-smelly school was better than the tomb-like feeling of the apartment. Plus, the longer he waited here, the more time he had before opening those test results. That last project he and Ben did together.

Caught up in his thoughts, Peter nearly missed the sound of light but sure footsteps approaching him. Damn it. Unless it was Ned, which the sound-crunch-weight against the asphalt was all wrong for, he didn’t want to deal with other human beings today. 

“Hey Parker,” greeted the last voice Peter wanted to hear, ever. 

Raising his head from his knees, Peter glared at Flash, who stood a few feet away. Flash’s backpack sat slung over his shoulder, and a blank look was on his face. 

“What do you want, Eugene? ” Peter asked through gritted teeth. He did not have the patience to deal with the irksome bully today. His nerves were shot. If Flash tried to pull a punch or shove, Peter was likely to break the boy’s arm. 

Flash shifted, feet crunching against the gravel. “I just… well, you were back today, and I-” 

“What? Come to kick me while I was down?” snapped Peter. 

Flash’s eyes widened. “No, I was just-”

Peter wasn’t paying attention. 

Without thinking, without even really meaning to, Peter leaped up and grabbed Flash with ease, pinning him against the wall. 

“What? Gonna shit on me for my uncle’s death too? You do it enough with my dead parents who I don’t even fucking remember!” Peter pushed with just a fraction of his strength, and Flash winced. 

“No-

“Then why fucking bother coming near me? Just one day. One day to pretend that everything is fine when it’s fucking not. And you had to come and be an ass.”

“No!” Flash finally yelled. His feet kicked slightly off the ground. Peter passively supported him with just his backpack straps. “I wanted to say I’m sorry your uncle’s dead. It sucks. This whole thing sucks. I’m sorry you had to watch it. No one should have to see that.” The look on Flash’s face was one of pain and panic, and it struck a chord in Peter. 

“Oh,” said Peter weakly. He loosened his group on Flash’s backpack straps and lowered the boy back down to the ground. Flash wobbled for a second once he was back on his feet. 

“Jesus, Parker, when did you get ripped?” 

Peter wanted a hole to open up in the ground and for him to be swallowed whole. “I was just angry,” he muttered.”Didn’t mean to push you so hard.” Ironic considering the number of times Flash has pushed him to the ground.  

Flash scoffed, trying to look for all the world that he was unbothered after Peter hoisted him onto the wall with ease. “Yeah, whatever. Catch you later, Parker,” Flash turned on his heel and stalked away as if embarrassed to even have come near Peter. Peter remained panicked and frustrated as Flash walked away. His head, heavy and pounding with anger, frustration, panic, guilt- 

“ARGH!” Petter yelled, balling his hand into a fist and driving it into the side of the building. Brick dented easily beneath his punch. His hand buzzed at the force but hardly felt the pain. Peter leaned his forehead against the brick wall and pulled in huffing gaps of air. 

Breathe in 1… 2…3…

Breathe out 1… 2… 3…

Peter, focusing so heavily on his own paced breathing, didn’t pay much attention to the crunch of gravel as someone approached him from behind. 

At least not until he heard-

“What the absolute-”

Peter whipped his head around. Ned stood a few feet away, head fluttering back and forth between Peter and the crater he’d created with his fist in the brick wall. 

Shit. 

“This is- This isn’t- I didn’t-”

“You punched a hole in the wall,” Ned said slowly. 

“No," Peter denied, lying.

Ned pointed at the crater. “Uh, yeah. Your hand was right there. Is your hand bleeding?” Ned darted forward, snagging Peter’s hand and raising it. Flecks of brick cover his knuckles, but otherwise, his hand was unharmed. Ned gazed at Peter, mouth hanging open. 

“I- uh- well.” Peter had no clue what to say. 

“Do you have super strength?” 

Of course, that’s where Ned’s mind went. It’s where Peter's mind would have gone. Peter was really doing a great job keeping his powers in check and secret. Ned was never letting this go. 

“It could have already been cracked,” he offered weakly. 

“Dude.” Ned pinned him with an unimpressed stare. 

“Okay, okay,” Peter whispered. “Yes, alright. I have… powers.” 

Ned’s squeal was loud enough to make Peter wince. “Tell. Me. Everything.” 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell you everything. But not here. We need to go before anyone connects the hole to me.” They turn away from the shadow of the building and head towards the train station. 

Despite all its risks, despite every negative voice in Peter’s head taunting him about the myriad of possibilities this could all go wrong, a small part of him relaxed at his friend’s insistence. He wasn’t alone. This wasn’t just his burden to carry anymore. 

The Parker’s Apartment – April 8, 2016

Peter slammed the apartment door shut and slumped against the door in relief. Between pointless classes, sickening pity from his teachers and classmates, sympathy from Flash, and Ned finding out about what happened at Oscorp, and consequently everything after, Peter wanted to drop from exhaustion. 

Peter explained everything to Ned on the train ride home in hushed tones. Peter told him how he'd gotten lost in the dark and about the crazy spider bite; Ned's eyes widened in amazement so many times it was likely they would fall out. He explained how his sickness wasn't the flu, but his body went through a weird genetic mutation, and he almost died. He explained about his powers, and Ned immediately wanted to see them. Peter, after some reluctance, agreed but asked to wait until Sunday, citing the mountain of homework he needed to complete.

Until this point, Peter only thought of the potential dangers of letting anyone know about his powers. Now, he had a friend to vent to, someone who could give him advice. Although he didn't want his friend hurt or caught in the way of his powers, a weight fell off Peter's shoulders with his friend on his side.

After the funeral, he almost told May, but couldn’t bring himself to add to her stress. He couldn't bear the look on her face if he'd told her what actually happened the night Ben died.

And despite everything he did tell Ned, he kept silent about his responsibility for Ben’s death. 

It was Peter's burden to bear alone. 

May wasn’t home when he arrived, and Peter was painfully aware of Ben's absence. He wouldn’t walk through the door in an hour to order pizza or play video games with Peter. He wouldn’t stare at Peter’s math problems and mutter over how math had changed since he attended school. Never sit and listen to Peter complain about the bullying and teasing at school, and encourage Peter to take the high road and help those around him, regardless.

The ache in Peter’s chest returned, and tears prickled in his eyes.

Peter wiped them away and trudged into the kitchen to find something to eat; lunch seemed like forever ago. On the counter lay a note with a $20 bill on top of it.

Hey Sweetie,

I’ll be home around 10 in the morning tomorrow. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.

I left you cash to get dinner. Try not to burn the apartment down.

Larb you,

May

Peter smiled at the note. Aunt May was the best. He grabbed the leftovers out of the fridge. He would order pizza later, sure to be hungry enough for both.

Heading into his room with his afternoon snack, he pulled his schoolwork out of his backpack. He had a math test on Monday that he wanted to take, but his teacher told him he would have to wait and see how much he completed out of the topics he missed. He had two assignments in English and another in history. Spanish was, of course, his worst subject, and he had no clue where to even begin with the three homework packets from Senora Hernandez. He picked up notes from Ned for biology, but still had two labs he needed to make up for, and his genetics project to start.

So it wasn’t as if he was putting off his genetics project, so much as he placed its priority low on his list to accomplish.

As the night wore on, he worked through the piles of homework. He took a little more time and effort than normal, ensuring he understood everything because he hadn't been to class and heard the teacher talk in person. He finished English, History, and half of his Spanish work. At around eight, he stopped and called the pizza place. His normal order of a medium was no longer enough, so instead, it was two large pizzas with ham, pineapple, and bacon – Ned thought he was a heathen for putting pineapple on pizza, but he also thought Rey was a Skywalker, so Peter didn’t trust his judgment when it came to important things. When the pizzas arrived, he finished both of them without leaving a crust behind. For the first time since he'd been sick, Peter felt full.

He forgot how much he missed the feeling.

In the zone, he headed back to his room and continued to work. He finished Spanish and did two homework packets for math. Around eleven, he took a break, wanting to leave the rest of math for tomorrow when his brain was fresh.

Normally, he would head to bed around now, but these days, he tended to lie in bed, not sleeping. 

Peter opened his email and pulled up the alert from the genetics website. 

Moving quickly, so he wouldn't change his mind, he logged in and opened up the results for his test.

It was a series of charts and numbers; it wouldn't hurt him to read it any more than it would hurt to solve a math equation. Glancing through the different sections, it was cool to see how much his genetic profile determined his family's history. On a map, it highlighted the parts where his family came from. His mom's side of the family registered mostly French and Irish, and his dad's... Italian and Eastern European?

Huh…strange.

He could have sworn Uncle Ben always said they were English. Aunt May’s family came from Italy, but he didn't have any blood relation to her.

Oh well, this was the point of these websites – to show you where you came from and what your family was like on a genetic level. He continued to scroll through the information.

He carried a recessive gene for red hair, which was cool. His children could be redheads.

On his father’s side, he was predisposed to alcohol addiction – okay, good to know, like, seven years in advance.

He received his hair and eye color from his dad, but had a higher chance (72%) of getting his face shape from his mom.

He paused. Maybe he should get a picture to reference.

Peter rose from his desk and dashed to the living room. May kept the family albums in there, with pictures of his parents in them. It took a while to search through a couple of albums, and Peter kept getting distracted by reliving old memories. Ben was in many of the photos.

Like Peter’s first day of school, he walked Peter to the door.

His first birthday with his Aunt and Uncle, May and Ben, standing behind him, watching him blow out six candles.

The first time he won a science fair. Eight years old with an in-depth presentation on clean energy, using Stark Industries' arc reactor as his main focus. The winning prize: tickets to the Stark Expo. 

Next came the pictures from the expo; Peter had the time of his life that weekend. If he ignored almost getting blown up by a rogue Hammerdrone.

And two years ago, pictures of May and Ben's fifteenth wedding anniversary in Greece.

Their smiling, sunburnt faces glowed in the Mediterranean sun…

Peter closed the album quickly and dug to the bottom of the stack. The ones with his parents would be older. After flipping through page after page, he found one photo with everybody in it. It looked to be from Peter’s fifth birthday. Taking the photo back to his room, he continued reading through the different types of information.

He was more likely to get his father’s height than his mother’s height. His father’s height was average, while his mother was predisposed towards being taller.

Well, his dad stood above everyone in the picture, even Ben at 6'1", so that wasn't true. His mother stood shorter than May, who was shorter than Peter after his most recent growth spurt - though he was ready to blame that on the stupid spider bite - but...  

Earlobe attachment was passed down paternally. Checking his reflection on his phone's camera – unattached.  

He looked at the picture.

Peter convinced himself it was a weird angle, but it looked like his father had attached earlobes, but that couldn’t be true because –

He stopped.

He was supposed to get his eye color from his father, but Peter’s brown eyes didn't match his father's in the picture.

Blue eyes mocked him from the crinkled and faded photograph.

Panic rose inside his chest. Okay, so what? It didn’t mean anything. The science wasn't perfect - it could be a mistake or miscalculation. 

It had to be wrong.

Once he accessed Ben’s information, the panic expanded even more. Ben was right when he said most, an alarming seventy-eight percent, of the family heritage came from England. The rest was Native American and a little Scandinavian. Nowhere near what Peter’s paternal side family history was.

And the more he dug, the more frantic he became. Everything from location to potential diseases, to closest found relatives, was different. It's like he and Ben weren't related even in the slightest. Finally, he looked at the actual DNA strands, locating a particular genome passed from father to son, which was found in male family members. Peter had it, but Ben didn’t.

Which meant he wasn’t related to Ben.

Which meant he wasn’t related to Richard Parker.

The panic in his chest took over, and Peter couldn’t breathe. Stumbling back from his desk and over to his bed. His mind slipped into a downward spiral, and his ears blocked out the noise except for a persistent ringing in his ears.

His vision blacked out.

The next thing he knew, the back of his head ached while he stared at the ceiling. Choked sobs ripped from his throat as he tried to catch his breath. After the crying he'd done the past week, he thought he didn't have any more tears left to give.

He was wrong.

Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why couldn't any of this be simple?

Why couldn’t he be normal?

He was sick and tired of this emptiness in his chest and head. He was sick and tired of doing anything. He wanted this pain to stop. He wanted to scream and cry and rage. He accepted his parents' deaths; he hadn't known them, but he loved the idea of them. Ben and May were his family - his parents, siblings, and aunt and uncle rolled into one, and now Ben was gone, and Peter wasn’t even related to him.

As Peter’s mind spiraled inward, his breathing became even more erratic, and the dizziness came back even though he hadn't moved since he collapsed on his bed. A heaviness sank into Peter's bones, and he was sure it would never go away. Eventually, his vision faded to black, and his mind settled into silence, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

The Parker’s Apartment – April 9, 2016

Peter woke up with a jolt.

Whatever dream he had faded fast into smoke and hazy panic. Eventually, his breathing settled out, and he rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. He was lying on top of his covers, still in his clothes from the day before. Peter looked around his room for a moment with sleep still blearing his mind.

Then everything caught up to him.

The genetic results.

The realization that he wasn’t related to Ben or Richard Parker.

Peter’s subsequent panic attack.

Peter was pretty sure this was his third or fourth panic attack in a matter of days. Something had to be wrong with him. At this point, Peter didn’t care. His emotions were wrapped in cotton and weighted down. It was a better feeling than the constant ache that settled into his chest the night Ben died.

Rising from his bed, and headed to the bathroom, his mind buzzed loudly enough to drown out his thoughts. After, he wandered into the kitchen.

'How could it only be four in the morning?' thought Peter. Aunt May wouldn’t be home for another six hours.

It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen her.

Even though his stomach rebelled at the thought of food, he pulled out a bowl of cereal. The warm feeling of fullness from last night had long since faded. 

Munching on a bowl of cereal, he retreated to his room and put on pajamas. He finished the cereal, sat at his computer, and stared at the black screen.

‘How the hell am I going to do this project?’  

An appropriate reaction for the situation? Probably not. But it wasn’t hysterical sobbing like he’d done last night, and it wasn’t allowing his thoughts to spiral out of control. It was focusing on a problem, a problem he could fix.

Peter was good at fixing things.

Peter grabbed the next section of math homework and let the mindless repetition of numbers wash over him. It wasn’t perfect bliss, but with Peter’s brain running a million miles a minute, it was about as good as he would get.

By the time he finished the other two math packets, the sun peeked over the horizon. The pull of sleep dragged him to bed. Shutting off his light and collapsing into bed, the weight of his eyelids dragging him back into the darkness, where the numbness couldn’t reach him anymore.

Chapter Text

The Leeds’s Apartment – April 10, 2016

The lingering feeling of numbness subsided slightly as the weekend progressed. It helped spending Saturday night hanging out with May. The sad silence remained ever-present since Ben died, but May and Peter only had each other now and needed to cling to one another. Peter wanted nothing more than safety and warmth, and nothing did that better than curling up with May on the couch and watching reruns of old F.R.I.E.N.D.S episodes.

Early Sunday afternoon, Peter visited Ned’s apartment.

He shouted hello to Ned's mom, raced upstairs to his friend's bedroom, and locked the door behind him. Ned bounced on his bed in anticipation. 

“Dude, I am so stoked. I wish you had shown me your powers Friday.”

Peter cracked a small smile. “Yeah, well, I needed to finish a ton of schoolwork.”

The excited expression on Ned’s face dropped. “Forgot about that. Do you need help? I know I gave you my bio notes. History's not my best subject, but -”

Peter shook his head. "Nah, man, it's fine. I finished everything." Well, everything except the genetics project. Ultimately, he decided on modifying the graphs and charts to make them look like he and Ben were related. And how depressing was that?

“But you left for a week, and a couple of days the previous week. Everything's already done? That was, like, mountains of homework.”

Peter shrugged. “I didn't sleep. It gave me something to focus on.”

Ned shook his head in disbelief. "Only you would consider a week's worth of missed homework 'something to focus on'," Ned used the air quotes, and Peter burst out laughing. Gosh, when did he last laugh? He couldn't remember. "Alright, now I know about the super strength, but you said you can walk on the ceiling too?"

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I freaked out in the bathroom at school after I broke the tiles, my body reacted on instinct, and I jumped ten feet in the air. I stuck to the ceiling like gravity, just didn't exist.”

Ned’s infectious smile beamed brightly. “What instinct involves jumping to avoid danger?”

“Uh, a Jedi one?”

“Well, go on. Let me see you, oh Jedi Master.” They both laughed. It felt good to hang out with his friend. Peter mentally prepared himself to use his powers on purpose. He'd never used them without freaking out.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then jumped as hard as he could. A moment later, he crouched on the ceiling, treating gravity like a suggestion rather than a rule.

“Oh my gosh!” laughed Ned, eyes growing huge in amazement.

Peter looked down with a smirk. “I know, right?!”

"Does it hurt your brain at all? Does gravity drag you down? Can you do it one-handed? Can you hang from the ceiling with only your hands attached? With one hand attached? Can you hang from your feet too?" Ned’s questions poured out of his mouth.

"No idea, Ned,” replied Peter, still stuck on the ceiling. “Besides the few times I used them by accident, I haven’t tried to do anything.”

Ned looked at him like he was crazy. “Peter, you have superpowers! Use them for the greater good, or at least to gain views on YouTube.”

Peter shook his head. “Yeah, no thanks. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Mutant Freak Boy From Queens - Alien, Menace, or Government Project? You Decide!’ Besides, I was kinda distracted." For a good few minutes, the ache in his chest disappeared, laughing and hanging around with Ned as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed, and the fact that he sat on the ceiling proved it.

Ned didn't notice his mood shift. “Well, now you have me. Here, I dragged this over from my brother's room," he pointed at a huge dumbbell, the number one hundred etched on the side. "I mean, you can dent solid rock, you're bound to be strong enough to lift a hundred pounds." Peter nodded, swung from the ceiling, and landed in a crouch. He walked over to the weight and lifted it with one hand, light as a feather.

“Well?” prompted Ned.

"Super light, doesn't feel like I’m holding anything at all.”

His friend's eyes widened even further. “Oh my gosh. How strong are you? Stronger than Captain America? Or, ooh, what about the Hulk?"

Peter shrugged, placing the weight down. "I have no idea." Peter's mood took a turn for the worse. He hoped this would be a good idea, but now he wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with Aunt May. But he couldn’t because she worked today. May and Ben tried to schedule the weekends off to spend time with Peter. Now she worked with whatever schedule they gave her, which included a lot of double shifts.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” asked Ned, finally catching on to his poor mood. 

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something. Does it hurt to use your powers? Do you get headaches?”

Peter gritted his teeth in annoyance. “No, it doesn’t hurt to use my powers. My powers are fine, except that I have them in the first place. How does a radioactive spider bite give you super strength and the ability to sense danger, and not something normal, like, I dunno, cancer?”

Ned shrugged his shoulders. “Crazier shit has happened in the past few years. Aliens invaded New York a few years ago. Sokovia nearly became a weapon of mass destruction by a murderous robot. How about the huge government leak about a secret Nazi organization trying to take over the world by Helicarriers? I dunno man; this isn't too insane when you keep all of that in mind.”

Peter shook his head. “Yeah, but that happens to the government or the Avengers. Not a nobody from Queens. I should be dead.” Peter collapsed in the desk chair and closed his eyes. Ned’s heartbeat pounded in his ears from halfway across the room. Or maybe the sound was his own.

“Peter, what’s going on? Two weeks ago, you would be as excited as me having these powers.”

Peter glared at Ned. “Two weeks ago, my uncle wasn’t dead,” he snapped. Ned flinched, and Peter stopped glaring. He didn’t want to be mad at his friend.

Ned sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Yeah, but it’s more than that, you weren’t this bad on Friday. I know you, dude; we’ve been friends forever. What’s going on?”

Peter sighed; it didn’t pay for your friend to be as much of a genius as you. Secretly, though, he was glad Ned saw through him.

“You know the genetics project Mr. Palmer gave us at the end of March? The one we're supposed to do about our family genetics."

Ned's eyes fill with realization. “And your uncle’s –”

Peter cut him off. “We did the test before he died. Two days before the field trip. I ended up more upset about not having multiple family members to test, but… never mind. The email for the results came back on Thursday, but I didn’t look at them until Friday night. And…” Peter paused. He wanted to tell Ned; he did. But the moment he said it out loud, the moment this all became real.

“I’m not related to Ben.”

Ned's eyes furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Peter pace around the room. “Things didn't add up. None of our data matched, and the information the genetic profile said about my dad was wrong, and there was a genome sequence I had, and Ben didn’t; long story short, I’m not related to Ben Parker. Which means I’m not related to Richard Parker either.” He watched Ned as the other boy processed the information.

“Peter, man, I’m sorry. Gosh, I feel like an insensitive idiot now. Of course, you wouldn’t be excited by superpowers. Your whole world’s turned upside down.”

Peter nodded glumly. “It’s awful, Ned, having no one to talk to about any of this.”

Ned’s head snapped in Peter’s direction. "Woah, Woah, Woah! No one. Dude, you haven’t told your Aunt?”

Peter’s eyes opened wide in panic. “Uh, no. No one knows about any of this except you and me. About the field trip, or the powers, or the genetics test. And I’m not telling Aunt May. I’m freaked out about this. Can you imagine how freaked she would be?”

Ned shook his head. “Dude, you should go to an adult for this.”

“Yeah, well, I’m adult enough for my uncle to bleed out to death in front of me. So, I’m adult enough to deal with superpowers and find out I’m not related to my dad. I can do this by myself. And you won't tell anyone either, or I’ll never talk to you again.” A childish threat. Guilt burned in his chest when Ned's eyes flashed with hurt, but Peter couldn’t risk his friend saying anything.

“Peter…”

“No, Ned. I’m serious. After everything May has been through: my sickness, Ben dying, her new job, the long hours, I can't put this on her, too. She's stressed; I hear her crying herself to sleep every night. She doesn't need all my problems and woes on top of hers. No. I can do this myself.” Peter thought about this for days, and determination surged through him. Aunt May didn’t deserve any of this, and Ben's death was Peter's fault. She shouldn’t need to deal with Peter’s weird problems, especially now that he wasn’t even related to Ben. Oh, he knew she would still love him, but would she forgive him for causing Ben’s death?

He didn’t even forgive himself.

Ned hesitated before asking, “What about another adult? Or the government? Or the Avengers?”

Peter scoffed, “One; any other adult would run to May. Two, the government? The government infected with a secret Nazi organization that spied on and killed people? Three, the Avengers wouldn’t care about a kid from Queens. They deal with big threats, real superheroes. I’m a nosey kid who got bit by a spider.” Peter resigned himself to having no one else to turn to.

“Speaking of spiders, what if I tell, and Oscorp finds out? I’m sure they want to know how their experiment gave me superpowers. I let this get out, and next thing you know, I'm kidnapped by the government or a secret society of unethical scientists, and I’m taken to a lab, and I never see the light of day again." Just the thought of it drove shivers down Peter's spine. "No. This stays between you and me.”

Ned leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, maybe you have a point about the government. But I still think you should tell your Aunt."

Peter shook his head. “Your opinion is noted.” And disregarded, Peter thought. He extended his pinkie out to Ned. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” Ned sighed in defeat and hooked his pinkie around Peter’s.

“Promise.”

Peter smiled, relieved. "Thanks, Ned."

Ned shook his head. "Yeah, alright, dude. I'm just saying, when this comes back to bite us in the butt, I have the right to say ‘I told you so'. Anyway, I'm starving. You wanna eat and go play video games?"

Peter smiled at the complete change of subject; Ned was good at distraction.

“Sure.” Both of them left the room to rush downstairs and raid the pantry. Afterward, they played video games and talked about any and everything normal for hours on end. It was the most fun Peter had in weeks.

Midtown School of Science and Technology – April 13, 2016

A few days passed after Peter told Ned about his powers, and all Ned thought about was the weirdest ‘Can you spit venom?’ to the grossest ‘Do you lay eggs?’ questions to ask Peter. Peter, unfortunately, didn’t know any more than Ned did, but both of them were determined to figure it out.

Peter was… doing fine; he supposed. The numbness came and went, but he survived school the first two days fine, so he wasn’t prepared for what happened on Wednesday.

It could be any number of things that set him off. The monotone droning of his history teacher, the constant scratching of pens and pencils as his classmates took notes, or the boy who sat in the back of the class, and his heavy breathing. Maybe it started this morning when he broke his alarm clock with his strength or missed his normal train and ended up five minutes late to class, or when the hallways filled with students every hour, or the usual insults from Flash. Whatever the reason, Peter’s brain buzzed.

The noise drowned out Peter's rational thoughts, and his lungs closed.

Considering how many times this happened over the past few weeks. Peter should be used to it by now.

It still scared the shit out of him, though, and it hurt.

It hurt so much.

As the noises grew louder, the lights burned his eyes.

Oh god, make it stop, make it stop.

Everything burned too much, and his brain stretched out to a thousand places at once. He needed quiet. But he couldn’t shut off his brain. He clamped his hands over his ears, and his breathing became even more erratic.

Shut up.

Shut up.

SHUT UP!

A hand rested on his shoulder. One more sensation fighting for his attention. The barrage of information was a never-ending stream; it would be like this forever. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP!

“PETER!”

The sound of his name cut through the resounding panic in his head. With barely any cognizance, he unclenched his eyes and prepared for the light to bombard him again.

Ned’s hand rested against his shoulder.

Everyone in the class was looking at Peter.

The panic lingered, but now all-encompassing embarrassment rose, joining it in an unholy cacophony of emotions, making Peter want to die. He was in the middle of a panic attack, in class, with everyone watching him, judging him for how much of a freak he was. Nothing could make this situation worse.

The sound of Ned talking to the teacher reached his ears, but he didn’t catch the words. His teacher’s voice broke through the buzzing in his head.

"Mr. Leeds, if you'll escort Mr. Parker to the nurse's office." Two hands helped him rise out of his chair. Ned grabbed his backpack and led Peter to the door. A thousand stares pierced his back. 

He would never live this down.  

The hallways were marginally quieter. The buzzing in Peter’s head turned to cotton, and the whole world faded. He wanted to cry, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to fade into nothingness and let the universe erase his memory from existence. His head wouldn’t fucking SHUT UP!

“Peter, are you okay?” came Ned’s voice over the crashing waves of Peter’s panic. He dragged in a breath of air and replied through gritted teeth.

“No, Ned. My senses are fucking haywire, and I broke down in front of everyone. Right now, I want to crawl into a hole.” They turned a corner, almost to the nurse’s office.

“I told the teacher you weren’t feeling well – kinda implied you had a migraine.” They reached the nurse’s empty office. Peter sat in a padded chair. Low music always played in the office, and the lights always stayed dim. A welcome balm against Peter's stressed senses.

“Is this because of…” Ned waved his hand in a biting motion. Peter had enough in him to crack a small smile.

“Yeah, my senses are jacked to eleven. If I get super stressed or pay too close attention to what’s happening around me, I get weird like this.” Peter stayed quiet for a moment. “And we need a better gesture than a handwave when talking about my powers.”

Ned nodded. “Do you want me to stay?”

Peter shook his head. "Nah, I'll be fine. You go back to class." Ned looked reluctant to leave, but after Peter promised Ned he'd text him when he arrived home, he left the office. A couple of minutes later, the nurse appeared, and by this point, Peter felt almost back to normal.

“Hey there, you here for medicine?” asked the nurse.

“No… I, uh… I had a panic attack in class. Can I call my Aunt and have her come pick me up?” Peter asked, embarrassed and stressed about the whole situation.

The nurse smiled in sympathy. “Sure. I can turn off the music if you like.”

“No, no. The music’s fine. Kinda helps.” Peter grabbed the phone from his bag and dialed May.

It rang.

And rang

And rang.

It went to voicemail.

Confused, Peter tried again. Only to get the same result. A moment later, Peter remembered May must already be on her shift. She wouldn’t come home until tomorrow.

Peter was on his own.

That… hurt more than he expected. He couldn’t call Aunt May, and Ben was gone. Here Peter was, all alone, in a nurse’s office after a panic attack, with no one to turn to. The ache appeared in his chest again, and the numbness grew in Peter’s bones until it almost overwhelmed him.

He wanted to go home.

But he couldn’t.

He looked over at the nurse, who focused on the papers in front of her.

“I… uh. My Aunt’s not picking up. She must already be at work,” he muttered.

The nurse frowned. "Well, I can't let you leave early without an adult here to sign you out. Do you have anyone else you could call?”

Peter fumbled with his phone; he didn't have anyone else to call. “No. I... Do you mind if I stay here until the bell rings? I’ll head to my next period after.”

“Sure, I know panic attacks suck, but you’ll get through it. If you need anything, let me know. Okay?” Too done to give a proper answer, Peter nodded his head and closed his eyes. Trying not to feel utterly alone in the world.

The Parker’s Apartment – April 14, 2016

“Hey, Aunt May, how was work?” asked Peter as he came in the door Thursday afternoon. He looked around before he saw her.

Standing in the kitchen.

At the stove.

Cooking.

A disaster in the making.

“Ugh, soo long. It felt good to sleep. I won’t go back until Saturday evening, so you and I can spend time together over the next few days.” Peter shifted on his feet,  happy at the prospect of alone time with Aunt May, but concerned about whatever his Aunt was making.

The pan on the stove caught on fire.

It took quick thinking, but they avoided setting off the apartment’s smoke alarm. Whatever May attempted to make was burnt to a crisp, so they ordered takeout.

A safer option for all involved.

They sat on the couch while Peter finished the last of his food. He told her about his day at school, but he left out Wednesday's panic attack. She didn't need to feel sorry about not picking him up; she couldn't control her schedule. He shouldn't need to call her in the first place.

Halfway through watching a Chopped episode, a stack of photo albums caught Peter's attention, and his thoughts turned to the recent revelations he had found out through the genetics test. Had Richard known Peter wasn't his? Had his mom cheated on him? Had Aunt May or Uncle Ben known? For whatever reason, he couldn't let the thoughts go, and so when the show went on a commercial break, he asked an innocuous question.

"Hey, Aunt May, what were my parents like?” Peter figured this was a good place to start.

May stayed silent.

“Aunt May?” She sighed, and he turned to face her. Glasses perched on her nose, she curled into the couch's other side, a glass of wine on the couch-end table next to her. She wouldn't look at Peter.

“That’s not an easy question to answer Peter. Give me a moment,” she said stiffly. “Your parents were… complicated people. I didn’t know them well, neither did Ben. Why?" she asked, and Peter floundered for a second before remembering the best lies are built on the truth.

“It’s… with everything that happened. I guess it's set in that my parents… that I never knew them. And you and Ben – don’t get me wrong, you're great, and I love you, and I couldn’t ask for better people to raise me – but you guys never mentioned them. I have all these memories about Ben, but not them, and it… kinda made me miss them,” explained Peter.

Aunt May's eyes softened as he rambled, and a small smile spread across her face.

“Aww, Peter, that’s sweet. Well… Mary was smart and clever. She was short, shorter than me; brown hair, blue eyes, and a bit of baby fat. She used to complain about people mistaking her for a little kid, but she was a spitfire. She knew her mind and had a strong sense of right and wrong. She'd fight the whole world over if it meant protecting the people she loved. She also had an accent – you, her, and Richard lived in England before you came here. Although I don't know if it's where she was from. You had an accent before it disappeared a couple of months after your parents passed away."

Peter sat still, enraptured, absorbing every detail. He never knew this before.

"Richard…" May hesitated, her lips pursing. "Well, I didn't know him as well as Mary. And I hardly knew her. He stood taller than a tree. Looked a bit like Ben, but his hair was sandier blond compared to Ben’s brown. He had… green or blue eyes, I think. Been a while since I looked at a picture. He was quiet – he let Mary do the talking, although he was smart too. Insanely smart. Your curiosity is from him, no doubt.” She took a long sip of wine, and Peter stayed quiet, hoping she would continue.

“Ben and I didn’t talk about them much, for a lot of reasons. We didn't know them. Richard was older than Ben by about twelve years and was already off to college before Ben was old enough to make many memories. He rarely came home; Ben met him at family events. Richard was focused on his work. Mary was younger by a good bit, maybe even as young as Ben. They… were an odd pair, and the few times I met them…”

Aunt May paused, holding tight to her glass, tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Well, it's not for me to speak ill of the dead. They didn't come to Ben and I's wedding; I don't think they were together then. Richard sent a card but didn't say anything about Mary. I didn't know the man had a wife until they called a few weeks before your fifth birthday.  We didn't know they had you. They called us in the middle of July and told us we had a nephew and they were moving back to America.”

Peter's mind reeled, trying to fit all this new information into his head. He hadn’t lived in America his whole life. He couldn't remember any of this. The only real memory of his parents was the day they left. Vague memories of his fifth birthday also floated in his head, but none with his parents in them. And if he concentrated, maybe a bit about the house he lived in before living with May and Ben. His room had been... blue. But his parents… were distant figures – more like ideas than actual people.

He'd never thought of Ben and May as parents. They were young when they took him in. May finished college the year before. Peter always looked at them as a cool brother and sister. Or like… well, an aunt and uncle.

Aunt May continued, “But they loved you. I remember that clearly. Mary doted on you constantly, and rarely put you down – you loved cuddling back then. Still, do.” Peter turned away, embarrassed. “Richard always acted sweet with you. He explained every question you asked, even way too complicated ones. They hadn’t lived in New York long before… the accident.” She closes her eyes with a sad sigh.

Peter tried thinking of any more questions to ask without sounding suspicious. This wonderful image of loving parents felt wrong. Richard wasn't his father, so why hadn’t they told May and Ben? Why hadn't his aunt and uncle even known he existed until they came to New York? What were they doing beforehand?

“Do you know what they did?” Peter asked.

“Something with science,” said May with a shrug. “Maybe they worked for the government before they moved, but when they lived here in New York, they didn't work. Richard spent a lot of time locked in the attic, at least according to Mary. He worked on his own projects.”

“Why the government?” At this question, May’s eyes glanced away from Peter again. The hairs on the back of his neck rose – it wasn’t the intense feeling of danger his senses normally gave him, but similar enough to put him on alert.

"This is... why we didn't say anything earlier, it's a little scary. Because, after they died, their possessions at your house were confiscated by a government agency – Homeland Security, or the CIA, I can't remember." Peter's mouth dropped in shock. “I think whatever Richard worked on… was important."

A weight dropped into Peter's stomach as a thought came to mind.

“Were they… what I mean to say… Do you think the plane…?” he couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Were they killed for their research, you mean?” said Aunt May bluntly. She took another sip of wine.

“No, as morbid as it is to think, lots of other people died because of the crash. If the government wanted to kill them, they would have done it with less collateral. Whatever agency took everything, they saw an opportunity.”

May's sad and tired eyes bored into Peter's. "Now do you see why Ben and I didn't talk about them? How do you explain to a little boy that you didn't really know anything about his parents? Or don't know any baby stories? How do you explain government agencies' confiscating property? We planned to tell you after your fifteenth birthday, but you beat us… Well, me, to the punch.”

Silence.

Peter turned to May for answers, and now he had more questions. And the people who could give him answers had been dead for ten years.

“So, there’s nothing left? No pictures? No heirlooms?” Peter didn’t want to give up; this couldn't be a total dead end. There must be a crumb of information somewhere. 

“No…” she trailed off. “Well, maybe. A few days before they died, your mother came by and dropped off a few boxes. She gave it to me, for storage – we had the bigger place.” May's smile turned cheeky. "I never mentioned it to the agents that came by. After all, it wasn't theirs. But I don't think I ever went through it." 

Peter smiled, excitement bubbling in his chest. Finally, a lead! 

“Do you still have it?” Peter asked, his heart filled with hope even though he felt exhausted. The combination of lack of sleep and a confusing conversation left him worn out.

“Yeah, it’s in storage. I can look for it, if you’d like?”

"Yeah, that would be great. Thank you for telling me, Aunt May. It must have been hard fending off my questions all these years, but I'm glad you told me now." He reached over and hugged her, and they didn't let go for a while.

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – April 17, 2016

Peter should be concerned about the ease of doctoring his genetic results.

Instead, he was grateful it didn't take too long, and he wasn't forced to look at the information for any longer than he needed to. He wanted to finish the project and put the whole mess behind him. Unfortunately, with the information he learned from May, that outcome moved ever farther out of his reach. Combining what he learned with the fact that Richard wasn’t his father left a sour taste in Peter’s mouth. Something wasn’t right. Everything screamed of a cover-up.

But a cover-up of what?

Peter put the last details on the project, saved the file, and was officially done.

He left his bedroom and headed into the kitchen, grabbing leftovers from the fridge. Aunt May, despite the accident with the fire on Thursday, insisted on trying to cook. Peter was less confident in those skills, but not wanting to hurt his Aunt’s feelings, ate her cooking no matter how burnt it was; it did help that he was hungry all the time.

He settled on the couch and turned on the TV, for lack of anything better to do. All his schoolwork was done, his Aunt wasn't home, and it was seven in the evening; he wasn't likely to sleep regardless of the time, but he was fourteen, not six; he wouldn't be caught dead going to bed before ten. 

He flipped through the channels until a mention of the Avengers caught his ear, and he flipped back to an evening news report talking about a mission in Sweden.

“Thanks to the Avengers' quick intervention, the terrorists were apprehended. Sources indicate their fiscal connections run deep into a Swedish biogenetics company called Veratech. However, the technology is similar to the equipment used by the Chitahuri, who invaded New York in the summer of two thousand and twelve," said a reporter on CNN news. A series of images appeared in response to his story.

First was a quick video of the Avengers, taken on a person's phone, if the shaky screen and low view indicated anything. The heroes paired off against several masked men who shot glowing guns. They were in a crowded marketplace, and the street was well and torn up. Cars lay overturned, and storefronts were on fire. Black Widow surged into view and took down a few men before the footage cut to black. Then shown was the technology corporation's logo and an aftermath picture of New York's alien invasion.

“Despite previous arrangements with the Swedish government allowing the Avengers on foreign soil, many in the community are calling for an outcry over the fact that the general public remained uninformed. Thousands of dollars of property damage have been reported, and while there are no confirmed deaths, many are injured. However, for now, the crisis has been averted, and rescue and clean-up teams are descending upon the scene. More information when it releases, Clark, back to you." The view switched over to another man with a woman seated next to him, in a newsroom.

"Thanks, Bruce. Now Pamela, what do you make of all this in light of rumors about international meetings taking place to discuss the rights and regulations of enhanced individuals and their abilities?”

The woman smiled, and it was cold and made a shiver pass down Peter's spine. "Well, Clark, it seems clear to me those meetings need to happen sooner rather than later. Having such individuals unaccounted for, and free to proceed without regard to the common citizen, can result in disastrous situations like this.”

Clark appeared uncomfortable, the man readjusting his glasses in a fidgety manner.

“It could also be argued that the situation could have turned deadly had not the Avengers' swift interference in apprehending the terrorists. A job that regular police and security forces would have difficulty managing with the same speed, and lack of loss of life. These heroes –”

Pamala cut him off. "These so-called 'heroes' are responsible for hundreds of millions of dollars in property damage, the loss of many lives in both the incidents in Sokovia and DC, and were formerly employed by a top-secret organization overrun with Nazi sympathizers.” Her cold eyes bored into her co-host, and her manicured nails flipped bright red hair over her shoulder. “And while they did respond quickly to the invasion of New York four years ago, the public's information surrounding the circumstances of their involvement remains shrouded in mystery. Couldn’t it be argued that the presence of heroes caused the invasion in the first place?” Clark rustled the papers in front of him, but Pamela continued.

“Who’s to say we wouldn’t be better off if those meetings decided to ban the idea of free-agent superheroes altogether?”

“Well, either way,” said Clark, cutting off whatever Pamela was going to say next. “That’s all the time for this evening. Next is Ororo with the weather, and then we’ll turn over to our evening shows. This is Clark Kenneth and Pamala Isla signing off.” The camera spun away, leaving a commercial in its place, but Peter wasn’t paying attention. His mind was swimming with two main thoughts.

The woman must have been on something.

And…

The Avengers were heroes, no matter what anybody else said.

Peter remembered sitting in the living room watching the reporter say Tony Stark was found in Afghanistan – he remembered watching the news conference when the man announced he was Iron Man. He remembered attendinthe Stark Expo and being saved from the Hammerdrones. He watched from his bedroom window as aliens invaded Upper East Side Manhattan – watched Ironman direct a nuke into a wormhole. He watched and analyzed and broke down the news footage of the Helicarriers, of Sokovia, and now Sweden. 

The Avengers saved people; he had been saved by Iron Man himself. To say the world was better off without them… Peter’s blood boiled at the thoughtless, short-sighted words.

He switched to another channel, again a news program. Peter almost turned it off before he heard what the woman was saying.

“…45% increase in crime over the last ten months. The police are confounded by a large string of unsolved robberies, muggings, and kidnappings in Queens, Manhattan, and Brooklyn. These crimes are committed with modified Chitahuri technology, but so far we have no comment from either The Avengers or The Department of Damage Control.” She rustled her papers and looked directly into the camera.

“These past few years we have seen the rise of superheroes, but for the day-to-day person, the little guy, these heroes are nowhere to be found. Our law enforcement flounders in the face of these changing times, and the people are left without protectors. How long will it be before someone stands up for them? That’s all the time we have for tonight. This is Mary Jane Watson signing off.” Peter finally clicked the television off, not wanting to hear another word.

There was a fire in his veins, but not the same one from before when he was ready to jump through the screen and give the first reporter woman a piece of his mind. No, this one simmered deep, this one called to a part of him, the part that said…

‘You could stop him.’  When faced with a criminal. When faced with a crime he could stop it because he possessed the power to do it.

It was the part that wasn’t sad about his uncle’s death; it was the part replaying the scene over and over berating himself for his failures, it was the part boiling beneath his skin, a hot sticky sensation, overcoming his mind and pushing him to act. He could have stopped the man who shot his uncle. If he hadn’t been selfish or uncaring or cowardly.

He had these powers but did nothing. At least the Avengers had an excuse; they were worried about the big-time stuff – the threats endangering hundreds of thousands of lives. The terrorists and the aliens and evil on a global scale. Peter was a kid from Queens. But he was a kid from Queens who runs a mile in a minute, scales walls with his bare hands, jumps ten feet in the air, and senses danger before it even happened.

What had Ned said?

"Peter, you have superpowers! You are obligated to use these powers for the greater good, or at least for gaining views on YouTube.”

Well, the last thing he wanted was fame. Even now he wrestled with nightmares knowing if the government or Oscorp found out he would spend the rest of his life strapped to a table having needles stuck into him. Besides, it seemed… shallow to use these powers for personal gain. Uncle Ben always taught him to help people in need, and the reporter said no one stuck up for the little guy.

What if there could be?

What if it could be him?

Midtown School of Science and Technology – April 18, 2016

Peter sat in biology, Mr. Palmer droning on about whatever was on the screen. Peter didn’t know – he stopped paying attention fifteen minutes ago.

A notebook lay in front of him and he scribbled all over the page things he needed to do to pull off this superhero thing.

Obviously, he needed a costume to hide his identity. As much as Tony Stark’s press conference, where he announced he was Iron Man, was the coolest thing Peter had ever seen – he was not a billionaire celebrity. Peter needed anonymity. To protect himself, and to protect his friends and family.

Ned and May.

Should he tell Ned?

Peter thought about it for a minute. If a superhero appeared in Queens with the ability to climb walls and punch bad guys, and Peter didn’t tell Ned; his friend would figure him out in an instant and moan of utter betrayal if he wasn’t informed.

Okay, so he tells Ned.

Aunt May?

Peter held back a scoff. No, he couldn’t tell her, for one she’d never allow him to do it. Even if she did, she would constantly worry. Everything he kept from her the past few weeks was so she didn’t have to worry. No, he wouldn’t tell his Aunt.

Shaking his head of maudlin thoughts, he refocused on other things.

He needed a way to move around fast. Iron Man, Scarlet Witch, War Machine, and Vision fly. A field trip to the Smithsonian and the exhibit on Captain America revealed the man's badass motorcycle both then and now. He wasn't sure what Hawkeye and Black Widow used, but Peter would tire if he ran everywhere. Plus, as fast as he was, he needed to be faster. As he tapped his pencil idly on the paper, movement caught his attention.

It was a spider.

Peter shivered, watching the tiny eight-legged creature. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been scared of spiders before, but he was wary of them now.

The spider scurried across the floor, up the wall, and over to the window, looking for a way out, and then it swung on a little web and hung in midair.

Huh.

He could build off a spider theme. After all, that's what bit him. He essentially had the powers of a spider, although he wasn't sure how the precognitive sensory abilities came about.

Think, Peter, what did superheroes in the comics do?

A grappling hook, like Batman or Green Arrow used? No, he needed to be able to swing to someplace and climb or hang off buildings quickly. A rope he could deploy, cut, and leave behind – it needed to dissolve so as not to litter. And it needed to hold his weight. Nylon-based, or silica. Liquid to start with, but when pressurized and exposed to air, turned… not solid, but malleable.

The spider lowered itself on a single thread. 

… like a spider web.

He continued to scribble.

Peter finally finished classes for the day. He didn't have any practice for his clubs on Monday. Not that he had attended anything in weeks. He planned to drop robotics, considering the competition approaching, he hadn't been to practice since his uncle had died, same for band. Thankfully, he was still in Decathlon. But they were preparing for Worlds, and he was a freshman and wasn't chosen for the final team.

He scurried through the halls. Several weeks had passed since his powers developed, but walking through the hallways wasn't any better. Everyone was loud–talking, yelling, and laughing. Sneakers squeak against laminate floors. The press of people around him as hundreds of kids moved from place to place.

It was the worst part of Peter’s day.

Finally, he emerged from the suffocating building and waited by the front steps. Ned would be right behind him, and they normally commuted home together. Peter was nervous about telling him of his decision to become a superhero.

Even though he was doing it to help people, the little kid in his head was screeching in delight. He grew up watching the world be saved by heroes, and now he would be one. It sounded unbelievable.

Peter smiled to himself, giddy in his excitement.

He was going to become a superhero.

Throughout history, he finished a couple of formulas that might work for his webbing, but he needed to test them. Obtaining the supplies would potentially be difficult, but he was pretty sure the chemistry classrooms would be chock-full of supplies he could use. Later, during Spanish, he sketched a potential design for a device to pressurize and release the webbing. He needed to come up with names for all of this.

“Hey dude, you ready to go?” Ned’s voice behind him dragged him out of his thoughts. Peter nodded, and they headed down the step,s walking away from the school to the nearest bus stop. As they moved away from the school, Peter told Ned in hushed tones about his idea.

Ned, suffice to say, was beyond excited.

“That’s amazing. You’re going to be a superhero!” he exclaimed loudly. Peter shushed him, even though there was nobody around them.

“Yeah, a superhero that requires a secret identity. Which means quietly talking about this and telling no one.”

Ned nodded his head eagerly. “Of course. I won’t tell a soul. But what made you change your mind? When you showed me last Sunday, you were pretty sold on not using your powers at all.” Peter hesitated; he desperately didn’t want to go into all the reasons he was going to become a superhero. He figured half the truth would work.

“I saw a video of the Avengers in Sweden last night – people were talking about how it’s important to have heroes come in and take care of situations the police can't. I saw another report talking about how crime has increased around Queens. If I can help stop the crimes as they’re happening, and tie up the bad guys, won’t it make things easier? I’m faster and stronger than the average human – I could help stop the bad things and save people.” Peter tried hard not to think about Ben, lying there on the sidewalk, dying from a bullet hole in his chest – Peter could have stopped that, Peter could have stopped that.

“Can I be your guy in the chair?” The random question jarred Peter out of his growing panic. He looked at his friend in confusion.

“What?”

“You know, your guy in the chair. The character helps the superhero, surrounded by computers, looking for information and feeding it to the hero to save the day. Like Oracle for Batman, or Wade in Kim Possible, or Penelope Garcia in Criminal Minds. Oh my god, I could be Penelope." Peter rolled his eyes over Ned's mega-crush on Garcia. He'd binged the show more times than Peter binged Star Wars.

“Uh… yeah, sure you can be my guy in the chair.”

“Yes!”

“Before we do any of that, though, I need to hide my identity, and I stumbled onto an amazing idea during bio – I can swing around on a synthetic fiber to go from place to place, and," Peter paused, pushing down his excitement. "We need to test my powers.”

Ned beamed at him with excitement. “Peter, I want to thank you for letting me be a part of your incredible journey. This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Peter smiled, and the roiling anxiety and guilt from earlier settled back down. It always lingered in his mind – Peter had been anxious for a long time – but at least it was manageable.

“Yeah, it’s the coolest thing to have ever happened to me, either,” agreed Peter, though being saved by Iron Man probably topped it.

They quietly chatted on their way to Ned’s place - about ten minutes from Peter's apartment, but closer to the bus station, which was in a larger apartment complex than where Peter and May lived. Peter often stopped here before he continued home.

“How about next weekend we head to the junkyard around the corner from our school on Sunday, so we can run some tests?” asked Ned.

“It’s closed on Sunday.” Peter visited plenty of times before, it’s where he did most of his dumpster diving – besides, in, you know, actual dumpsters.

“Yeah, that’s the point. We don’t want anyone to be there while we test your powers – like you said, secret identity.”

Peter nodded. “Works for me. May will be working a shift. I'll work on the formula for the webs and design for the deployment device over the week." They performed their complicated secret handshake, lovingly created in the second grade, and Ned headed into his house, and Peter walked home.

Peter hit his usual spots for junk, hoping to find parts to build the device he planned to use in conjunction with his webs. He needed to visit the junkyard to find everything if he wanted a semi-working prototype before Sunday, but that could wait till tomorrow. Peter jogged home with a smile on his face.  

The Parker’s Apartment – April 18, 2016

Peter arrived home after finding a few items that might be useful. Placing them in the corner of his room, he threw an old blanket over them. It wasn’t often May entered his room, but she didn’t need to know why he was picking up old tubing systems and motors instead of his normal retro tech.

Nor how he carried a three-hundred-pound engine up six flights of stairs.

His super strength was awesome.

He glanced over at his bedside table, which held the remains of his smashed alarm clock.

Okay, it was a little inconvenient at times.

Peter noticed a large cardboard box placed on his bed. There was a note on top.

Peter,

Found the box of things your mom gave me.
I never looked inside, so don’t be disappointed if it’s nothing important.
I love you, have a great evening.

Larb you, May

Peter smiled at the note and placed it aside to examine the box. He cautiously approached it, a small stone settling in his stomach. He needed to keep himself calm – too much emotion, and he could trigger a sensory overload or a panic attack. There may be nothing inside the box to give him answers at all, maybe it’s the remnants of a nice couple who died ten years ago.

Peter headed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife and a protein bar. He’d eat more substantial food later. He had a box to look through.

He returned to his room and cut off the peeling tape holding the box closed. It definitely looked like it hadn’t been touched in ten years. Eventually, removing the tape, Peter opened the flaps – he could smell a musty scent coming off the items. A thin layer of dust coated the things on top.

The first was a battered wallet, and he flipped it open. Richard's name was monogrammed on the side. Nothing else was inside, but it was soft and smooth and worn in places like he had used it for a long time. If Richard bought a new one, why did his mom save the old one?

Off to the side lay a small metallic box. When he opened it, pieces of jewelry glistened inside. Peter grazed his fingers over what had to be his mother’s old necklaces and earrings. He placed the box aside and grabbed a bundled-up piece of cloth.

An object was wrapped inside it. Untwisting the fabric, Peter found a glass picture frame. The photo was of him, his mom, and Richard. They stood on the London Bridge with the Ferris wheel in the background. Peter looked young; it must have been taken before his fifth birthday because he had no memory of it.

It was easy to see what Aunt May was talking about in the picture. There was something off about his parents. Mary held Peter in her arms, cuddled close, but Richard stood off to the side, a little awkward and unsure. He was much older than Mary. His mom was young, but a look in her eyes indicated she saw more than her fair share, which aged her.

Peter recognized the same look in his own eyes when he faced himself in the mirror.

He placed aside the frame.

Right underneath sat a children's storybook – across the cover read "The Adventures of Peter Cottontail". Peter supposed his mother had cleaned the house and decided to pitch the book. Softly, he glanced through the brightly covered pages and smiled. The pages were worn at the edges and covered in small stains. It had been a well-loved book. How many times did his mom read it to him?

Peter shook off the longing nostalgia and moved on.

There were two photo albums in the box, as well as a black container. Flicking through the pages filled with images of right before his parents died. Peter in New York, Peter with his mother, walking in the park, going out for a picnic. Ten full pages of nothing but photos from his fifth birthday. Random household objects like the fridge or his mother’s jewelry box, like they were testing out the camera. But the farther he went back, the fewer the number of photos. There were a few of them in another house, a few of him playing outside on a cloudy, rainy day. None of the pictures depicted a time before the summer he turned five.  

Don’t you normally insert photos in an album from the earliest to the latest?

Why would his mother store an empty album?

A low buzz of anxiety swept through Peter as he continued.

Curious, he grabbed a baby album expecting to see plenty of photos in there, but again, it was sparsely filled. A picture of his mother pregnant, against a wall, standing sideways so you could see her belly. Another of his nursery. Beautifully decorated as if it had been taken right out of a magazine.

A picture of his mother in a hospital bed, but him nowhere in sight. Then a picture of him lying on a cot, and one picture of his parents holding a baby standing outside the hospital. One of him lying in a different crib, a picture of him taking steps with Richard's help, and a photo of them at the beach, again his mother holding him close. A few pages of events, a little boy by a Christmas tree, one of him sitting on Santa’s lap, a photo with a pumpkin, Mary holding a costumed child.

As he flipped through the pages, Peter’s worry lessened; there were more photos than he realized. Nothing was weird. But as he turned a page… and nothing. The photos, before what looked to be about his second Christmas, stopped.

Everything picked up in the other album a few months before his fifth birthday.

He checked through the little box that held more pictures. Nothing of him; only candid shots of his parents.

Peter resists the urge to run out into the living room and look through the albums Aunt May stored there. But he’d been through them enough times to know nothing existed to fill those three missing years.

Maybe his mother never took photos of that time in his life? But that didn't make sense. His earlier years were pretty well documented. Why would several years of his life be missing? Maybe the rest of the photos had been taken when his parents had died?

But why give this to Aunt May to store away?

People kept photos so they could look back at them – Peter knew well, he spent most of middle school being obsessed with taking them. It was like his mother knew the importance of these photos, hiding them so they would be around for later.

Like she knew what would happen to her and Richard, and prepared for it.

What if she knew they were going to die?

But why would pictures, jewelry, a children's book, and an empty wallet be so important as to hide them on purpose? Surely any of this would be below the government's notice. They would have been after research or formulas, not mundane household objects.

Peter shook his head and tried telling himself he was making a bigger deal of this than he should. His mom put some stuff in a box and dropped it off – like any normal person.

But if his mother had left this box with Aunt May on purpose, it meant these items were supposed to end up with him, not stolen away by a government agency.

The low buzz in the back of his head grew stronger. It made Peter wary and nervous. Like something bad loomed ahead, and Peter could physically do nothing to stop it.

Finally, resting at the box's bottom, lay a bundled-up wad of white tulle. Probably his mother’s wedding veil, but not once in all the pictures he found did he see a single photo of his parents' wedding. Slowly, Peter picked up the bundle of tulle. Light, but not as light as it should be. Something was wrapped inside it. 

Peter’s heart pounded in his chest.

A couple of breathless moments passed before he unwrapped the veil all the way. Nestled in the old fabric's sheer folds lay a small, golden locket. A swirling pattern was etched on the front, causing the light to hit and refract off it. Peter’s senses narrowed into a sharp point. He doubted a bomb blasting down the street would shake his focus.

With shaking hands, he opened the locket.

Inside was not a picture, but instead a piece of paper, folded to fit inside the small space. Reaching for the paper, he unfolded it to find a single string of numbers:

41°11'44.2" N 74°06'50.9" W.

Coordinates to a location, who knows where. Attention set on the paper in front of him, Peter rushed over to his computer and brought up Google Maps, and plugged the numbers in.

The satellite zoomed in on Harriman State Park, about an hour north of where he lived. The little red marker sat in the middle of a huge forest. Peter stared at the screen until his eyes blurred. Finally, the tension released from his body, and the constant buzzing in the back of his head dimmed. Peter was sure these coordinates were the reason this box was so important as to hide away for ten years, but what was out there?

He didn't plan to stop until he found out.

Chapter Text

Midtown School of Science and Technology – April 19, 2016

Skipping school sounded very tempting to Peter.

He could pull it off, too. A text to May saying he didn’t feel well would be enough to make her call the school to keep him home. She wouldn’t be back until two in the afternoon, and he could be feeling “better” by that point. Yet, he’d missed so much school, his attendance records didn’t need another absence.

So, he went.

Not that he ended up paying much attention.

His mind spiraled in a thousand different directions. Conjuring every possible scenario on why there were so many secrets about his parents. All the way to school, and through his first few periods, he didn't catch a word of what his teachers were saying. He drifted in a daze, counting the minutes till he could head home and once again pour over the items in the box.

Halfway through his free period, bored out of his mind, he stared at the clock, willing time to go faster.

That would have been an awesome superpower.

“Hey loser, why the long face?”

Peter jolted out of his daydreaming to see Michelle Jones seated at his side.

“Um… no reason. Wasn't paying too much attention, I guess.” It wasn’t often Michelle spoke to him. Sure, she was in most of his classes, and she was on the decathlon team, but she was aloof. She wasn’t exactly part of the cool kids, but she didn’t interact with social losers like him and Ned. She sat at their table because she liked the peace and quiet to read her books. She intimidated him to the highest degree.

Peter also thought she was kind of pretty.

But Michelle might chomp his head off if he mentioned it in any capacity.

“You’ve been out of it for several days – I have way too many sketches of you in distress; I could have my own art show.” She wasn’t looking at him, more focused on her book. Glancing up and glaring, she continued, “Your distress is more potent than the rest of the other students, which makes them less fun to draw.” Peter thought it was an insult, but he wasn’t sure.

“Um… sorry?”

Michelle rolled her eyes, “You’ve done nothing wrong – you don’t need to apologize. Unless you’re apologizing for benefiting off of an unfair capitalist society, which takes advantage of dirt-cheap labor in struggling third world countries, perpetuated by greedy corporations to maintain the status quo of money and power." She flipped a page of her book.

“Uh… yeah? Sure, that.” Michelle's ability to come up with witty quips and deflections off the top of her head awed Peter.

“Cool. Whenever you feel like demolishing the current institutions of power, let me know. I can get you set up with a protest group.” She snapped her book closed and looked at him. Peter's senses couldn't help but notice the way the light bounced off her skin and hair. Or the light dusting of freckles across her nose. Her eyes bored into his soul, and his ears picked out the sound of her heartbeat.

Neither of them said anything.

“You're still in the top five for class rankings. Even after your disappearing act a few weeks ago," Michelle commented. Peter blushed and looked away. He pulled back his senses, so he was back to normal, well, at least his new version of normal.

“Yeah, well, homework and school distract me from… well, everything else that’s been going on.”

He didn’t want to discuss what had happened.

“Don’t let it distract you too much. The way our modern school system is, quashing human expression and perpetuating endless cycles of pressure and stress, is not conducive to recovering from intense tragedy.” If Peter didn’t know any better, he would say it sounded like Michelle cared. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle that. She glanced away and cleared her throat.

“How’s your Aunt?”

Peter shrugged. “She’s… coping, I guess. She got a promotion right after… everything, and so she’s working longer hours. It’s kind of weird not seeing her around all the time now.”

Michelle had a look of genuine displeasure cross her face, and she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t they care she’s suffered a huge loss?”

“No, they do. That’s why they gave her the job – out of pity. At least according to her.”

The look of displeasure morphed into annoyance. “Typical. Benefitting from the misfortunes of others to better serve the system. Humanity disgusts me.” Peter was positive that sounded caring. Yet, this was the longest conversation he’d ever had with Michelle, so he didn’t want to risk saying so.

“Well, uh… thanks for asking.”

Michelle waved her hand dismissively and looked at her book. “Not a problem. I noticed you need help getting out of your head. It’s a common difficulty for people who suffer from hyperactivity and heightened intelligence.” Peter blinked; was that… a compliment? He saw a light blush spread on Michelle’s cheeks, but before Peter could say anything in response, the bell rang.

Peter winced as the sound pierced through his eardrums. After hearing that several times a day, he almost always had headaches after leaving school.

“I’ll catch you later, Parker.” Michelle grabbed her bag and disappeared out the door along with the rest of the students. Peter was unable to say a word as he watched her walk away. He followed behind, trying to make heads or tails of the conversation he’d had.

Later that day

By the time the end of the day rolled around, he was nervous about telling Ned what he’d discovered the night before. But he wanted his friend to help him figure out what was going on. 

He knew he shouldn't tell his friend. It wasn't right for him to share Peter's problems. But Peter thought he might explode from the pressure inside of himself if he didn't have someone to talk to.

“Hey dude,” said Ned, walking up to him. “I got your message in 4th period. What did you want to talk about?”

Peter hesitated as they walked down the street, heading towards the bus stop. “It’s kind of a long story, and it’s best told… where other people can’t hear us.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Is it about…” he trailed off and did a biting gesture with his hand. Peter rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s about another problem. But it’s as important and secretive. Also, don’t do that – we need a better signal than a hand gesture when talking about my powers.”

Ned shrugged. "Well, then you come up with it yourself because this is all I've got."

The bus pulled to the stop, and they boarded. Taking a seat near the back together, they continued to whisper in hushed tones.

“Can you come over? I have more information I found out about my parents, and it’ll be easier to show you.”

Ned nodded, taking out his phone. “Sure, let me text my mom, and we’ll head straight over to your place.”

Ned's mom quickly replied that it was okay to head over to Peter's apartment. Both boys waited in anticipation to discuss the secrets Peter uncovered.

The Parker’s Apartment – April 19, 2016

They arrived at the apartment, and Aunt May’s car was parked in her normal spot. Which meant she made it home from work okay. When they entered, the apartment sat silent. May was already asleep.

Peter swung into the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar to stave off hunger. He placed his water bottle in the sink and noticed an empty wineglass and dinner plate. May already ate then.

After leading Ned into his bedroom, he pulled out the box. Then he explained all he’d found out. From Aunt May's reluctance to tell him about his past, to the government's acquisition of his parents' things. The lack of consistent photos and the hidden locket with a secret location in the middle of a state park. Everything he hadn’t told Ned before – his friend now knew. As he went through the story, Ned remained quiet, which was unlike him. He waited until Peter finished before he said a word.

“This is insane, Peter,” Ned said. “Like, what even is your life, dude?”

Peter rubbed his hand through his hair as he tried to gain a small semblance of calm. “I have no clue, it’s why I needed you over here to explain. I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. I’m going to go haywire.” Ned opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Peter snapped at him. “And don’t say I should tell Aunt May because I’ve already told you why I’m not. All this,” he gestured to the room, filled to the brim with pieces of a puzzle, “would make her life more stressful. So no, next option please.”

“Well, I guess it depends on what you want to do. Do you want to go to that location and try to see what's out there?"

Peter thought for a moment. “Yeah… I guess. I... it doesn’t seem like I’m blowing this out of proportion?”

Ned shook his head.“No way, dude, I agree; this entire situation seems off. I can’t believe your parents were part of a government conspiracy.”

"No, no, no – let's not get too ahead of ourselves. There could still be a reasonable explanation for all this."

Ned raised an eyebrow. Peter winced, yeah, he didn’t believe it himself either. 

“Okay, sure, a reasonable explanation for your parents hiding a secret locket in a box. A reasonable explanation for their possessions getting confiscated by the government. A reasonable explanation for not mentioning that you weren't Richard's kid. Peter, this is right out of Scooby-Doo.”

“Alright, so I admit it does look suspicious. But the location could be like an important place for my parents, and so they put it in the locket?” justified Peter.

“And then wrapped it in your mother’s wedding veil?”

“It could be where he proposed?”

“Didn’t your aunt say you lived in England before coming to America?”

“I don’t know Ned!” Peter shouted, then he remembered Aunt May was down the hall, sleeping. “If my mom gave Aunt May this box on purpose, why include all this extra stuff? What’s so important about an old children’s book or a jewelry box?”

“Classic diversion tactic. If a bad guy looks for important clues and information, a box full of random items would distract them," reasoned Ned with the confidence of a person who watched way too many crime shows. “But even then, this stuff is important. Look, you said the photos seemed off. It could be your Spidey-Sense warning you there is a clue hidden there.”

“Dude, this is real life, not freakin’ Blue’s Clues,” sniped Peter. “Also, Spidey-Sense?”

“Yeah, you keep calling it precognitive sensory ability, and I mean, that’s kind of a mouthful, so I decided to name it for ya. Those devices you were talking about making yesterday. You know, the ones that could shoot out webs?" he rolled his hands in a directive manner. "Let's call them web-shooters."

“So, we’re building off the whole spider theme?” asked Peter.

“Yeah, I was thinking about it all day yesterday. You need a themed costume and a name, and you'll need gadgets, which of course all need to be spider-themed. And, oh my gosh, this is so cool; I can't believe we're doing this. I can't believe my best friend will be a superhero."

Peter laughed. It took a few minutes for both boys to cool down, but they got back on track.

“Okay, so my Spidey-Sense was low-key going off around the pictures. You grab the albums, and I’ll grab the box?” Ned agreed, and they took their materials and got to work.

It was silent for a few minutes before Peter noticed Ned frowning. His friend flipped back and forth between the earlier pictures and the later ones. He was silent, but then he heard Ned's heartbeat rise. Ned was nervous.

“Is everything alright?” asked Peter.

Ned didn’t look at him; he kept switching back and forth between the albums.

“Yeah,” Ned’s voice was high and squeaky. He was lying but trying to keep a calm façade. “Everything’s cool, no need to worry."

“Dude, I can hear your heartbeat racing. What’s got you so worked up?”

Ned finally looked at Peter.

“You can hear that?”

"Yeah, but you're evading. Why are you nervous?"

Ned bit his lip and glanced back at the photos again. Peter's Spidey-Sense buzzed low in the back of his head. Trouble approached.

“Okay, so hear me out, I could be insane. I want to be insane. If I’m not, though, you were right to be suspicious about the photos. Because – if I’m right, and I could not be, like 100% saying I could so not be right here, and –” Ned took a big gulp of air. “These pictures, the ones in the earlier album… They’re all fake.”

The buzzing turned into crashing waves, and Peter couldn’t breathe. White spots danced in his vision. And he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. HE CAN’T BREATHE!

The crashing white noise in his head turned into every sound in a five-mile radius. Peter teetered in his seat, ready to collapse at any second. Laughing, chattering, cars honking, televisions playing, heartbeats, and breathing. He wanted to breathe; he needed to breathe.

It was a long time, or at least, it felt like a long time, before Peter's brain settled. The first fact he became aware of was that he wasn't in his chair anymore; instead, he sat on the ground. Two hands clung tight to his shoulder, and the hum of a voice circled the air around him. Peter's ears picked up more noise than he wanted, but he focused enough to hear the words the person was saying.

“…in 4, 3, 2, 1, out, 4, 3, 2, 1, keep following my breathing. Shit, Ned, stupid, think. What did the article say? Light contact, remind the person to breathe, and keep talking to distract them. But you can hear everything? Is the talking helping? The article said distractions helped. Please calm down, I hope I'm wrong, I could be wrong. I should have said nothing was wrong." Ned kept babbling as Peter came back to cognizance.

“Sorry…” said Peter in a scratchy voice, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out on you so bad.” Ned leaned back, giving Peter his space. Peter tried to calm his breathing. While his friend stayed quiet and waited until Peter felt normal. A few more minutes passed before Peter had the nerve to speak up.

“Well… that was overdramatic,” Peter said, with a little smirk. Ned busted out a reedy laugh, and Peter chuckled along with him. “Dude, where did you learn how to calm people down from panic attacks?”

Ned looked away. “After your attack last week, I looked online about what to do in a situation like that. In case it ever happened at school again or whatever.”

Peter was grateful he had the best friend in the world.

"Thanks, dude."

“Anytime. Do you want to… um, talk about –”

Peter cut him off. “Yeah, nope. I’m good to go, let’s see these pictures.” Peter wanted to know what the fuck was going on with his life. Sitting and having panic attacks weren't going to help anybody.

“If you’re sure?” asked Ned.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay then. So, the pictures are fake. Or at least the earlier ones anyway. You can’t tell in a few of them, but what got me looking was the picture of your nursery. Because it’s not a picture. I noticed a different sheen to it.” Ned pulled open the book and flipped to the page where there was a picture of Peter’s nursery. He pulled it out, and immediately Peter noticed what had caught Ned’s attention.

It was a cutout of a magazine

The backside had writing on it, and the edges were wavy like the image was cut with a pair of scissors. In the sleeve of the photo album, it looked like another photo, but once you removed it, the illusion fell away.

“Okay, so one picture is fake, how does that make the rest of them fake too?" Asked Peter with a hysterical edge in his tone.

Ned took the fake nursery photo. “So, it’s hard to tell, like I wouldn’t have noticed unless I hadn’t spent my whole life on the internet. There are obvious signs of photo manipulation. The easiest to see is in this one.” He pointed to the picture of Mary and Richard, and Peter at the beach.

“See, there are shadows for all the objects, but there aren’t any shadows around your parents. If you look, you can see the feathered edges right around them where they’re dropped into the photo. And if you look even closer, you can see the feathered edges around you, too.” He handed the picture to Peter, who took a good look at the photo under a light. He could see what Ned saw. “If I had to make a guess, it's made of a picture of your parents and then a picture of you, or a random child, and a beach. Then photo bashed together,” explained Ned, not looking at Peter.

Peter paused – the tight feeling in his chest returned. “Whoa, why a random child? You said the pictures were fake, not the people in them.”

Ned pursed his lips and grabbed two more photos, and showed them to Peter. It was him in a pumpkin patc,h and then him sitting on Santa’s lap.

"As I said, it's hard to see unless you’ve been looking at photoshopped images your whole life.  If you look, you can tell the two babies in these pictures… they aren’t the same person." With shaking hands, Peter took the images from Ned and looked back and forth between them.

Ned was right. There was a definite difference between the two boys that you couldn’t chalk up to time. Peter placed down the photos and closed his eyes. Willing himself not to dissolve into another panic attack. He couldn’t take another one.“What about the photos in the other album?” he croaked, finally opening his eyes and looking at Ned.

His friend smiled.“All real as far as I can tell, they’re even dated at the bottom, which the other photos don’t have. It was a common practice for printed pictures in the early two-thousands. They go up to a few days before your parents died.” There was silence. Peter didn’t know what to say.

All this had started with a simple, stupid genetics project.

Dear god, his life was a mess.

“Do you remember anything?” asked Ned.

“No,” said Peter, his voice seemed far away, and disjointed as he spoke. “I don’t have a single memory from before my fifth birthday, and even that is only vague recollections. I wouldn’t even know what my mom and dad would have looked like if not for pictures.”

“What does all this mean?”

"I don't know Ned. Why would my parents try to make it look like they had pictures of me as a baby? Why would they make fake photos? Why wouldn't they tell Aunt May and Uncle Ben that Richard wasn't my actual dad? Why are there so many secrets and conspiracies surrounding two people who were fucking scientists? I don't know! And I never will because the only people who could give me an answer have been dead for TEN YEARS!" Peter's eyes had tears by the end of his rant. He slumped back on the chair in exhaustion– all he wanted were answers, and all he kept getting were more questions.

“Could neither of them be your actual parent?” asked Ned. Peter closed his eyes and tried not to whimper. He didn’t want it to be the case. All his life, he’d been Peter Parker, and now he was being forced to question everything. “What if they adopted you?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Peter, willing to float the idea. “Except, where’s the adoption certificate? Why fake the photos of my birth? Why not mention any of this to Ben and May? Normal people don’t do that, Ned – none of this is normal, none of this makes sense.”

Silence once more.

“You said your parents were scientists who worked for the government?”

Peter scoffed. “No, Aunt May said they were. Or at least they used to be before they came to New York. She said she didn’t know what they did while they were here. Only that Richard was working on something.”

Ned hesitated; Peter felt his heartbeat speed up.

“They could have been part of a government program? Like being undercover or in witness protection. A child could have been to maintain their cover?”

Peter shook his head. “Then they wouldn’t have contacted Ben or May – the whole part of witness protection is to stay unknown. Especially since Ben hadn’t seen his brother in years, there wouldn’t have been a reason to come to New York. And it didn’t work because they died only a few months later, and all signs point to my mom knowing it was a possibility.”

Ned shrugged. “Well, then you could have been the one they were protecting. What if you were in hiding, and so they kept you safe, or they…” Ned trailed off without saying anything else.

“Took me,” finished Peter. His friend nodded. “You think they took me and tried to make it look like I was theirs? When they thought it was safe, they came back to America, and met up with family, only to die a few months later.”

“You said it, not me, dude.”

The choked laugh that escaped Peter showed what he thought of that.

“That’s because it’s fucking insane, Ned. This is real life, not a Jason Bourne movie. You don’t find a child and decide to take it. The government does not crash a plane to kill random scientists for taking a child.” Peter’s mind spun a million miles a minute. He needed to calm down, or he would spiral into another panic attack.

“I don’t know, dude; do you have a better option for what’s going on here?”

“Uh, yeah – literally any other idea that sounds like it doesn’t come from the plot of a B-rate spy film." Peter stood and paced. "Let's stick with the facts and only the facts. No conjecture, no crazy theories – what do we know for certain?" Peter wanted to wrap his head around what was happening. Making up crazy theories would get them nowhere.

“Okay, we know Richard wasn’t your biological father, but we don’t know if Mary wasn’t your real mom. We also know your parents created fake photos until you were about four years old. We can’t know for certain if there were or were not any other photos. Because the government confiscated everything from your parents’ house.”

Peter nodded, thinking about what else they knew. "We also know my mom left a box of random objects with Aunt May days before she and Richard died. We know the photos in the more recent album are real. And my mom left the location to the middle of nowhere in a locket wrapped inside her wedding veil." Peter paused, "We don't even know for certain it is her wedding veil. I’ve never seen a single photo of my parents’ wedding.” The buzz in Peter’s head, and boy wasn’t he getting tired of it, thrummed.

“Unless we want to speculate –”

“Which we don’t; not without as much evidence as we can find!”

“Then our next step is to head to the location from the locket,” concluded Ned.

Peter sighed and went to pick up the object. “Ned, it’s in the middle of a state park, on the other side of the Hudson. How the hell do I get there?” Peter had ridden to Manhattan before by himself. Heck, Ned and he went to Staten Island to be tourists for the day by themselves last summer. But a state park an hour away? Yeah, no, his aunt would freak.

Ned rolled his chair over to Peter’s computer and booted it up

“What are you doing?” asked Peter.

"I’m being productive. Plus, as your guy-in-the-chair, it is my job to help you figure out the logistics of situations so you can be a hero." He pulled up Google Maps and tapped away. Peter sat on his bed, the locket in hand, wondering how he could be so lucky to have the best friend in the world.

“This isn’t me being a hero, it’s me digging into my parents’ past,” clarified Peter, but he still had a smile on his face.

“It’s your epic backstory, dude – every hero has one. That being said, I’ve found your solution,” he showed the computer to Peter. “The Frank R. Lautenberg Secaucus Rail Station, go on, enjoy.” He motioned for Peter to join him at the computer. “Over the river in New Jersey –”

“~Everything is legal in New Jersey~” murmured Peter.

"Yes, thank you, Philip Hamilton," said Ned, rolling his eyes. "There is a train that takes you straight to Sloatsburg. It's a direct train for about ten dollars, and it gets you there in an hour. Trains run every hour or so both there and back. Now, Sloatsburg is the closest I can get you to the coordinates from the locket by public transport. From there, it's about another eight miles on foot down a road, and then out into the forest. So, you’ll need about an hour to get from here in Astoria to the rail station.  Then another hour from Secaucus to Sloatsburg, I’d say about four to five hours to get to the location and back –”

“I can run a mile in three minutes,” said Peter, thinking back to how fast and how far he’d run the night Ben had died.

Ned blinked.

“Okay, so much less time. Let’s still be generous and say two hours to get there and back.  Plus, another two hours to get back to Astoria. Bringing our total to six hours of travel and location hunting. All for forty dollars and change. Not bad for the middle of nowhere.” Ned shut the computer and turned to look at Peter.

“Ned, you’re amazing,” said Peter. His friend smirked and raised his fist for their secret handshake. Then Peter went and sat back on his bed and tried to plan.

“Okay, so it can’t happen on a school day, because the school would call Aunt May if I were missing. I could go after school. Yet, considering I have to run alone along a stretch of road and into the woods, I want it to be daylight for as long as possible. We also have no freakin’ clue what the coordinates refer to, so I could be out there for a while. That means we have to wait for the weekend. May has to work this weekend, but we’re testing my powers at the junkyard, so not an option.

"Exactly, it's a good idea to figure out what you can do before you go on your first mission. You should have those web-shooters designed – in case you need to fight bad guys off," Ned said. Peter rolled his eyes.

“So, it’ll have to be three – three-no wait,” Peter cut himself off, “Spring Break is next week, dude.” Ned’s eyes widened

“Oh, right, forgot about that.”

"Okay, so Aunt May is bound to have a double next week, once we know for certain when - that's the day I'll go. You’ll come to my house, tell your parents we’re having a sleepover, and no one will know what we’re doing – it’s foolproof!” Peter smiled, pleased with the plan.

“Sounds good to me,” Ned paused as he saw his phone light up, and he checked it. “Sorry, it’s my mom checking on when I’ll be home – dinner is in an hour. We cool here?”

“Yeah, we’re cool. I’ll see ya tomorrow at school?”

“As always, spider-dude.”

“Nah, Ned; it’s Spider-Man,” they laughed. But as their chuckles died down, they looked at each other with a growing realization: that was it!

“Spider-Man!” they exclaimed together.

“Oh my gosh, that’s got to be your superhero name, Peter.”

Peter nodded. "Yeah, it's perfect – one decision made, about a thousand others to go."

Ned walked over and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “One problem at a time, dude – we’ve got this.” 

“Yeah, we’ve got this.”

Ned grabbed his bag, and Peter walked him to the door. “See you tomorrow, Spider-Man.”

“You too, Guy-In-The-Chair,” said Peter, and then Ned was gone.

Peter was left with a silent apartment. He walked back to his room, with all he learned swirling in his head. Sure, his life was in a tailspin, turned upside down, but now he had a direction to go.

“Okay, Spider-Man, you’ve got this,” whispered Peter to himself. For the first time in weeks, Peter hoped that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right.

Chapter Text

Midtown School of Science and Technology – April 22, 2016

It was Friday, and Peter was at decathlon practice. Or at least that was what Peter had told May. In reality, the AcaDec team was throwing a party celebrating coming in fourth place at Worlds. Peter heard MJ muttering in the corner about how they could have done better, but the captain was a senior doing four college classes on top of his normal workload, so Peter was willing to cut him some slack.

Peter wished he stayed to enjoy the party.

Instead, he had the bright idea to scale the walls of the school to break into the third-floor chemistry lab. Ned, of course, covered for him.

During a trip to the labs that week, the 9th-grade teachers showed the students where they would be next year. Peter noticed the window in lab three didn't lock all the way and would open from the outside with enough strength.

He spent the rest of the week trying his best to ignore the revelations he and Ned discovered. Instead, focused on building his web-shooters. It required buying a few materials, piecing the rest together from old television sets and a broken car.

Peter loved junkyards and dumpster diving.

He wasn't sure if the shooter design was perfect. Peter needed to make the web fluid first to test. This would be his last chance to make the fluid before school ended for spring break. Over the break, he'd refine his web-shooter design, planning for modifications to it and the fluid once school started back up.  

Scaling the building and pushing open the window, he crawled inside, landing on the floor in a crouch. Glancing around the room, he checked for cameras; he hadn't seen any when he did the tour earlier in the week. But the last thing he needed was being caught on camera sneaking in from a window on the third floor or stealing chemicals. He tried not to imagine it as stealing. More like utilizing resources to further his progress as a human being. Fit more in line with the whole superhero gig he was aiming for.

Going over to the chemicals cabinet, he saw the case locked. With a little superpowered force, he jiggled it open. Hopeful no one would notice until next week. Looking for the ingredients he needed, he grabbed a pair of safety goggles and began.

It took longer than he wanted it to, but he refined the formula down to two variations he was pretty sure could hold his weight. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough. He poured the formulas into small capsules that fed into his web-shooters, and cleaned the lab. Peter hoped to leave and return to the AcaDec party for at least a little pizza.

The whole operation was going fine, and he almost had the supplies cleaned up, but then his Spidey-Sense went off.

He didn't know what the danger was. Peter stashed the formulas in his bag and slid underneath a desk, right as the door swung open.

Peter heard a person walking in. Their shoe steps thumping against the floor, almost as loud as Peter's heart pounding in his chest.

"- no, no, no honey. I'm gonna be a little bit late to the dinner," said a voice. Peter didn't dare look out from behind the desk he was under. Holding his bag to his chest, and hoping whoever it was didn't notice anything too out of place.

"I forgot some papers, Felicia. Yes, I'll need them. I know Spring break is this week. The students may have almost nothing to do, but that doesn't mean I don't. Three projects and a paper all need grading for the six periods I have, and then… Ugh, looks like the chemistry club was in here and didn't clean up all the way. Why this school lets sixteen-year old's have unfiltered access to materials floors me. They didn't even lock the chemical cabinet." Peter heard sounds of objects moving and the cabinet locking shut.

"I'm headed out the door right now, I'll be home as fast as I can, but there's Friday evening traffic, so who knows when I'll be there…. Yes, I love you too… See you when I get home." The lights flicked off, the lab door opened, then closed. Peter heard the sound of a lock and footsteps fading into the distance.

Peter inched himself out from underneath the desk. The few remaining supplies he hadn't had the chance to put away were gone, and the cabinet shut and locked. Peter let out a sigh of relief; he checked his bag, making sure nothing had spilled. When he was confident enough to move without his legs collapsing on him, he headed over to the window and opened it.

Peter slung the bag over his shoulder and climbed out the window. Closing it from the outside, he scaled the building. Landing with a thud behind the school dumpsters, he trekked back to the door to the auditorium.

Peter walked in expecting the party to still be going on, but only found Ned, seated on a chair, looking at his phone.

"Hey, is the party over?" asked Peter, walking over to his friend. Ned glanced up and grimaced.

"Yeah, sorry dude. Everybody left about fifteen minutes ago. I convinced Mr. Harrington to let me stay until you returned, saying you'd only be a minute. I saved you pizza, though." His friend produced a covered plate with three slices of pepperoni pizza. Peter felt his stomach rumble.

"Ned, you're a godsend." Reaching for the plate and devouring the pizza.

"So, how did it go? Did you make the fluid?" asked Ned, once Peter scarfed down the first slice.

Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, it's done. There's enough fluid for us to test tomorrow, and enough, in case it works, that I'll be able to take with me next week." Peter finished off the pizza and felt semi-full. Another three slices might have filled him, no problem. Being full nowadays seemed like a wild dream. "I almost got caught, though."

Ned's mouth dropped open. "No way."

Peter nodded, feeling full of confidence because he'd avoided it in the nick of time. "Yeah, the teacher came back to grab papers. I had to dive under the table when my Spidey-Sense warned me. Hadn't had time to clean everything up, but he blamed it on the chemistry club."

"Dude, you've completed your first successful mission," said Ned with wide eyes.

"My first mission should not be sneaking into my school's chem lab and stealing stuff. My first mission will be next week."

Ned shrugged his shoulders. "Fair enough, we'll meet tomorrow at like ten in the morning and ride to the junkyard together. Did you figure out a way to get us in?" Peter nodded.

"Yeah, I was there earlier this week, scraping together parts for the web-shooters. I saw the back fence was a little loose, with a bit of pushing, I can make a hole big enough for us to sneak through. Whenever we're done, I'll bend it back in place."

Ned smiled and grabbed his backpack; the two of them left the auditorium. "This is gonna be so cool," he said.

Peter couldn't help but agree.

Midtown Junkyard – April 23, 2016

After bending back the chain link fence, Ned and Peter crept into the junkyard. It was a little creepy being here so early in the morning with no one else in sight. There wasn't anything different about it than yesterday. Besides the fact that it's closed, and that they were trespassing on private property.

"Is it concerning to you about how much crime we're doing to make me a superhero?" asked Peter as he and Ned found a couple of junk piles high enough for Peter to climb.

"Nah, it's all for the greater good, dude. Besides, we aren't harming anyone or anything. We need an out-of-the-way place so no one can see your beginning training montage." Peter shrugged, the explanation sounding good enough for him.

Ned set up the camera. They wanted to record the footage for posterity's sake. Ned insisted that when their lives got turned into a movie, the footage would be necessary. Peter wasn't too concerned as long as the footage never went anywhere before he died.

"Alright, dude, we're all set up," announced Ned. "Testing, testing 1, 2, 3."

Peter rolled his eyes. "It's a camera, not a microphone."

"Whatever, it's on, and we're rolling. Test of Enhanced Abilities by subject: Spider-Man, April 23, 2016." Said Ned in an official-sounding voice, "Please state your name for the record."

"Peter Benjamin Parker," said Peter, humoring his friend.

"Test One; strength," Ned paused the camera. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"I figured we'd find an object we already know the weight of, like a car, and see how well I can move it."

Ned nodded, then his eyes lit up with an idea. "Do you think you can move a car?"

Peter shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." They moved a little ways away to where there was a dilapidated car covered in rust. Ned set the camera rolling again. Peter walked over to it and started to push on the edge of the car, trying to put all his strength into it. The car lurched over and flipped onto its side.

Well, shit. That had been easy.

"Oh my gosh, dude, oh my gosh! Can you do more?"

Peter stared at the rusted vehicle – it hadn't even been hard. "I guess," he said. Walking over to the car, he gripped the bottom. Instead of trying to push it, he wanted to see if he could lift it.

Surprise, surprise; he could.

For at least an hour, Peter and Ned ran around the junkyard finding various objects for Peter to lift. Peter had fun bench-pressing two dishwashers stacked on each other. After a while, he did grow tired, but he kept going – before the bite, he'd have passed out on the ground long before now. His lungs had been frail, causing asthma attacks often. He hadn't ever gotten to play sports or any type of physical activity. But now…

Now Peter could be a superhero.

They decided to move on to the next test: speed.

"You said you could run a mile in three minutes?" asked Ned.

"Yeah, or close to that. Anyway, I'm gonna run from back here to the front of the gate and back, and you're going to time me. It's about a fourth of a mile." Peter readied himself to run. His senses focused in, and all he heard was the heartbeat in his chest.

He took off.

He ran down the dirt path that led to the front of the junkyard. When he saw the gate approaching, he turned on his heel and sped in the other direction. It could have been seconds. It could have been forever. He arrived back where Ned was with his phone, counting the seconds. Peter slowed and looked over at his friend.

"Dude, that was fifteen seconds," said Ned, eyes widened. Peter's mouth dropped open. He knew he'd been going fast, but not that fast – he wasn't even out of breath.

"That's insane," said Peter.

"Oh my gosh, do you think you could do what Mr. Incredible did at the beginning of the movie? Running ahead of a train and using your strength to stop it?" Asked Ned, excited about his best friend being able to do the stunts from a favorite movie.

"Uh…" Peter trailed off. What would a speeding train coming right at him look like, never mind what it would feel like? He shuddered. "Mr. Incredible was super strong and much heavier than I am. The train would run me over." Ned's face dissolved into a pout. "But the next time I have to stop a runaway train, I'll test it out." They both looked at each other and kneeled over laughing.

After that, they messed around with Peter's climbing ability. He would go up the piles of junk, and his senses would warn him whenever a piece was too loose. He would jump off and land in a crouch whenever he reached the top.

After several hours, exhaustion finally dragged at him, and he walked back over to Ned, who was examining the web fluid from his backpack. Peter picked one of the water bottles he'd brought in his bag and gulped down the water.

It was time to test the web-shooters.

"Yeah, it's still so cool you made this dude. Here, catch!"

Peter, still drinking from the bottle, didn't pay attention. His senses told him something was coming towards his face.

He shot up his hand and caught the fluid without even looking

He lowered the water bottle.

He turned to Ned.

"Did you see that coming at you?" asked Ned in a small voice.

Peter shook his head.

"Oh my gosh, that's the force. You used the force!" squealed Ned.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Ned, it's my Spidey-sense."

"Yeah, but you could do the whole scene from episode four where Luke has his lightsaber for the first time. Where he's deflecting the lasers on the Millennium Falcon." Peter was about to brush it aside; he wanted to move on to the web-shooters after all. But thinking about it a bit more, he couldn’t resist.

"With the blast shield down, I can't even see."  Recited Peter, closing his eyes, he heard Ned running around him, picking up stones to throw at him. "How am I supposed to fight?"

"Your eyes can deceive you, don't trust them," replied Ned, in his best imitation of old Obi-Wan Kenobi. Peter felt a presence behind him and moved to the left. A slight whiz passed by his right ear. Faster and faster, he moved out of the way whenever his senses warned him. Ned ran out of stones; Peter opened his eyes; he hadn't gotten hit once.

"That was awesome!" squealed Ned, looking like all his dreams had come true. Peter couldn't help but smile. The ability to sense danger before it happened was his most useful ability in a fight. But the rush from recreating a scene from Star Wars was awesome.

"Alright, on to the web-shooters," said Peter, walking over to his bag.

There were two different formulas to try. Along with two web-shooters, in case something went wrong. Peter tried making a third one the night before, but ended up distracted by a long game of cards with May. Not that he was mad, it was so rare for him to spend time with his aunt, he would put off his projects. He was pretty sure the first combination would work anyway.

Peter was nervous about this. The biochemical equations for the webs were difficult. But once he settled on a solid idea, it only took a bit of finagling to be happy with a couple of different solutions. The actual web-shooters themselves... Well, he wished he had better materials to make them with.

The design was simple; it was a fancy aerosol can with enough grip to stay on his wrist while supporting his weight. He strapped on one pair, double-checking the attachment, and loaded in one version of the web fluid. With Ned and the camera watching, he pointed his hand at the top of a crane that moved the junk and fired

The web shot out and hit the machine.

"That is beyond cool!" exclaimed Ned. Peter couldn't help the wide smile that appeared on his face. He'd done it. Giving the web a small tug, the smile disappeared as the web broke with a little bit of force applied. Peter looked at the shooter. It was fine, functioning as it should be, which meant the problem was with the fluid.

"That's alright," Peter said, returning to his backpack and picking the next container of web fluid. In his head, running over the equations for the first formula, wondering why it failed. "I have another version to try." Taking out the old container, he placed it back in his bag. Inserting the new formula, he shot off another web. This time, when it hit, it didn't break, even when Peter tugged harder. Backing up, he gave a running start and tugged, shooting himself into the air. Hanging for a minute, he landed on top of the machine in a crouch.

"I can't believe I'm seeing this with my own two eyes," shouted Ned from below. Peter heard him as well as if he'd stood right next to him. Rising out of the crouch and standing far above the junkyard, he gazed out at the world beyond.

For the first time in weeks, the anxiety, loneliness, and guilt faded away. All that was left was a feeling of rightness. Peter stood above the world, and his problems seemed small. He loved this feeling – he knew this, this is what he was meant to do. Until this moment, the idea of being a superhero had been crazy. The kind of pie-in-the-sky dream children imagine up.

This was not a dream.

This was real.

And it was wonderful.

Peter closed his eyes and jumped from the crane. Holding onto the line of web, swinging down, and landing in a roll in front of Ned. He opened his eyes. His best friend's mouth hanging wide open, the camera slack in his grip.

"I have no words, dude. Did you hurt yourself with that fall?" Peter looked to where he had been and shook his head. From here, it seemed so tall, but falling to the ground had been as easy as breathing. In fact, he wanted to do it again and again. Which is exactly what he proceeded to do.

For at least another hour, Peter swung around the junkyard. Trying various flips and tricks – surprised how easy it was, how his body knew what to do. It was weird. Growing used to the hyper-awareness and enhanced senses that accompanied his powers was one thing. But he hadn't done much with the physical aspect. Peter had always been short and wimpy, irritating his asthma every time he ran.

It was like his new body was made for this.

Flipping from the last junkpile, he had nowhere else to shoot his webs within the Junkyard. He shot for a tree that was right outside the property line, it attached to a branch, and he swung down to Ned. Cutting the web with a flick of his wrist. Not a single problem.

"That is beyond cool!" exclaimed Ned. Peter grinned excitedly along with him. 

That is when he heard a cracking sound.

The branch his web stuck to had cracked underneath the weight of his swing. And then the branch came tumbling down.

Aiming directly for Ned.

"Get out of the way!" Peter yelled, running over to his friend and pushing him away from where the branch would hit. They both cleared the spot in the nick of time, and the branch crashed to the ground behind him. A sharp sting zipped up his leg, and he looked back, finding the edge of the branch caught his leg. It ripped his jeans and left a cut about four inches long

"Are you okay?" Peter asked Ned. His friend nodded, a little dazed from what had happened.

"Yeah, you?"

Peter shrugged and gestured to his leg while helping Ned off the ground.

"Only a small cut – more pissed about the jeans though." They both stayed there for another minute or so, letting the adrenaline wear off. They got up, and Peter grabbed his backpack, retreating to the fence line. As they ducked underneath, Peter bent the metal back in place, and it was like they had never entered.

Except for one cracked branch.

"What do you want to do next?" asked Ned. Peter paused for a moment before his stomach gurgled, answering for him.

"How about lunch? There's a Golden Coral around the corner – unlimited food sounds awesome right now." Ned agreed, and they headed off to stuff their faces.

Golden Corral - April 23, 2016

Peter had died and gone to heaven. For two hours, he and Ned had enjoyed plate after plate of food. Ned stopped around his third one, plus a little dessert. Peter, on the other hand, ate six plates full of food, plus fruit, ice cream, three brownies, a slice of cake, and lots of chocolate-covered strawberries.

His stomach felt ready to burst.

Peter couldn't have been happier.

"This is my new favorite place to eat," moaned Peter, finishing off the last of his strawberries.

Ned laughed and gestured to his notebook. "Note to self, Peter can now be bribed with copious amounts of food." Peter wanted to glare at him, but was so pleased with his stomach finally full, all he managed was a half-hearted eye roll. "Okay, so I have your stats logged, and I looked up several training regimes for like FBI agents and stuff."

Peter's eyes widened – wow, he hadn't expected Ned to do that. "Why?"

"Dude, if you're going to," he lowered his voice, "be a superhero, you need to prepare for the worst to happen. We aren't telling anyone you're doing this, which means no help if we screw up, and no one to go to if you get hurt. We have to prep otherwise you'll end up stabbed the first night out and then where will we be?"

"Okay, no one is getting stabbed," said Peter, waving around his fork as he picked up another piece of cake. "That's why I have the webs: transport, strong, nonlethal, and a distance weapon. The whole package rolled into one."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to throw a punch?"

Peter hesitated. "No," he admitted, "I guess I should take a look."

Ned looked pleased and turned a page. "Okay, so this is from a fan blog dissecting how Black Widow fights. She utilizes crazy acrobatic movements, which so can you." Silence. "How can you do that? You didn't use to have an athletic bone in your body."

Peter shrugged. "Search me, it's like my body knows how to move. It almost feels natural – I mean, I bet I can train it, but we don't have the skill to do that."

"Fair enough. I sent you a full document of websites that have tutorials on how to fight, as well as a couple on how to treat minor injuries. I know you're planning on keeping your distance, but at least we can prepare." Ned flipped to another page in his notebook. "Moving down the line –"

"Dude, when did you have time to do any of this?"

Ned glanced at his notebook. "Uh… I started looking stuff up soon as you told me I could be your guy in the chair." Peter looked at his friend in shock and awe; he hadn't expected that. Ned huffed, "Well, if you're not going to tell an adult, and I won't break a pinkie promise, I have to do my best to keep you safe."

"Ned, have I said how awesome you are?"

Ned smiled. "You could stand to mention it more." Both boys laughed and continued discussing all the information Ned had found. Peter went out and grabbed one last plate of food. He wanted to make sure his full stomach lasted as long as possible.

"Even though you've gained a sense of balance, watching dancing or gymnastics videos could help," said Ned, watching his friend scarf down another bite of chicken.

"How is that going to help me?"

"It'll improve flexibility, coordination, grace, and balance," Ned read off his list.

"Are you sure you didn't read that off a Black Widow Appreciation Reddit post?"

Ned blushed. "N-no, it's from the same Tumblr blog that analyzed her fight style. THE POINT IS, a little bit of training before you jump into this might be a good idea."

Peter shrugged, feeling content, full, and drowsy. "I'm all for anything that keeps me safe. Besides, I can do all this stuff now that I never could before. I should take advantage of it." Peter glanced at his phone and saw it was almost two-thirty.

"Do you wanna head back to your house? May's gone until nine tonight, so I'm on my own for the rest of the day."

"Sure, let's get going. My mom will text soon asking where I am." They gathered their stuff and started to leave. It wasn't until they were outside that Peter noticed his leg didn't hurt anymore.

He glanced down and saw that although his jeans were still torn, the cut looked healed.

"Ned, look at my leg."

Ned looked over and his mouth dropped at the missing injury. "Oh my gosh, dude, that was like a jagged mess a few hours ago." Peter stared at the cut in disbelief. It made a sort of sense. Peter already had his eyesight healed. He hadn't had a single asthma attack, despite all the panic attacks over the past several weeks, so why not enhanced healing too?

"Well, that'll be useful," said Ned with a grin. "How fast do you think it is? Not that we should test it or anything," he amended.

"I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?" said Peter. He was interested in the healing factor for sure; it was another power to add to his already long list. But he wouldn't hurt himself on purpose to see how well he healed.

The Parker's Apartment – April 23, 2016

The light of the sun had dipped below the horizon, but it was enough for Peter to see by. He walked back to his apartment alone after turning down an offered ride from Mr. Leeds. Spending the rest of the day at Ned's place had been a great idea. The morning was awesome beyond words. Peter finally found a purpose; a true calling for his life and these new powers. And lunch was fantastic; it wasn't often Peter felt full. Hanging out at Ned's apartment, and playing videogames, and teasing his sister was fun. Having a home-cooked meal was a slice of normalcy he missed from his life.

It had been nice to relax a bit. No school on the horizon. No panic attack to recover from. Even the weight of his upcoming excursion to the state park couldn't affect his mood.

Finally arriving at his apartment, Peter saw May’s car parked in their normal spot. He glanced at his phone. Had she sent him any messages? He hadn't heard from her today. Peter checked his phone; nothing. Climbing up to the fourth floor, he entered the apartment to find it silent with all the lights off. May must have already gone to bed.

Peter sighed; it was hard not seeing her every day. She was gone for hours on end with these shifts. Only to drop dead exhausted when she arrived, it meant he only spent a bit of time with her here and there. In a month, he'd gone from May knowing everything about his life to hiding multiple secrets about his existence from her.

Stepping into the apartment, he shut the door and crept over to his bedroom, trying not to make too much noise. But as he approached his bedroom, he heard a sound coming from May's room.

She was crying.

Her muffled sobs would have been unnoticeable to a normal person. But Peter heard old man Lee three floors down sketching if he concentrated hard enough. Hearing his aunt crying down the hall sounded like a bomb going off next to him.

"…Ben, I miss you; I miss you; I miss you…" Peter heard her whisper. His heart dropped into his stomach, and tears started to form in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. That creeping feeling of sadness and guilt took over once more, and all the happiness from the day faded. Like Ben's heartbeat that had faded that night.

Distracted by his worry and curiosity about his parents. Distracted by his excitement and joy over deciding to be a hero. Peter had forgotten why he was doing all of this in the first place.

Ben's death had been his fault.

He was the one to blame.

His aunt's sadness, tears, and exhaustion were because of Peter. He made a stupid and cowardly decision that cost Ben his life. How soon he'd forgotten the feeling of blood-covered hands, the look of dead eyes, and silent hearts. Forgotten his bare feet slapping against unforgiving concrete, and gunshots echoing in his ears.

May was trying so hard to be happy and normal for his sake, but he saw it in her eyes - she was dying inside each day. She hid her sobs, unknowing that Peter caught every whimper and sorrow. He didn't deserve any condolence, any sympathy, or any comfort. He wouldn't burden his aunt with his grief or problems – not when he was the one to blame for everything.

He entered his room and closed the door. The silence was damning.

Peter felt crushed under the weight of his own emotions. But his breathing didn't grow erratic, and his ears only heard May's muffled cries. He moved around his room, readying for bed, but it felt like moving through molasses or quicksand. The emotions dragged him under and suffocated him. Until all he could think about was the guilt, and pain, and hurt, and sadness.

Peter crawled under the covers of his bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling the pulse in his veins. His vision blurred, and the tears started streaming down his face. His breathing caught up with the rest of his emotions. Forcing him to drag in stuttered breaths as his lungs screamed for oxygen. Peter fell asleep to the sound of his sobs mirroring May's own cries.

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – April 27, 2016

Peter sat alone at the kitchen table, wolfing down burnt pancakes and bacon that May made that morning. She woke early to cook breakfast before her shift, but she had already left. Peter, determined to eat every bite, ignored the charred bits. She’d left a note on the counter along with a twenty-dollar bill for food, telling him to have fun with Ned. She wrote that she wouldn’t be home until five in the morning, but not to stay up super late.

He pocketed the money from his Aunt; it was twenty dollars he didn’t have to pull from his own money. The trip to Sloatsburg wasn't super expensive, but Peter didn't get an allowance. He'd already used a bit of his savings buying the material for his web-shooters. So, every penny counted.

Finishing the last few bites, Peter placed his dishes in the sink and turned to clean the mess Aunt May left. He tried distracting himself from the plan for today. When the kitchen was finally cleaned up, Peter had no choice but to head to his room.

Time for the plan to begin.

His phone buzzed.

Ned: im on my way ovr

Shit! That meant Peter was running behind. He took a quick shower. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he grabbed an old pair of sneakers, duct tape around the front. He strapped his web-shooters onto his wrist. He felt a little self-conscious about how visible they were he grabbed a hoodie to hide them. He dragged out an old duffel bag from the hall closet to fill it with supplies.

Before he started, there came a knock at his door. Running over, Peter opened it to find Ned with his bag packed and looking ready to have a sleepover with Peter.

That wouldn’t come until tonight, though.

Now, they were in mission mode.

“Hello, guy-in-the-chair,” said Peter, tossing the empty bag on the couch.

Ned placed down his bags and gave Peter a fist bump. “Good morning, Spider-Man. Gosh, that is so cool, I don’t think I’ll ever get over the coolness. So, are you ready to go?”

Peter shook his head.“Nah, man just got out of the shower – about to start packing.” They went into Peter’s room and started gathering supplies. The first item that went in was a hand shovel from the corner store. Ned suggested it, saying whatever was out there could be buried.

“It could be buried, like a treasure," said Ned, when he brought it up.

"Yeah, except it's not treasure.”

“Could be gold, your parents might have been pirates.

“No, Ned.”

Next went the money, a snack, a charger, and his phone. Peter planned to check in every half an hour with Ned so his friend could track his progress. They had to admit, it was a little paranoid. But this was huge; like grounded till college huge if anything went wrong.

Peter and Ned didn’t want to take any chances.

It didn’t take long before everything was good to go. Ned checked his watch.

“If you’re quick, you’ll grab the blue line that’s headed out in twenty minutes.”

“Cool, if you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge,” said Peter. Ned shook his head and pulled out a Tupperware container.

“Mom sent leftovers.”

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed the duffel bag. He slung it across his shoulders and walked to the door. “Alright,” he said, biting his lip. “I’m out of here.”

“Good luck, dude. Remember, I’m only a phone call away. I’ve got my phone charged and my computer at the ready. I’ll call every half hour.” Taking a breath, Peter pushed open the door to his apartment and left.

New York City Subway – April 27, 2016

Peter had to admit being a little intimidated, but he reminded himself it was ridiculous to be scared. He’d ridden into Manhattan hundreds of times. This was just the first time by himself.

Taking the subway out of Queens, he turned to his thoughts.

What did he want out of this?

What was he hoping to find?

What was he going to find?

All Peter knew was that he wanted answers one way or another, and this seemed to be his only avenue for getting them. He told Ned he didn’t want to speculate without as much evidence as possible. But when left with only his brain, Peter couldn’t do much else.

Had the Parkers taken him?

It seemed likely. Not once did Ben or May ever mention him being adopted. Heck, they hadn’t known his parents were married until they arrived in America.

Did they kidnap him? Or was he being protected?

Why did they live in England? Out of all the places in the world, why there? Why not live in America?

Why was their stuff taken? What had the government been looking for? His parents were scientists, at least as far as Aunt May knew. Why would they be after the personal objects of a couple and a child?

Why this specific place?

It was random. There was nothing near here. Ned searched through the records of the nearby town. Nothing important had happened there. The only result that came up online was a restaurant or two. The state park was innocuous, too.

Why did they die?

Had the government killed them? Or had the plan crash been an accident? Aunt May mentioned they left on a trip. Where were they going, and why? Did they know it would be dangerous? Did they leave the stuff on purpose, so he could figure all this out now?

Why did they leave him alone?

The subway slowed, and he slung his bag back onto his shoulder. Jumping off at his station, the noise of the street above filtered down. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he answered.

“Hey dude, this is me checking in,” said Ned, with a tint of nervousness in his voice.

Peter chuckled. "Ned, I know it’s you. Do you think I have any other friends?” They laughed, both knowing, despite their joking tone, it was true for both of them. Peter and Ned were social outcasts since their middle school days. They’d attended the same schools for years, always standing out as the super smart and geeky ones. Not even the other geeks wanted anything to do with them. When they received the scholarships to attend Midtown Tech, they were hopeful. Finally, they would be around other people as smart as them.

But even in a school that purported to have a welcoming attitude and cultivated bright minds, Peter and Ned were still singled out as losers. All they had was each other, but that was how it had been for so long that they didn’t mind. Still, it would have been nice to be accepted.

They both agreed - college should be better.

“Fair enough, dude,” Ned’s voice brought Peter out of his thoughts. They continued chatting for a few minutes as Peter left the station to walk over to his next destination. He had to grab the subway from the East Side over to New Jersey and walk to the railway station.

Telling Ned he’d call him when he got to the station, Peter maneuvered his way through the busy Manhattan streets. The loud noises grated on Peter’s sensitive ears. Talking, laughing, screaming, cars, construction – everything that made New York the city that never sleeps, made Peter want to tear his ears out. He pushed through the pain. He stuffed his earphones into his ears and cranked his music as far as it would go, hoping to drown out the extra noise.

Peter had grown better at tuning out harsh noises that sent him spiraling into panic attacks. Living with his enhanced senses was a pain, but it was a sacrifice he would make to be a superhero.

He walked a little faster and finally arrived at the entrance of his next stop. He paid at the till and waited around for his train to come, which would take him over to Jersey. So far, so good.

Sloatsburg, New York – April 27, 2016

While getting out of Manhattan had been easy enough, switching to the large rail station in Secaucus had been a little nerve-wracking. But Peter had no other option, so he carried on trying to look like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He had no clue what he was doing.

Peter stayed with Ned on the phone the whole time he was in the station. Catching the train itself had been no problem. While he was there, his senses freaked out even more than they had on the busy Manhattan street,s though.

He boarded and settled into a seat near the back of the train. He curled against the window and watched as the train rolled through New Jersey before crossing over into New York. The buildings and busy streets turned into suburbs. Then rolling hills, as they got closer to the state park. Ned called twenty minutes before Peter got off, but otherwise, he was alone with his thoughts.

The closer and closer he got, the more worried he grew. There could be anything out in those woods, there could be nothing at all. It took ten years for Peter to find out about the locket; whatever his mom and dad had left for him might be long gone. Peter couldn’t afford to think like that, though. He had to believe there was something out there to find; he would drive himself insane for the rest of his life if he ended his search here.

The train slowed at Sloatsburg. He was the only person to leave. The carriage emptied along the way, and there were only a few stops after this tiny town. Peter headed down the road to where a few buildings marked the town center. He wanted to grab a bite to eat before he made his way into the forest. Ned had pointed out a Subway when they were confirming Peter’s route, and so he headed to grab lunch.

Thirty minutes later, another call from Ned, and a foot-long sandwich snug in his stomach. Peter left the Subway ready to continue his travels. He began walking.

Despite being in a forest, the route to the coordinates was pretty straightforward. Yet, he wasn't so thrilled that every so often, trucks and cars would go speeding by him. It grated on his senses because they were loud. His Spidey-sense tingled every time, keeping him in a constant state of worry.

Peter ran as fast as he could whenever the road was empty. He was about a mile in when he saw a large semi approaching behind him. As the truck passed him, Peter had an idea.

It could have been stupid or brilliant, but Peter didn’t give too much thought before he executed it. Pointing his web-shooter as the semi rolled past, he sent out a web that attached to the side of the truck. He launched up and landed on the side but scrambled to the top so the driver couldn't see him.

Sure, he could run if he wanted, but this was way faster.

Lying on top of the truck, his fingers holding him in place. He watched as the trees zoomed by above him, and the air whipped by. Passed his ears. Peter’s smile split his face, and he closed his eyes, letting the truck take him further down the highway.

After a few minutes, he reached into his pocket and brought out his phone. Peter held tight to it; he didn’t need it to go flying off the semi. Explaining that to May would be impossible. The coordinates were plugged into his maps, and he was approaching the point where he would go into the woods. Replacing the phone in his pocket, Peter sat on top of the truck and waited for a strong enough tree to approach.

When he saw one, he aimed, shot out a web, and prepared for deceleration.

The web hit the tree, and he shot towards the branches. Watching the semi disappear from under him, he flipped into the trees, landing on a thick branch. He teetered for a moment before regaining his balance. Peter climbed down the tree and stood at the edge of the road, looking into the thick, dense forest beyond.

That had been so fucking cool.

Peter walked into the dense underbrush.

Twenty minutes later, Peter knew he’d made the right decision by resting on the truck. He was going to be in the forest forever.

Everything looked the same, and there was no set way to go. Peter lived in the city; he dealt with paved paths and structured parks. This was like hacking his way through the Amazon jungle. Within minutes, he was hot and sweaty, and he’d stuffed his jacket to the bottom of his duffel bag. And then there were bugs.

Dear God, the bugs.

He was used to the occasional fly or mosquito, but this was unbearable. He’d only been out here for a little while, and Peter swore he'd been bitten at least ten times.

Peter’s phone kept losing signal, too. So, every once in a while, he climbed a tree and raised his phone to the sky to grab a bar or two. If he didn't have his map, he would be lost three times over.

During a climb, he noticed a voice message from Ned. He held tight onto the tree and called him back.

“Dude, why didn’t you pick up?” Ned’s panicked voice said, after one ring.

“I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of nowhere. There’s no cell service out here.”

“Then how are you calling me now?”

“I climbed a tall tree.”

“Wait… You’re in a tree?”

“Not the point. The forest is awful. We might be lucky if I make it back before sundown. I’m a city kid, Ned – this is nothing like Central Park.”

“Sorry, Peter. Not much I can do for you from here.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wish they’d picked a slightly more convenient spot to go hiding shit at.”

“Everything else fine?”

“I’m good, I’m about another four miles out. I’ll keep an eye on the time and climb another tree before you call. Just don’t be too worried if you can’t reach me. Even up here, I’m only getting a bar or two.” Ned agreed and hung up. Peter descended the tree.

He wished he could swing from tree to tree like Tarzan; it would make all this so much easier.

Peter tried a few minutes into his walk through the forest and found it didn’t work. He ended up with branches slapping him in the face and leaves in his mouth.

So, on foot, he trekked. He avoided a near disaster when he almost tripped and fell down a cliff. It had to be at least fifteen feet tall, and Peter didn’t know how well he’d be able to handle an injury by himself. Once he made it down the hill, he noticed he was half a mile out from the location. Despite the thick underbrush, Peter picked up the pace.

He was close.

Scaling one last tree to reorient his map, he confirmed he was another minute's walk from the coordinates. Calling Ned, Peter let him know where he was. Peter told Ned he would call him once he’d found whatever had been hidden out here. He ended the call to return to looking. Peter scrambled down the tree and jogged over to the location on his phone.

Finally, after weeks of wondering, Peter might get answers.

Peter didn’t know what to expect, but the little clearing he arrived in wasn’t it. It didn’t look all too different from the rest of the forest. But as Peter’s phone attested, something was here. He just had to find it. He didn’t know what to look for, but he was sure there had to be something to give him a sliver of an answer. Walking around, he looked at the trees. Was there anything carved into them?

After about five minutes, Peter was annoyed, frustrated, and honestly a bit close to tears. All he wanted were answers.

Peter kicked his leg through the dense underbrush in frustration. He winced when his foot hit something hard.

And a clang echoed through the empty clearing.

“OW! Shit, shit, shit,” yelled Peter. Jumping on one foot as the other throbbed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t paying attention, so he didn’t notice the gnarled root behind him.

Though he for sure noticed it when he tripped and fell backward onto his butt.

Sitting on the ground, Peter’s head spun. He hadn’t been that clumsy since he’d gotten his powers. Once his foot stopped hurting so much, he spotted what he’d hit.

There, hidden in the underbrush, was a metal rod. Sticking up about three feet from the ground, covered in rust and dented right where Peter kicked it.

Is this what he'd been looking for? 

Peter sighed. Well, there was nothing else here that stood out. Shrugging his bag off his shoulders, Peter reached in and grabbed the hand shovel. Peter hoped whatever had been hidden here wasn’t six feet underground; otherwise, he’d be digging for a while. After yanking the pole out of the ground, Peter started to shovel dirt out of the way.

It wasn’t particularly difficult; the dirt was dry, and with Peter’s super strength, it came apart with ease. Although Peter did get hot quickly. A few times, he was almost worried about the shovel breaking because he shoved it in too hard. After several minutes of digging, he stopped and grabbed the last water bottle. He drank it all in less than a minute.

Back to work he went.

It had to have been at least half an hour before Peter wondered if he would find anything or not. He couldn’t help the worry and anxiety that swept through him as he continued to dig. There had to be something here; his parents wouldn’t send him on a wild goose chase. There was nothing else in the area out of place. Only miles and miles of forest – this was where he had to be.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and he heard a clang echo out. The reverb from the shovel shocked Peter out of the almost trance-like state he was in. Peering into the hole he'd dug, he spotted through the dirt to the shine of metal. With something in sight, Peter dug even faster until he pulled out what was in the ground.

It was a metallic box, covered in rust and dirt, with a padlock on the front. It was about the size of a small suitcase. Looking at it, Peter had a feeling it was gonna be a bitch to carry back.

He flopped onto the ground, his sore muscles crying out in agony as the tension finally released.

Lying in the dirt, covered in sweat, dying of thirst, and with his heartbeat running like a racehorse, Peter felt a sense of relief wash over him. He’d done it. Even if there wasn’t anything more hidden in this box. If it was only old photos, or random equations, or even his freakin baby blanket – he’d found what was out here, and that was good enough for him.

But a part of him still wanted answers.

Glancing at the box, he wondered if he should open it now. With a little bit of strength, the lock would break right open. Glancing at his phone, he realized it’d been over an hour since he’d last talked to Ned. His friend had to be freaking out. Pealing himself off the ground, he placed the shovel back in his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. Picking up the metal box, he heard shifting around inside.

Peter wanted to open it, but he knew he had to wait. Nothing good would happen from being all alone and revealing whatever was important enough to hide out in a dense forest. No. He'd wait till he got home, and he and Ned would look over the contents of the box together.

Walking away from the clearing, he found a tall tree and left the box and his bag at the bottom, and climbed to the top. When his phone finally connected, he found a few worried texts from Ned. The last one was a series of question marks from about fifteen minutes ago. Peter called his friend, and Ned picked up on the first ring.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Ned, I’m fine, sorry it took me so long to call. I got busy.”

Ned sighed. “Well, I guess there was something out there?”

“Yeah, after about an hour of digging, I am the proud owner of a normal-looking metal box."

“Really? Just a box?”

“Yeah, I haven’t opened it yet. There’s stuff in there for sure. I just… I don’t know. I'm relieved and excited and drained. And really, really sore. Also, could use water and food right about now, to be honest.”

Ned laughed."Well, I guess you'd better make your way back here. Please call in half an hour. I swear I was this close to having a heart attack worrying if everything was alright."

“Sure thing. Catch ya later.” After hanging up, Peter rushed down the tree, grabbed his stuff, and went back the way he came into the forest.

After an hour and another two calls to Ned, Peter finally reached the edge of the road. It was nearing three in the afternoon. Peter was finally feeling the weight of the day crashing down on top of him. Trudging along the road back to Sloatsburg, the metal box in his hands seemed to weigh a ton.

It was a great relief when another truck zoomed by. Peter didn’t even think twice before launching himself with a web to the top. Sitting on the truck as it zoomed down the road was fantastic. The wind blowing in his hair, and the cool breeze refreshed him a little bit from the past three hours of hard work.

It wasn't long before the town approached. Swinging off onto a lamppost, Peter crawled down and walked the rest of the way into town. He knew he must have looked like a mess. But at the first fast food place he saw, a pizza joint, he walked in. He bought a large Hawaiian pizza and a pitcher of water. The cashier looked at him like he was insane. Peter opened the pizza box in the store and ate everything in one sitting.

Once he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out from lack of food, he cleaned himself up a bit in the bathroom. He didn’t want to look like a crazy person the whole way home. The metal box was already conspicuous enough. Satisfied, he left the restaurant and walked to the train station. He had another half hour to wait, so he sat at the wall, plugged his phone in. Doomscrolling Twitter until the sound of the train echoed off in the distance.

It was time to head home.

Queens, New York – April 27, 2016

Rush hour traffic still existed during Spring Break, and Peter hated it. Getting into the city took longer than planned. Getting through the city took longer than planned. Getting back to Queens took longer than planned. He hopped off the bus that was supposed to take him close to home. If twenty people planned to get on and off at every stop, Peter would run home. It didn't matter that he had twenty pounds of secrets, was covered in dirt, and was starving again. This boredom was killing him.

About three blocks from his apartment, his phone rang. Not bothering to check the number, he answered it.

“Hey, Ned, I’m almost back, about another fifteen minutes.” Silence on the other end of the phone. “Uh, Ned?”

“Not Ned, sweetie,” said May.

Shit.

“Oh… huh, uh… H-h-hi May?” stammered Peter.

“What do you mean almost back?” Peter heard May’s annoyance through the phone. Shit, Peter. Think, think, what’s a good lie she’ll believe?

“Oh, I ran out to go grab soda and candy. The traffic out here is crazy like you wouldn’t believe; I’m stopping at every crosswalk.” Please buy that. Please buy that. Please buy that.

“Peter, you should have asked before going out,” sighed May. Peter let out his own sigh of relief.

“Sorry, May, I know you’re not allowed to use your phone at work. I was gonna be there and back super quickly. Sorry, next time I’ll ask.” He turned a street corner and saw his apartment in the distance.

“It’s fine, sweetie. I know you’ll be responsible. I don’t want to have to track your every movement. You’re getting to be a young adult; I know you can take care of yourself. I wanted to check in and see how you and Ned were doing."

“Oh, we’re great, May. We’ve been watching movies all day, and we ordered pizza. I was out to grab soda and candy – and then we were gonna hook up the Xbox and play games.”

“Glad you’re having fun, sweetie. Look, I’m sorry for having to work during your break.”

Peter cut her off. "No, no, no, May, it's fine. I know you're super busy, and I can handle myself. I'm not a dumb kid who needs entertaining every second." Peter almost heard his Aunt's smile through the phone.

“I know you’re not Peter, but I do miss those days. I miss being able to be there for you all the time. You've been so grown-up and responsible this past couple of weeks, and I'm so proud of you."

A knot of guilt formed in his throat. “Y-yeah, I guess. I mean, I’m just doing what has to be done.”

“I know, and that’s why I’m proud. And Ben would be too, I know he would.” Never mind the guilt, now Peter had tears stinging his eyes. Wiping them away before they spilled down his cheeks. He choked out a quick thanks.

“Listen, I got Carrie to switch shifts with me, so I’ve got until Sunday off. I'll be back around five in the morning tomorrow after I rest, you and I can go spend time away from the city for a day or so?"

Peter smiled.“Yeah May, that would be great.”

“We can’t go too far, of course. But we can spend the night somewhere?” 

Peter was in the parking lot of his apartment complex. “Yeah, I’m good with anywhere, May,” said Peter. He paused at the front door to the building. “Actually, not the forest, anywhere but the forest.” He’d spent enough time in the forest today to last at least a year.

“Why not the forest?” Oh, shit, another lie, another lie.

“Uh, it’s almost summer, and the bugs are out in the city. Think of how bad they’ll be in the forest there,” said Peter. Shuddering at the thought of the awful bugs buzzing around the forest. God, he needed a shower.

“Ugh, you’re right. The beach, then.”

Peter nodded, even though his Aunt couldn’t see him. “The beach sounds awesome. Listen, I’m back home. Next time I’ll shoot you a text, so you know where I’m headed. You have a good rest of your shift.”

“I will, Peter. Say hi to Ned for me. I larb you.”

Peter sighed, she loved that joke. Ben had been the one to start it, and now every time she said it, it reminded Peter of him.

“Larb you too, May. See you tomorrow." He ended the call and climbed the steps two by two until he reached his apartment. Knocking on the door, not wanting to dig through his bag for his keys, he yelled into the apartment.

“Ned, I’m here, let me in,” Peter called. Inside, he heard his friend scrambling off the couch and over to the door. Seconds later, it opened, and Peter staggered inside. He dropped the box on the coffee table and his bag onto the floor. Then he collapsed onto the couch.

“So, what now?” asked Ned, sitting back on the couch.

“First, I’m going to take a shower. I have dirt in places that dirt should not be.” Ned snickered, and Peter grabbed a pillow off the couch and threw it at him. “Shut up, Ned, I’m serious. The city is smoggy and grimy, but the forest has bugs and dirt, and is hot and full of branches, and is awful. There better be something good in that box, otherwise I have suffered for nothing. Give me twenty minutes and we’ll crack it open.”

Ned nodded. “Sure, dude.”

Peter headed to the shower. As the hot water washed off the dirt and stresses of the day, Peter only had one thought on his mind.

What was in the box?

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – April 27, 2016

Peter strolled out of the bathroom, hair still dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist. The steaming water helped lessen his body's tension, but he was still nervous about whatever came next.

“Hey dude, give me a second, I’ll finish up,” he called. Ned turned around on the couch, and his jaw dropped open.

“Peter, when did you get abs?”

Peter glanced down. His stomach looked a little chiseled, but he wouldn't exactly call them abs. “I don’t know. I guess the spider bite did it?”

“Dude, a spider bite gave you abs!?"

“I mean, I burn through my food super-fast. And with all the climbing around and strength stuff I did the other day, I guess it could happen.”

“Man, I wish I’d gotten bitten by a radioactive spider,” Ned whined. Peter chuckled, ignoring the dark and painful memories of the weekend spent nearly dying from the spider bite as his body reconstructed itself. Ducking into his room, he toweled off the last of the water. Slipping into worn soft pajamas, he grabbed his favorite hoodie and left his room to find Ned examining the box.

“So, what did you do while I was gone all day?” Ned did his check-in to find out if Peter was alive and still on the move. They kept the calls short, hoping the battery would stretch longer. Peter's phone teetered on three percent when he plugged it in at the station. A very close call. 

“Well, at first I played video games, and then I got bored, so I grabbed the photos. Trying to see if every photo had the edits. They did. I found one a little different when I took the photos out of the album.” He grabbed a photo off the coffee table. “See, look at the back.” He handed it to Peter.

Peter turned over the photo, four numbers - 3476 - written on the back in neat handwriting. The same handwriting that wrote the coordinates, his mom’s.

“So what?” asked Peter.

“Look what the picture is.”

He turned over the photo, and on it was printed the same jewelry box from the items given to May. “I got suspicious. It’s the only photo with writing on it. So, I grabbed the jewelry box. I took all the stuff out of it, but when I shook it, I still heard movement inside.”

Peter glanced at Ned with wide eyes. “Secret compartment?”

Ned's smile widened. “Secret compartment. There was a false bottom.” His friend grabbed the box, sitting off to his side, and handed it over.

Peter flipped it open. With the bottom removed, a dial with numbers on it sat visibly. “I entered the numbers on the back of the photo, and lo and behold...” From his pocket, Ned produced a small key. “Inside was this. Now, I wonder where it goes?” The rusted metal box Peter found loomed ever larger.

Peter grabbed the key from Ned and reached for the box.

Ned's hand reached out to stop Peter. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Peter stilled, meeting Ned's eyes.

“I’m in too deep, Ned. If I stop now, I’m gonna wonder for the rest of my life why all this happened. I’ll never let it go; you know me better than that.” Ned sighed, holding his gaze a moment longer before nodding and removing his hand.

Peter grabbed the lock and placed the key in.

It fit.

“Oh my gosh, it worked,” whispered Ned. The butterflies in Peter’s stomach did barrel rolls, and Peter’s hands shook. He unhooked the padlock and, with unsure hands, opened the box.

There was a lot of stuff inside.

There was a lot of stuff Peter could have focused on.

But attention was immediately taken by–

“Peter, those are guns.”

At the top of the box sat two black handguns. Peter didn’t know shit about weapons, but he knew they looked scary and mean, and he didn’t want to touch them. He couldn’t look away from them, though.

Ned freaked the fuck out beside him.

“Oh my God, those are guns, those are guns, Peter. You know what? Abort, abort mission right now. Are they loaded? Oh God, do we have to touch them? I don’t want to touch them.” Ned rambled away. Peter reached inside the box and picked up the two guns.

Years ago, Ben gave him a safety lesson about guns. He even took Peter to a shooting range a couple of times. Ben was a decent shot on the force. He told Peter to never point a gun when you weren’t a hundred percent positive you wanted to shoot it. Peter kept his fingers away from the triggers.

The guns weighed heavily in his hands, but Peter couldn’t tell if they were loaded. Setting them aside on the table, he pulled his hands away as fast as he could. The clatter of plastic and metal against glass was enough to give Peter nightmares.

“Why the hell would guns be in here, Peter? They were scientists, right, Peter?” Ned kept rambling. Peter had no answers to give him.

“I don’t know Ned. I don’t think we know anything.” Peter grabbed the next few items out of the box. Flipping them open, he realized they were passports. Fake passports. From all over the world. Every single one containing a picture of his mom inside. Fake names and dates of birth.

Ned gasped, “Dude, look.” Underneath the passports was money. At least twenty stacks of different currencies from countries all around the world. Dollars, Euros, and Pounds were just the ones Peter recognized, but there were others from more countries that Peter didn’t recognize. There had to be over a couple of thousand dollars.

“What the hell?” whispered Peter. He gathered the stacks and placed them next to the passports.

“I don’t mean to be that person,” said Ned with a straight face. "But this is way too Jason Bourne. Peter, this is a lockbox for a spy. Dude, I think your mom and fake dad were spies.” 

“Shut up, Ned, we don’t know anything yet. She could have this stuff for a lot of reasons.” He cut Ned off when he tried to interject. “More reasons than them being spies. We haven’t even looked at half the stuff in here yet. No rash decisions until we’ve looked at all the evidence.”

Ned closed his mouth and nodded.

Peter grabbed the next item which was a black case with Velcro on the side. Opening the small case he found three vials of a mysterious red liquid, sloshing in the vials in a very blood-like manner.

“Dude, what the hell is that stuff?”

“No clue.” He placed down the black case, so as not to disturb the liquid. They weren’t two minutes into looking at the stuff in the box, and the number of Peter’s questions had already tripled.

The next object was a manila folder, containing long, complex equations he couldn’t even begin to make sense of. It was a whole stack of papers with notes on genetics. At least, Peter was pretty sure it was on genetics, at least from the cramped handwriting in the margins.

One by one, Peter and Ned pulled folders from the box. The name on all the files was R. W. Parker. They were filled to the brim with extensive lab reports and equations. Procedures on how to accomplish cross-species genetic testing. The technical jargon went straight over Peter’s head. Although he understood snippets here and there. Richard Parker had been close to combining the traits of animals with humans.

Peter rubbed the spot on his hand where the spider bit him.

Like a stain on a pristine shirt, there was one red file amidst a sea of manila ones. Peter grabbed that one out of the bunch. Distinctly thinner compared to the manila folders filled with notes. It took a minute of reading before he realized what it was.

A contract.

“Ned, look at this.” Ned put down a folder and peeked over Peter’s shoulder. The contract detailed an arrangement between Richard William Parker and Marianna Ivanov. Parker hired Ivanov to retrieve his important research on cross-species genetics after it had been stolen. And then kill whoever had been involved.

It was a contract for an assassination.

“Your fake dad hired an assassin,” said Ned. Peter's eyes scanned over the paper, taking in every word. He flipped over the page, finding another contract signed several months later. A protection deal. Marianna, now hired to pose as Richard’s wife while he finished his research.

“Who is Marianna Ivanov?” Ned asked. Peter read the paper again, trying to get the words on the page to make sense in his brain.

“An assassin, spy, or undercover operative? And a good one too. Look at the money Richard paid.” The number of zeros on the agreed-upon sum widened Peter’s eyes. Either Richard had been richer than Midas, or he’d been desperate.

“I guess their whole marriage was a front. Mary Parker was a fabrication. She existed to protect Richard as he finished his research,” said Peter.

Ned looked at his friend in alarm. “Peter, are you sure?”

Peter choked down the pain that came from ripping up the comforting lie he'd lived in his whole life. “Yeah, I’m sure, look at the contract.” He shoved the red folder into Ned’s hands. “See, it was a protection scheme.”

“Yeah, but from who?”

“I don’t know. The contract doesn’t say.” Peter glanced back at the first contract, hoping more details would be visible there. “It says, “… to retrieve the aforementioned research and procedures, from the offending parties who stole them…” nothing else.” Ned gave the folder back to Peter, who once again read the words. In the second contract, a small paragraph at the bottom caught his attention.

“… the continued occupation with and protection for the client, Richard W. Parker, rests on the agreed-upon condition of the presence of the unnamed child. The child was found within the bounds of the premier contract. The child will use the client’s last name and be declared as a family to all parties not under contract. The client will state under duress or otherwise that the child is his. The client will not attempt to harm, kill, impede, or abuse the child in any way, following the wishes of Marianna Ivanov, the contract holder,” Peter whispered out the words.

What. The. Hell.

“Peter, unnamed child? What does that mean?”

Peter’s mouth was dry.

“It means you were right. They found me.” He couldn’t believe the words written on the page. “Peter Parker is a cover story. A cover story that kept existing because the two people who created it died.” Peter’s voice was dead.

The shocked silence in his mind lifted, and a thousand thoughts rushed in all at once. His lungs couldn't draw in enough air, and every sound in the apartment and to the streets beyond echoed in his ears like a horrendous sound chamber.

Peter, futilely, tried to choke down air. Ned hovered next to him. His friend did his best to draw him out, telling him to slow his breathing and focus on the sound of his heartbeat.

It took longer than other panic attacks he'd experienced recently before Peter wrangled himself back to a shaky sort of calm.

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter whispered, grasping at his knees as his world still swam with uncertainty.

“Anytime, Peter. Are you good to keep going, or do you want to take a break?”

Peter shook his head and turned back to the box. “No, yeah, I’m good. Wallowing won't get us anywhere. Besides, Aunt May will be back early tomorrow, and then she and I are leaving for the beach. We need to finish this tonight, otherwise we won’t have another chance till the end of the week.”

Wary, but willing to go along, Ned nodded. “Okay, let’s keep going through the rest of this. There’s bound to be more, right? No assumptions without all the evidence.” He tried to smile. Peter couldn’t be bothered to respond. He picked up the next item, which was a rolled-up piece of cloth. It unfurled in his hand. Placed into tiny pockets were silver instruments.

“That’s a lock picker’s kit,” said Ned. Peter set it next to the other items. There was a black box, about the size of a shoebox. Peter picked it up next. Placing it on his lap, he opened the box and found a small note on top of the objects inside.

“‘For Peter – Here are all that remains of Marianna Ivanov’,” said Peter. He and Ned met each other's eyes, each thoroughly confused.

“Dude, did she know you would find this box?”

“I mean, I guess? I don’t know anymore, Ned.” Peter peered inside the box,and there wasn’t much inside.

On top was a small pair of ballet shoes, with a dark stain on the pink laces. He felt sick just looking at them, but he didn't know if that was from his spidey-sense or just his regular anxiety. 

“Dude, you alright?” asked Ned.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I think that's blood staining on the laces." Ned winced, and Peter moved them to the side and continued through the box. A small glass globe caught his eye; It was from the St. Basil Cathedral in Russia. Peter shook it, and the fake snow swirled and fell on the small recreation of Moscow. He placed the snow globe next to the shoes.

There were two other items in the box, the first was a picture.

It was a faded Polaroid. It showed a dance studio, the picture focused on a group of about twenty girls split into two rows. They were all different ages. Peter recognized Mary or Marianna. She stood on the sidelines, noticeably shorter than the other girls. They were dressed like ballerinas. Not a single girl smiled. On one side of the group loomed a man dressed in black. His face was utterly devoid of all emotion. On the other side was a woman, again dressed all in black. Her hair was slate grey and gathered into a bun. Unlike the man, her face showed emotion; disdainful, sternness. 

The whole picture triggered Peter’s Spidey-sense. Even more than the ballet shoes.

Turning over the picture, beautiful looped handwriting crossed the back.

B.W.P 1990 – Marianna Ivanov (13)

The other object was a small jewelry box. Peter flipped open the lid to find inside a necklace, silver and dainty. Hanging on the chain was a small spider pendant.

A Black Widow.

“Fuck…” whispered Ned. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the necklace. “Dude, is that a black widow? Does that mean she was a Black Widow? Can there be more than one Black Widow?”

“I think there were a lot of them,” said Peter, gesturing to the other girls in the picture. Peter spotted another small child in the front row with bright red hair. She couldn’t be older than ten, but to a dedicated fanboy like Peter, he recognized her.

“That’s Natasha Romanov. Right there in the front row,” whispered Peter with a touch of awe.

Ned leaned in and studied the picture for a second before breathing a sigh of disbelief.

“That’s it. We’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. We’re no longer in Kansas. We are staring at a picture of a group of Black Widows – the deadliest assassins in the history of the world. We should be in mortal danger for even looking at this photo.”

Ned plopped back against the couch. “So, Marianna Ivanov was a Black Widow. She was hired by Richard Parker to resteal his research about cross-species genetics. Then she killed whoever stole it and found you. She went back to Richard and became his wife, Mary Parker, as a cover for a protection scheme,” recounted Ned. “Does that cover everything?”

Peter nodded and turned his attention back towards the box.

There wasn’t much left inside. A couple more manila folders with more complicated-looking equations in them and a pair of knives. Peter put those next to the guns.

“Well, that’s it,” said Ned, looking at the empty box.

Peter couldn't help but feel a sting of disappointment. Despite the major revelations about Mary being a Black Widow and the exact nature of Richard's research, there hadn’t been any information about him. Sure, a quick line in the contract, but nothing else. 

He knew more about the people who were his fake parents than he did about himself. He wanted answers to his questions. How hard was that? Peter shook with frustration. He needed to scream, he needed to punch a wall, he needed to –

His stomach gurgled.

Jumping to his feet, Peter stalked over to the kitchen. Yanking open the refrigerator door, he grabbed jelly. Pulling the bread out of the bread box and the peanut butter from the pantry and he angrily constructed a sandwich.

He needed to focus on anything else. Other than the fact that, once again, he had more questions instead of answers.

Going through the familiar motions of making the sandwich, Peter's anger and frustration seeped out of him, leaving him bone tired. This day felt never-ending.

He walked back over to the couch where Ned sat, flipping through the folders. Not a single word had been spoken since they emptied the box of the last of its contents.

Peter, trying to avoid jostling Ned, stepped around him. He bumped his knee against the coffee table, which would be fine, had he not tripped over his own two feet. He crashed onto the coffee table. His plate and two sandwiches went flying out of his hands. Holding himself up, Peter managed not to knock anything on the table but did jostle the box.

Which clattered, as if it still contained objects inside of it.

Peter and Ned looked at each other.

“Secret compartment?” asked Ned.

“Secret compartment,” answered Peter. Picking up the plate that had clattered to the floor and the sandwiches, which were still in good condition. Sitting back on the couch, he dragged the metal box onto his lap. Shaking it again to confirm he heard right.

CLATTER, CLATTER, SWISH

Yep, the box wasn't empty, Peter was sure of it. Reexamining the inside, a loose seam indicated give between a false bottom and the box. With a little bit of applied super strength, the false bottom popped out, revealing a small space beneath. There were two objects hidden in the secret compartment. A folder and a tape recorder.

“Oh fuck, oh fucking fuck,” muttered Ned. Peter looked at the folder a second time, not blinded by the excitement of a secret compartment. On the folder was the emblem of a skull with many octopus legs coming out of it.

HYDRA.

The evil Nazi organization that infested the government and SHEILD. Black Widow and Captain America exposed it a few years back. Peter and Ned sat there, not willing to touch either object.

“You open the folder,” said Ned.

“No, you open the folder.”

“I said it first, and it’s your freaking box.”

“No, it was Marianna’s box.”

“Just open the freaking Nazi folder, Peter!”

“Fine. You are the worst, you know." Reaching for the folder slowly, as if it would jump out and bite him, Peter noticed, unlike the rest of the pristine manila folders, this one was battered and bruised with a little bit of what appeared to be burning at the edges. He picked up the folder and with bated breath he opened it.

The first page was a name and a number

Project Anima

Subject #76

Flipping over to the next page, Peter caught the date the file was started – March 16, 2005. With shaking hands, he read through the pages. This folder was about a child soldier program. He read how #76 showed promising signs and moved to become the number one candidate for the cross-species genetic tests.

That was all Peter needed before the puzzle pieces in his mind began to click together.

Flipping through the pages, he found pictures. They were shots of a boy no older than four. The boy was skinny, his hair messy and flat, his limbs were limp, and his face was devoid of all emotion. Peter still recognized him.

“Oh my God, that’s me,” he whispered.

“Peter, what the hell. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Ned. HYDRA must have gotten its hands on Richard’s research. They tried to design their cross-species, mutated kids. Marianna got hired to take it back and along the way, picked me up.”

“Okay, even if we set aside the fact you were experimented on – Peter, you were part of a Nazi program. Like dude, what the hell.”

Peter laughed, although it was filled with no humor, “Yeah, I don’t think a four-year-old can consent to be a Nazi, Ned. This is fucking ridiculous. This is what I get for wanting answers.” They divided the pages and started reading through the whole file.

Page after page, he and Ned went through. Unfortunately, it didn’t reveal too much more than Peter already guessed. It didn’t tell him how he’d gotten involved in the program. Yet, it did say he showed extreme intelligence even at an early age.

Then a note caught his eye.

“' Subject is responsive but mute. No sign of mental retardation.’ I didn’t talk to these bastards much back then.”

Ned laughed. “Yeah, can’t imagine that now. You're always mouthing off.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Sure, the gift of annoyance.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at Ned. Both boys ran out of paper, and they switched their attention to the recorder.

“I hope this works,” muttered Peter as he switched on the recorder. The crackle of air appeared before a quiet voice in a British accent sounded.

“This is Mary Parker recording on the 12th of October. Hello Peter darling, if you’re hearing this, that means something dreadful has happened to me. Unless I’m sitting right there beside you, laughing at how silly I must seem right now.” Marianna sighed, static spitting out of the tiny recorder before the sound of rustling fabric was heard.

“I suppose you must be confused about all that you have found today. I’m so sorry if I’m not here to explain it in person. I’ll do the best I can.”

“Peter, before anything else, I have to say – you must know what I did was to keep you safe. I love you more than the world, more than all the stars in the heavens above. I wish I could see you now. You must be so grown-up. I hope you’ve grown up. What I’m about to tell you may not be suitable if you’re not. If you aren’t, forget about what you’ve seen here, at least for a couple of years. Come back when you’re older and we’ll have our chat then. I won’t go anywhere, promise.” Her laugh rang out on the recording, clear as day. Peter’s chest tightened, and he paused the recording. He risked a glance at Ned.

“Are we adults?” Ned asked, eyes wide and mouth pressed together.

Peter, slowly, shook his head. “No, at least, not the kind she wants us to be. But I’ve gone too far to turn back now. If you don’t want to listen, I can do it -”

Ned clapped a strong hand onto his shoulder. “No way in hell, dude. I’m your best friend and your guy-in-the-chair. We do this together.” Once again, Peter was astonished at Ned. Where would he be if he didn’t have his friend helping him through this?

Peter pushed play again.

“I suppose it's best to start at the beginning. Although which beginning you want to hear I don’t know. If you’ve gone through the box, you’ve seen all I’ve left for you. Sorry for hiding it out of the way, the people after me, the people after Richard, and after you are tenacious. I couldn’t leave it out in the open.”

“I’ll tell my story the best I can, and then yours. I was born Marianna Ivanov. I had no mother and no father. At least none I ever knew. I was a trained assassin of the Red Room. Part of a program called the Black Widows. We were trained in the service of our country; much else is irrelevant. After the Iron Curtain fell, the Widows spread and took up jobs all around the world. Sometimes in the service of our motherland, sometimes as freelancers.

“I was a freelancer.

“I needn’t go into many details, but my work was dangerous and cruel. I was not a nice person. I don’t think I’m a nice person now. All I knew was what I was trained to do. And we were trained well.

"I was hired in the early 2000s by a scientist, Richard Parker, the man you grew up believing was your father. Please don’t judge him too harshly. He’s come to care about you as much as I have, but it took him a while to get there.

“He was a brilliant scientist hired by the CIA to work on cross-species genetics. They hoped to weaponize it. I won’t go into my thoughts on the subject. Richard is passionate and optimistic about his work. Needless to say, it fell into the wrong hands.”

There was a pause here for several moments. Peter and Ned held their breaths, waiting for the recording to continue.

“Well, I say fell. The information was passed along. If you are involved with the government or with an organization called SHIELD, I advise you to remain wary and suspicious of everyone around you. They are infested with a sect of Nazis from WWII called HYDRA.

“HYDRA acquired Richard’s work, and when he found out about it, he was beyond enraged. He hired me to get back his work and see that every person involved in the operation was taken out. I was all too eager to take the job. I thought it was simple work.

“Once I figured out who took the work, I realized 'simple' was the farthest thing about the entire operation. I could not single-handedly take down an organization like that. No one could.”

“Natasha Romanov did,” whispered Ned.

“Shush.”

“I infiltrated the group and learned what I could. Project Anima was a training program. They wanted to create child soldiers infused with animal DNA. Most of HYDRA’s projects seemed to revolve around recreating the perfect soldier: Captain America. By that time, the program went from over a hundred children to ten. These ten children were to be a new age of better HYDRA weapons. I was “hired” as a doctor to perform the initial procedure on the first child, you.

“You were the initial test child, Peter; they called you #76. You were their gem. I remember seeing you for the first time and thinking you were so tiny. How could you do what these people wanted? And then I saw you fight, even so small and so thin. I saw you answer any question they threw at you. I knew what your life would become if HYDRA got what they wanted. I lived that life.

“I wish I knew more about where you came from, but I’m afraid that even HYDRA didn’t know. I searched for your file; it should be with this recording. It didn’t contain much. They collected children from all over the world, mostly through the use of child kidnapping rings. Either the kidnappers didn’t bother to tell HYDRA who you once had been, or HYDRA didn’t bother to write it down, because I couldn’t find the information anywhere.

“Before the day of the operation, I found Richard’s research and destroyed all the copies. The day came, and the operation went forward. Every operative, every person in charge, and everyone involved in the project were there to watch. It was too perfect an opportunity. I filled the building with carbon monoxide and rigged it to explode, taking out everyone there.

“Including you.

Peter's breath hitched in his chest.

“But as I was leaving the facility, I turned back. God knows why. I couldn’t leave you there. You were so small and full of potential. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.

“In the Widow program, when we graduated, they took away the ability for us to bear children. I suppose to quash any maternal or soft instincts. I think that’s ridiculous, because the moment I dived back into a burning building to save a child I barely knew, I realized you can’t cut that out.

“By the time I managed to get back to the room, the smoke and fire had killed everyone. But you, you wonderful child, you were still alive. I carried you out and stood in the snow watching the rest of the building go up in flames, and wondered what the hell I was supposed to do next.

“That’s where Richard came in.”

Peter paused the recording and stood. The room echoed emptily, now that Marianna Ivanov's voice was silenced. He walked over to the window and gazed out onto the parking lot below. The sun dipped below the horizon, and overhead lights flickered above the parked cars.

Peter heard the soft chirp of a bird from across the street and took a deep breath.

“Peter, are you okay?” asked Ned. Peter didn’t respond. Staring out the window, breathing as calmly as he could.

“Turn the recording back on, Ned,” he whispered. Ned hesitated for a moment before reaching over and pressing play.

“Richard was pleased about the research and the successful decimation of the program. He was less pleased with you. I wanted to leave. My job was technically done. Richard wanted protection, as he was determined to finish his research and work with a reputable company to make it a reality. He wanted to hire me to pretend to be his wife; it wasn’t a bad idea.

“But he wanted nothing to do with you.

“That was where I stood my ground. My whole life, I had nothing to fight for, except myself. But now I had you.

“Needless to say, we both got what we wanted.

“It was the best decision for all involved, I think. You weren’t in the best condition after I saved you. Your poor eyes and lungs had suffered damage from the smoke and carbon monoxide. I needed an identity, you needed healthcare; Richard provided us with both. For months, we lived as the perfect little family in England, crafting a fake life and proof of that life.

“You didn’t speak for the longest time. It took months for you to even do anything more than stare at me with dead eyes. But the longer time went on, the more animated you grew, and the more in love I fell. Your favorite story was the Adventures of Peter Cottontail. You laughed at the little illustrations. I started calling you little Peter Cottontail, which evolved into calling you Peter.

“Over time, Richard grew to love you, too. I certainly think he does now. You talk a million miles a minute now and ask so many questions. He’ll sit there and answer everyone. As for the relationship between him and me... Well… we’re business partners taking care of a child. I would like to call us friends, although he may be more technical.

“You started talking, although you couldn’t remember anything about your time before us. You’d forgotten about the time you spent in the HYDRA facility. Richard finds it concerning, but I think it’s good you can’t remember. There are days when all I wish is for every memory of my childhood to vanish

“We moved back to America and got in contact with Richard’s family. Ben and May are sweet and will be wonderful guardians if anything happens to Richard and me.

There's a pause and a pained sigh, Marinanna's words becoming more choked as she spoke. 

“I suppose something has happened to Richard and me if you’re listening to this recording. A few weeks ago, I heard there was a copy of Richard’s work still going around. And the potential of a few scientists who hadn’t been there the night of the fire.

“Richard and I are leaving in a few days. Our cover story is for a late honeymoon. In reality, I’m going to track down these last few remaining loose ends. Richard keeps a digital copy of his work with him at all times, so I’ve prepared the only physical copy of Richard’s work for you to look through. If you’re listening to this, it means you found the clues I left for you. It means I’m dead. I hope I accomplished what I set out to do if I am.

“Peter, dear, I love you so much. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone. Please know that if I had a choice, I would have never left your side. You were the one thing in life I did right. I hope that you don’t hate me for it.

“Your loving mother, Mary.”

The recorder clicked off. Both boys remained silent as they took in all the information Marianna left for them to discover.

“Well, I wanted answers,” said Peter, as he walked back over to the couch. Curling himself up in the far-left corner, and looked at all the stuff on the coffee table. It was all that remained of a long-dead assassin and a brilliant scientist.

“I don’t even know what to say, Peter.”

“Neither do I.” Peter was so drained by what happened today. This morning, he’d been eating burnt bacon and pancakes, excited to find what waited for him. It seemed like forever ago. If he hadn’t already suffered a panic attack, he was sure he’d be having another one. He was too tired.

He paused, his mind rewinding through all the information he'd learned. A piece at the end stuck out in his mind a bit more than the other information.

“Their plane crashed six minutes after take-off. Richard and Marianna never even made it to where they were going.”

“Why’s that important?”

“Because it means whoever Marianna was after was never killed. That means there are people still out there who knew about the Anima program, who knew about me.”

Ned bit his lip. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch. It’s been ten years; I doubt anyone is still looking or even cares.”

“Ned, these people are insane. Remember, they buried themselves in SHIELD for decades until they were outed?” Peter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what to think. “We need to keep our mouths shut. I know I’ve said this before, Ned, but no one, and I mean no one, can know about this. This is not a tiny secret that causes a bit of embarrassment or slight punishment if revealed. If the wrong people learn about any of this,” he gestured to the contents splayed out on the table, “we could die. Or the people around us could die.”

Ned's face was the most serious Peter had ever seen it, as he nodded. “Sure, Peter. Sworn to absolute secrecy. I promise.”

Peter closed his eyes and tried to gain his bearings; he would be thinking about this for a long while.

“Peter, what about your birth parents?”

Peter opened his eyes to find his friend's face twisted with guilt and apprehension. “I don’t know, what about them? Marianna said she couldn’t find anything.”

Ned hesitated before opening his mouth, “She also seemed attached to you. How hard do you think she actually tried to look?”

Peter winced; Ned had a point. Peter didn’t want to think badly of the woman whom he called his mother. She saved his life after all. But she said he was the one thing that made her feel real, giving her a reason to fight and live. She might not have searched hard, or at all, for his birth family.

“Yeah, you might be right. But even if she didn’t - it’s been ten years. More than ten years. Would my birth family even be looking for me?”

“I know my mom and dad would.”

“They probably think I’m dead. It’s been a long time.”

“I think they’d still be looking for you.”

Peter didn’t know what to do. He finally found his answers, and he almost wished he didn’t. Nothing made sense now. He wasn’t a Parker; hell, his name wasn’t even Peter. His life was a bunch of lies stacked on top of one another. Peter, stupidly, pulled one little string, and everything came crumbling down around him.

God, he hated that fucking genetics project.

Would his real parents be looking for him? Would they want him back? Would they take him away from Aunt May? Fuck, he finished getting answers, and now there were more questions.

“I don’t remember. Not a memory, not a name, not even a country. Where would we even begin?”

“I can do research; there must be thousands of kids who search for their birth parents. There’s probably a manual online for this.” Ned paused. “Well, not exactly this, you know. I don’t think a ton of kids get kidnapped and sold to a Nazi organization, and-”

“Yeah, Ned, I get it,” Peter couldn’t suppress the small smile that spread on his face. Where would he be without his best friend to lighten the mood?

“Cool. Don’t stress, we’re in this together. We’ll figure this out. Besides, we have more important things to stress over, like exams and projects. And we still need to turn you into a superhero. If it helps, you have your whole tragic back story down pat.” Peter laughed as Ned continued to quip and joke.

Soon the mood lightened as the last of the items were put away and the box shoved under Peter’s bed. The rest of the evening was spent in good fun with video games and junk food, the revelations of the night firmly placed behind them.

Later that evening, Peter lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. Mind furiously swirling with every new revelation from the day. He now had answers, but a thousand new questions too. Where would he go from here? Peter didn’t have a clue. Thank God he had Ned’s help because without him, Peter would be up a creek without a paddle.

Settling down for sleep, his last thoughts wandered to his birth parents. Were they still out there looking for him, even all these years later? What would happen if Peter found them? Would they still want him? Would they still love him? He was a walking disaster, a total nerd, and, oh yeah, he had superpowers.

What kind of normal family would want him?

Chapter Text

Midtown School of Science and Technology - May 19, 2016

Peter sighed in relief at the utter silence encompassing him on his walk into the library. 

He shouldn't exactly be there, but since everyone else was suffering in the hell which was a school assembly, no one could call him out on sneaking away at the last second.  

School exams finished today, and everyone collectively breathed a sigh of relief—or dread, depending on how well they thought they did—as the weight and stress of the last several weeks lifted. Peter took his last exam that morning, an easy math exam - pi, pie... it was a joke... well, he thought it was funny - he finished with time to spare.

The pep rally was the school's attempt to keep the kids in A block busy while the kids in B block were still finishing their last exam. Peter originally followed his class, but when presented with the reality of hundreds of teens packed into an echo chamber, combined with squeaking linoleum floors, peppy chants, and adults wrangling the chaos with megaphones, it sounded like utter hell to Peter’s enhanced senses.

So, he slipped to the back of the room and high-tailed it out of there. 

He doubted anyone would notice in the chaos, and once the bell rang, ending the last series of exams, they would be done for the day. He felt pretty safe, all things considered. 

Slipping through the doors of the library, he hugged the walls and disappeared between the shelves to the back. Mrs. Numerman was pretty cool about letting students do their own thing in the library as long as people stayed quiet and respectful, but even she might have a hard time not sending him back into the messy fray of the pep rally if she found him here without a hall pass. Better to just not put her into that situation in the first place. With three more years to go, Peter didn't want to make an enemy out of her. Tucking himself into a hard-to-spot study table, grateful for the blessed silence, for once, Peter couldn’t help but reflect on the past few weeks.

After the shocking revelations during Spring Break, Peter didn’t know what to do with himself. The little bit of stability he collected crumbled away, sending him off-balance. Spiraling head-first into two more panic attacks before spring break even ended. 

He still didn’t know what to think about his parents. Or Marianna and Richard. They saved him from a fate worse than death – he couldn’t imagine being a weapon for HYDRA. But they lied to him. They lied to May and Ben. And now they were dead, leaving Peter to sort through all this himself.

Ben would know what to do. He'd break down the problem and lay it all out, and make the mess make sense. He made Peter’s problems feel manageable.

Peter knew beyond a doubt that Ben would still have loved and cared about him, even if he wasn't Richard's son. That's just the kind of person Ben was.

But he couldn’t know.

Because Ben was dead.

And it was Peter’s fault.

Peter pushed away the grief.  Going down that train of thought never led to anything good. He didn’t want a panic attack in the library.

The small vacation May suggested never happened. A sixteen-car pileup on the bridge between Queens and Manhattan happened the night Peter and Ned worked through the box Marianna left for him. May didn’t even arrive home until three in the afternoon the next day; immediately falling asleep the second she hit the bed. Peter felt sorry for her, but at the same time, he was so wrapped up in his turmoil. Peter couldn’t help but feel they were drifting apart. And he couldn't do anything to stop it.

It sucked.

School resumed, and the teachers pushed harder than ever for their exams.

Way too distracted with his whole life falling to pieces around him, Peter didn't put any effort into studying.

Which was a mistake. 

He almost failed a math quiz, barely scraping by with a low C. The red pen marks across the paper sliced into his chest. For all that his problems ranked far higher on his list of priorities, Peter prided himself on his grades. Plus, the last thing May needed was a phone call from the school.

After that blaring wake-up call. Peter tried his best to pull himself out of the misery-induced spiral. Focusing on school and exam review for a few weeks. He needed to ensure his grades remained top-notch for him to keep his scholarship.

Now more than ever, he couldn’t place the burden of his schooling on May’s shoulders.

His sleep schedule was still screwed up. Peter became used to lying awake in bed every night. When he finally fell asleep, he only stayed that way for a few hours before waking from nightmares.

Drowning in blood gushing from Ben’s wounds.

Running, trapped in a building with endless corridors. With the sound of tiny legs tapping against cages in the distance.

Waking from the intense heat of a fire and a burning in his lungs.

Other times, he woke with tears streaming down his face. He never remembered why, but he always felt sad and empty the next day.

He hated those the most.

Peter did the only thing he could to work past it. He avoided sleep and distracted himself with science. He spent most of the time working on his gear. He was already on his second version of web fluid. He’d spent several weeks borrowing the materials necessary to make everything. The chemistry teacher must have been confused about why those specific chemicals needed replacing every week.

Peter also made his costume to hide his identity. He was pretty proud of it. It wasn’t anything high-tech, but it was the best he was going to do on a budget.

The suit's base consisted of a light blue pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Underneath, he wore both knee pads and elbow pads. He didn’t think he needed them. But until he was comfortable swinging around, he wanted to include all the extra protection he could. He found a pair of red boots with great tread, which made them perfect for climbing walls. On top was a sweatshirt was a red hoodie he had cut the sleeves off of.

He had a little too much fun with black fabric paint he, uh, borrowed from the art department. On the hoodie's front, he had painted a black spider.

His mask was made out of an old morph suit; Peter cut the eyes out. He'd inserted a pair of swim goggles, retrofitted with reflexive paneling. It helped hone his senses and blocked out unnecessary stimuli.

To finish off, he had his web shooters, with several vials of fluid, all attached in a rather ingenious design, situated on his wrists for ease of access. To top it all off was a pair of dark red fingerless gloves. He couldn’t make his sticking power work without a point of contact. All in all, he thought it wasn’t a half-bad job for under $30.

Speaking of money, Peter counted the different currencies in the lockbox and counted them. There was over $4000 in U.S. money alone. All in all, he had over $20,000 in different currencies from all around the world. Peter wasn’t sure if the money was real or fake, so he didn’t want to use it too often. But he would whenever he didn’t want his Aunt to know about what he was doing, or when he felt guilty asking her for money.

Peter and Ned also had his debut as Spider-Man planned out. They would wait a day or two once school let out, and then Peter would patrol on the nights May had a double. When May was home, he wouldn’t patrol.

Peter hadn’t been happy with this. He wanted to go patrolling every night. But Ned had talked him out of it. It boiled down to two things.

One, if his Aunt woke to find him gone, he’d be screwed. And two, if he patrolled every night, he wouldn’t have enough web fluid to last him the whole summer. And once he was out, he was out until school started in August.

“Hey Parker,” whispered a voice. Peter jumped, startled from his train of thought, his eyes focused, finding Michelle Jones seated across from him, a large book in hand.

He hadn't sensed her coming. 

He didn't even notice when she sat down.

“Uh, where the hell did you come from?" Peter whispered back in shocked surprise. Peering around the girl at the empty library aisle, which hid him well, but offered a full view of anyone approaching. Peter berated himself for not noticing her approach.  He should have noticed her approach. 

Why didn't he? 

Michelle shrugged, piercing him with a deadpan stare. "The poor decision-making of my parents in the early 2000s." 

"That's not- but, how..." Peter stuttered, before realizing he couldn't exactly ask how she appeared near silently so as not to set off his powers. Blowing out a breath of air, he centered himself. "Never mind. Why are you here?" 

Again, the same deadpan stare, except this time her mouth twitched in the vague direction of a smile. "Escaping the hell that is the propaganda rally, same as you, Parker. Come on, ask some innovative questions for once." 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he's not sure how the serious girl would take a gesture like that. Regardless, he asked, "How are you, then?" 

Michelle leaned back in her chair and leveled him a look that at best read, 'finally, a question worth answering,' and, at worst, read, 'cheeky, but lazy, D- for effort there, Parker.' “Not bad. Exams are finished, which means I can sleep again. You?”

“Same,” responded Peter. The girl scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Parker, if you lost one inch of sleep to school, I’ll eat my sketchbook. You’re by far the smartest kid in our grade.”

“Well, uh… thanks, Michelle.”

She nodded and pulled her sketchbook out of her bag. “So, do you have any plans for this summer?”

Ugh, Peter hated this question. Whether he liked it or not, he was a scholarship student. He wasn’t like Flash or any number of other kids. He and May didn’t have the money to go jetting off to exotic locations. For the last week, it had been the nonstop talk of which cruise, which country, or which island everyone was spending their vacation on.

He was sick of it.

“No,” he said curtly. “I’m staying home and doing nothing.” There, make someone else feel bad about asking invasive questions for once. Michelle raised an eyebrow.

“No need to get snarky with me, Parker. I’m doing the same.”

Peter sighed in frustration, of course. Now he came off like an ass.

“Sorry, I’ve heard that question way too many times this week. May has a new training course she has to do on top of her normal work hours. Which means I won't see her at all this summer.” May took him out the night before and explained the new policies being instituted. The hospital paid for the training, but it would be a huge drain on May’s time.

Peter smiled and said he was okay with it.

He would be okay with it.

“So, you’re going to be alone too.” She wasn’t looking at him, but it sounded like she understood what he was going through.

“I guess. Are your parents going somewhere?” Her pencil froze, and she didn’t move for a moment. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

She sighed, looking up with a half-bored half half-bland look that left Peter guessing at what she was actually thinking. “No, it’s fine. My parents fuck off to Asia for the summer. They leave me with my aunt and uncle. They’re cool with me doing whatever, so I’ll be fitting in a couple of art museums and protesting.” She paused. “My uncle runs a dance studio over in Hunter’s Point, so I’ll spend a good bit of time there too.” Michelle’s eyes lingered for a moment before darting to her sketchbook again. Peter perked up at that. A dance studio? His thoughts trailed over to the conversation he and Ned had back in April.

“Oh, that’s cool. I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance.” Peter wanted to smack himself in the face. Why had that come out of his mouth? That was a total lie. He’d only ever thought about dancing as a way to not be such a total klutz. His powers helped him a bit, but they didn’t make him immune to his unusual amount of bad luck.

“Really?” asked Michelle, surprise coloring her voice.

“Yeah, totally,” responded Peter with a shaky smile. Oh well, this was his life now. “How long have you been dancing?” Michelle narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Since I could walk. What kind of dance are you interested in learning?” Peter was panicking now; he hadn’t thought this through at all. Michelle was in the top five smartest kids in class. She would see through him in a moment. Peter searched his brain for the name of a type of dance.

“Uh… I’m interested in just about anything. But I guess…” In his mind’s eye, the picture of Marianna lined up in the dance studio and the ballet shoes flashed through. “Ballet. I’ve always wanted to do ballet.”

Michelle looked at him, tilting her head, sizing him up. “Ballet is hard to learn; extremely physically demanding if you want to do it right. But you do have the right body type for it. You really want to learn how to dance, Parker?” This time, she sounded more believing.

“Yeah, I do. My mom knew how. I kinda wanted to, you know, do something to be closer to her.”

Michelle's face softened a smidge, and she nodded as if making up her mind. She reached for her bag and pulled out a card.

“Here. The studio offers introductory ballet classes on Tuesday and Friday nights from five to seven.” The card had the studio's name embossed in metallic purple and an address.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can afford it.” Dance classes had to be pretty expensive, and he wasn’t going to ask May for money on something like this. It could be used for food or rent, or to make sure the car didn’t break down. He also didn’t want to use the lockbox money. If it was fake, he didn’t want to give it to Michelle’s uncle.

Michelle scoffed. “I said it was my uncle’s studio, loser. I’m the one who teaches those classes, you can come.” Peter held the card in his hand and looked at Michelle in shock.

“Uh, thanks, Michelle.”

She waved her hand and looked back at her sketchbook. “Yeah, whatever, just make sure you show up. It’ll be nice to count on a guy being there. Few boys want to learn to do ballet. The classes start next week.”

Peter nodded. “Well, I’ll make sure to be there.” He could do this. Besides, it would be nice to know Michelle a little better.

How hard could dancing be?

Midtown School of Science and Technology – May 20, 2016

Okay, so learning how to dance was going to be hard.

Peter spent the whole night online looking at different types of dance videos. He was coming to regret his big mouth. He knew there was no way he was going to be able to back out of this. At least not without pissing off Michelle for the rest of their entire school career.

He was stuck with learning how to dance.

Eh, he could be in worse situations.

Finally, the last bell rang, and everyone scrambled out of their seats. Mr. Palmer unenthusiastically wished them a good summer. Peter headed to his locker and pulled out the last of his things. He wasn’t sad to leave for the summer. Slamming his locker door with finality and denting it a little too much, he headed for the school's doors. Finally glad to be rid of the place for a couple of months.

“Hey, Peter!" a familiar voice called. Peter turned around to see Ned shoving the last of his books into his backpack and speed-walking through the fast-thinning crowd of kids. 

"Hey dude," Peter replied, slamming his locker shut, with maybe just a little too much strength. The metal dents as the lock latches shut, and both he and Ned wince at the now slightly broken locker. 

Ned waved it off and hooked his arm around Peter's shoulder. "It's fine, it's fine. Let's just... move along and not be here." 

"Yeah..." Peter said, wincing in exasperation. Damn it, he thought his control over his abilities was getting better! "It's finally summer, let’s focus on the good things. Like patrol on Sunday.” He dipped his voice low and soft at the end. Nobody was paying attention to them, but they were still in the middle of a school hallway. Better safe than sorry. 

“Yeah, about that…” Ned trailed off with a guilty-looking face. 

“What?”

“I can’t come.”

“Why not?”

Ned sighed, hiking his heavy backup higher up onto his shoulder as they finally left the building. “My brother flew in from California. He’s here until Thursday.”

“And there’s no way your mom won’t let you come over for one night?”

“No, she’s trying to stuff in as much family bonding as she can.” He hesitated before continuing. “And Thursday, we leave for Hawaii.”

“Hawaii? I thought you were vacation-less like I was?” Peter couldn’t believe his summer plans were falling apart.

“It’s not my fault. Some great, great aunt died, so everyone’s making the effort to go home. We're trying to do a quasi-funeral slash reunion. Last-minute dude, like my mom just booked the tickets.”

Peter sighed in frustration, but he couldn’t be too mad at his friend. There was nothing he could do. “That sucks.”

Ned shrugged. “It is what it is. You’ll keep me updated, though?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you updated while you're relaxing in a beach chair, halfway around the world.”

Ned smiled and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

Peter stuck out his tongue in retaliation, and they laughed all the way to the bus station.

The Parker’s Apartment – May 22, 2016

With school over, Peter felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. School was boring, loud, and generally unpleasant. He couldn’t wait until college, maybe there he'd finally learn things he hadn’t memorized three years earlier.

Whatever, summer break was here, and he was ready to enjoy it to the fullest. 

It was Sunday night, May was gone, and wouldn’t be back until noon on Monday.

Peter was dressed and ready to go on his first patrol.

Well, "ready" was a relative term. As Peter put on his costume, his nerves made his hands shake, and he had a hard time keeping his breathing calm. He didn’t know if he was nervous or excited, or a combination of both.

Picking up his phone, he placed it in his pocket and went over to his bedroom window. Opening it up, he scaled the apartment building's walls. He wasn’t too afraid of anybody seeing him. It was almost eleven at night, and the cameras placed around were all fake. He was invisible. Once he made it to the top of the building, he called Ned.

“It’s so unfair you’re doing this without me, Peter. I’m supposed to be your guy in the chair!” That was the first thing Ned said once he picked up.

Peter laughed. “Sorry, Ned, I’ve waited long enough. I’ll keep you updated, though.”

“How late are you going to stay out?”

“Don’t know yet.” Peter plotted out in his head where he wanted to go first. “How late are you planning on staying up?”

“I’ve got a raid scheduled in ten minutes, and we’ll be grinding for a while, so probably two am.” Peter nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, sounds good enough for the first time, unless I find a lot of people needing help tonight.”

“Call me if you need anything. You’re fully stocked, right?” Ned referred to the medical kits he and Peter bought for their houses. They were in case anything happened to Peter while out on patrol.

They both avoided the conversation of what would happen if he really got hurt, though.

They could cross that bridge if it happened. 

He and Ned spent hours this past month conjuring every conceivable scenario and trying their best to prepare Peter for it. He watched fighting videos on YouTube and learned how to properly throw a punch without breaking his fingers. He’d spent a few nights hanging outside the window of a boxing studio watching people go at it, coaches giving advice.

Peter didn’t want to have to fight anyone. That’s what the webs were for. In fact, with his strength, if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up breaking somebody’s spine. Which was the last thing he wanted. Yet, if worse came to worst, he’d best be prepared. Plus, it kept his mind off of other… less pleasant things.

“Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to use any of it yet. Have fun on your raid.”

“Have fun on patrol.” Peter clicked end call, aimed his web shooter, and shot off into the streets below.

He’d been practicing as much as possible with his web shooters over the last month, between studying for exams and making his equipment. But this was the first time he’d been out on the streets at night. Peter stalked from building to building, and he flipped and soared through the air. It was fantastic.

He was getting the hang of everything when his ears picked up the first sounds of trouble, an argument in an alleyway. Suppressing a smile, someone was in trouble, after all. Peter swung his way over to the top of a building. It was right above where the argument was happening, fifteen feet below.

“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt, so give me your money, phone, and keys, and I’ll be on my way,” said one guy. From above, the glint of a knife flashed in the lamp light. A wave of fear washed over Peter, but it paled to the adrenaline.

Peter couldn’t see the other guy's face, but he was sure the man was scared. Crawling down the wall, he stopped when he was in range. He waited until the criminal lunged. Peter shot a web at him and pinned the hand with the knife to the wall. Flipping off the building, he shot another web, so the other hand was trapped to his side.

“Yeesh, Mr. Criminal, there are politer ways to say hello,” said Peter. He backflipped back onto the building. He wanted to be as far away from this dude as possible.

“What the fuck! What the hell did you do to me?” The criminal yelled. The other man had moved out of the way and was watching with wide eyes.

“Tsk, tsk, your vocabulary could use a little expanding. Not all four-letter words are ubiquitous; try adding some colorful adjectives in there.” One hand was still stuck to the wall, but the man twisted around to see Peter on the building. He tried lunging but was held back by his hand stuck to the wall. Once Peter had a better shot, he webbed the other hand to the wall.

Peter turned his attention to the guy he’d saved.

“You in one piece?”

The guy sputtered. “You… uh… ya talkin’ to me?”

“Yeah, Stabby McStab Face didn’t nick ya did he?”

“No, no I’m good.” Peter could see the man's wide eyes, and he figured it must be pretty weird talking to a guy kneeling on a building. He dropped to the ground.

“Cool, then could you call the police? That stuff will dissolve in an hour.” The other man nodded his head. “See ya then.”

Shooting a web to the top of the building, he catapulted himself out of sight.

“Thanks, weird spider kid,” the man yelled. Peter popped his head back over the building.

“It’s Spider-Man.” He ran across the building and flipped to the next one. For a couple of minutes, he bounded away until he was sure he was out of sight.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, that was so cool!” Peter whispered to himself. He couldn’t help but do a little dance as the adrenaline flooded his system. His first act as a superhero was stopping a mugging. This was so cool!

He wasn’t sure where the quips came from. He remembered talking with Michelle. Thinking she was so cool to have a quick and snappy response to everything. A superhero had to be confident and sure of themselves. Peter was anything but confident. Spider-Man though…

Spider-Man could be everything Peter couldn’t. Bave and confident, cocky and sure of himself. Spider-Man flipped around and did tricks. He was helpful, someone to be admired. He wouldn’t be pushed around or bullied. Spider-Man could be a hero.

Something Peter Parker, or whoever the hell was, could never be.

A few minutes later, he found a building to perch on. It was above a busy intersection, and he wanted to see if he could listen in on conversations and follow them through a crowd. Peter thought it would be a useful tactic to have during a panic attack if he drowned out the other noises bugging his senses.

An hour turned into two, which turned into three. He stopped a drunken fistfight from spiralling out of hand. Leaving perpetrators tied up until an Uber arrived, and then sending them home. They started singing drinking songs and were nice guys. As long as they weren’t fighting over which sports team was the best.

Running around was tiring, though, and Peter grew hungry. Ned and he would have to readjust his calorie intake once they figured out how much he expended doing this whole superhero gig. At about one in the morning, he stopped by a late-night donut shop and grabbed a pastry or two. The cashier didn’t even look phased at his costume.

This was New York after all.

Swinging his way back over to his apartment building in Astoria. Along the way, his Spidey-sense tingling, and he looked around for any signs of danger. All he spotted though, were a few people walking through the streets. About to go on his way, he took a second look and saw two women walking away from a pissed-off-looking man.

Ah, that’s the trouble.

From the rooftops, he watched as the women walked to wherever they were headed, and the man followed them at a distance. At one point, he looked like he was going to corner them in an alleyway, and Peter had had enough. Dropping behind the man, he shot a web to his left hand and attached the man to a lamp post. His loud yell caused the ladies to turn around and stop in shock.

“Mr. Creeper, dude, I don’t think I’m alone when I say harassing people is Not Cool. So, I’m gonna give you a little alone time to think about what you’ve done. Don’t worry, the webbing will dissolve in an hour.” He walked away from the man as the guy shouted profanities at him. Peter approached the ladies, who were more like teens, and checked to see if they were alright.

“Ladies, how are you doing this evening?” Peter tried to make himself seem as small and nonthreatening as possible.

“Uh…” said the braver of the two teens. Her friend was hiding behind her.

“Sorry about Mr. Creeper back there, he’s not going to be bothering you anytime soon. Would you like an escort home?” Peter didn’t know the best way to help the girls and decided to let them make a choice.

“Thanks for taking care of him, but we’ll be fine,” the first girl said, finally finding her voice.

“Alright then, ladies, get home safely.” Peter shot a web to a building and scurried out of sight. He still heard the creep yelling to let him free. Although the girls said they didn’t want an escort, Peter stayed out of sight until he watched both of them walk up the steps to an apartment.

Checking his phone, it was closing in on two in the morning. He ran and flipped across rooftops, deciding to end it here. Tonight had been a great first patrol. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything big. Like saving people from aliens or stopping international terrorists, but that wasn’t the important thing. Every day people, living everyday lives, and in a city like New York, those lives came with a little bit of danger.

If Peter helped, even a bit, those people might be a bit better off. And what did it cost Peter? Nothing. Just some sleep, a bit of time, and energy.

With his apartment building insight. He pulled out his phone and called Ned as he landed on the rooftop.

“Hey dude, I was just about to give you a call. How did the patrol go?”

“It was awesome, Ned. I stopped a mugging and an alley brawl, and saved two ladies from being followed home by a creep. And Ned, running across rooftops only to swing me away at the last second. It feels like flying. I’m so hyped right now. I feel like I could do this forever.” Peter beamed underneath his mask.

“Oh man, I’m so jealous right now. You really saved people?”

“Yep, the first thing I did was stop a guy from stabbing someone over a wallet. I even told him the name was Spider-Man.”

“And you aren’t hurt or anything?”

“Nope. Not a scratch on me. I am starving, though. I’m gonna head inside and make myself something to eat. Have a great night, I’ll talk to ya later.

“Yeah, you too.” Peter ended the call and climbed through the window. Standing in his bedroom felt like leaving the fantastical behind to return to normal. A giddiness ran through Peter. He removed his costume and stored it in his attic crawlspace that May never entered. Changing into a pair of pajamas, he went to the kitchen and made himself pasta to eat.

Afterward, he returned to his room feeling exhausted. He couldn’t help but think back to the look and the guy's face in the alleyway, or the two girls. Sure, it hadn’t been big, but what he’d done made a difference to them. He felt as if he’d finally found what he was meant to do.

For the first time in weeks, when Peter crawled under his covers, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The Parker’s Apartment – June 6, 2016

Peter shouldn’t have been out tonight.

He knew he shouldn’t have been out tonight. May was home. It went against his rules, but he was bored, and people out there needed saving, and Ned was in Polynesia for three more days. Never did two and a half weeks last so long. Peter had no one to talk to and nothing to do. At least school was sort of distracting. Now all Peter was left with was his guilt, his million-mile-a-minute brain, and an insatiable need to help people.

So, he was out patrolling.

Sue him.

At about two in the morning, he knew he should call it quits. His eyes drooped in the heated summer air. Despite the thousands of sounds and distractions of the city, his brain was fuzzy and tired. Though that might be because he’d been out until four in the morning the night before.

His sleep schedule had long given up and packed its bags for greener pastures.

Flipping onto the apartment rooftop, Peter stumbled for a second, as his vision swam. He scaled the walls into his bedroom. Greeted by the comfortable familiarity of his room, he removed his costume. Hiding it in its customary place, he changed into pajamas. After, he creaked open the door to sneak into the kitchen and grab a late-night snack. Peter padded into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and an energy bar he had hidden in the rarely used baking cabinet. He stood there eating his small snack and threw away the wrapper immediately into the trash. He didn’t want to chance May seeing the wrapper if he left it in his room. Peter placed his empty water glass next to an unclean wine glass in the sink.

He was too distracted thinking about the outcome of his patrol, so he didn't listen too closely as he came in. But on his way back to his room, to hopefully catch sleep for a few hours, he heard a noise he’d grown painfully familiar with.

Aunt May was crying.

Peter stopped by his door as his enhanced hearing couldn’t help but pick up the gut-wrenching noise.

No way in hell would Peter sleep now.

Two months had passed since Uncle Ben died, and Peter was… still not doing too great. He’d avoided the suggested talks with the school counselor. Silence and stunted answers proved effective enough to sigh, give up, and send him back to class. Every new piece of information he learned about his past had been a welcome distraction, if not very upsetting. But in the dead of night, when he was alone with his thoughts, his mind would turn back to that night and play it over again and again. Imagining every scenario where Ben could have lived.

Patrol only served to fuel his grief. It strengthened the conviction that if Peter hadn’t been selfish and cowardly, he could have stopped the guy with the gun. But it was also the only thing that made him feel any better.

Standing in the dark hallway, Peter still felt like a coward. May wasn’t doing well either. She was always busy. Adjusting to an insanely busy schedule, and now had more to do on top of that with the new training program. Stressed and tired, every so often, a night like this happened, and she would sob into her pillow. Peter often spent those nights doing the same thing.

He wished he could go to May to get a hug and the reassurance that everything would be alright. That this sick, empty feeling would go away, and he could live without feeling like something was missing. But May didn’t deserve to have to deal with his pain on top of hers.

Peter knew he couldn’t; there was nothing he could say or do to bring Ben back. Nothing would fix May’s problems with a wave of a hand.

He went to open his bedroom door. He hesitated. Turned. And went down the hall instead.

Standing outside his Aunt’s door, he heard her cries taper off, and once again, he thought he should go back to his room. He rubbed away his tears and ruffled up his hair to make it look like he’d crawled out of bed. Then he opened the door.

May’s room was dark, but Peter could still see. Peter didn’t have night vision per se, but it was better than whatever he'd had before. He spotted where her bed was and the outline of his aunt.

“May…?” Peter called out, trying to make his voice sound as sleepy as possible. His aunt whipped around in the darkness.

“Peter?” she responded out, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” she sniffled, and then the room flooded with light. Peter blinked his eyes. May turned on her bedside lamp and tried straightening herself out like she hadn’t been crying.

“Sweetie, what are you doing up so late?” she asked, her voice clearer. Peter hesitated; he could make up a silly reason, and they’d both know he’d be lying. Or he could call her out on her sadness. He crept into the room a little more, still blinking away the light spots.

“I… woke up to grab a drink. I heard you crying and wanted to see if you were all right.” May looked at the bed and didn’t look him in the eye.

“I’m alright, Peter, it’s just… I, uh…” she trailed off.

“It’s okay to be sad. May. You don’t have to hide it from me,” comforted Peter. Sitting on the side of the bed, he tried being strong. If he could swing around as Spider-Man and stop crime, then he could support his aunt through her pain. If she didn’t know how much he was hurting inside, too, how much pressure was weighing on him, then maybe she would open up to him. If he could relieve her pain, if only a bit, it would be worth being silent

“I should say that stuff to you, Peter. It’s not your job to help me through my problems.”

“Yeah… but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me either. We’ve… we only have each other now and-” Peter stopped speaking as a choke stole his breath away. The tears returned to his eyes. Damn it, Peter, you’re supposed to be stronger than this…

“Oh, honey, come here.” Two hands reached for his shoulders, and he maneuvered himself onto the bed. Curling up against May, who rubbed at his back.

“God, Peter, you’ve been so strong. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with all this.”

“N-no, May you lost Ben. Then your job promotion happened, the money and bills, and everything else, and what I’m going through is nothing-”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, don’t you say another word,” snapped May. “Trying to compete against each other with who is hurting more makes us nothing but miserable. Both of us are grieving, and that’s okay.” She adjusted him so that he lay in her arms like he used to when he was a small child. May was the one who was always there with a smile and a joke. She knew when to offer a kind word or to listen. She had been his and Ben’s rock these past years. It hurt to see her so sad now.

“Like you said, sweetie, we only have each other. So, we’ve got to stick together. I know things right now are hard, I’m so sorry you’ve been alone these past few months.”

“That’s not true, I’ve had Ned and school, and-” Peter couldn’t exactly tell her about his superpowers or his complicated past. Not without freaking her out.

But, god, wouldn’t it be nice…

“No, no, those are distractions. Although I’m glad you hang out with Ned, it’s good to have a friend you can rely on.” Peter nodded. “You know you can rely on me too, right? Whatever you're going through, you can tell me.” Peter paused; did she suspect something? He knew he hadn’t been perfectly secretive the whole time, but he thought he’d hidden patrol and his powers pretty well.

The familiar feeling of exhaustion swept through him. It was as intense as the first time when he’d decided to tell May and Ben. Keeping secrets from May was exhausting. The little voice in the back of his head, the one that sounded like Ned, told him he should tell May everything.

He opened his mouth…

“You’ve kept yourself strong even when I haven’t been on top of my game. It has been hard for me, but the only way things are going to be alright is if we trust and support each other.” Another feeling crept up on Peter. Guilt. He should have told her already. He should have told them the night at the table. He should have told May the day after the funeral, or when she told him about his parents. Any of the various opportunities he’d had in two months.

But he hadn’t.

And now he felt like his mouth was shut.

Between the weight on May's shoulders from trying to stay afloat, the amount of time it'd been since he’d gotten his powers, and the fact it was his fault Ben had died, he just couldn’t tell her. It was like he told Ned, if he was adult enough to have all this stuff happen to him, then he was adult enough to handle it. It wasn’t like he needed to go run to his aunt to get her to fix his problems for him.

“Yeah, May, I know. If I’m having problems, I’ll tell you. But I’m good. Still sad, but good. I just really want a hug right now.” May’s face melted into an understanding smile. And Peter almost convinced himself the redness of her face wasn’t from the crying. She leaned in and wrapped him in a big hug.

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” she asked. Peter hesitated but gave a nod. Even if he couldn’t get rid of the crushing weight of his problems, he still wrapped himself in May’s arms in her big bed (it was too big; there should be two people) and slept. He used to do it when he was younger. Peter would crawl between his aunt and uncle when he was frightened or wanted to be around others.

May clicked off the light, and they settled into bed. Peter closed his eyes and tried to drive away the lingering feelings of guilt. Things would look better in the morning. He and May would be fine.

They had to be fine.

Hollanday Dance Studio, Hunter’s Point – June 7, 2016

Peter showed up at the brick building that housed the dance studio. It was a while until class began, but he wanted to get into the dance clothes May bought for him.

After the emotional disaster that was the night before, May took them out for breakfast. Peter felt a little bad; they could have cooked breakfast at home after all, but getting to spend time with May was nice.

She asked him about when Ned would return and if they had any plans. Peter told her an edited version of what they planned to do for the rest of the summer. Because, you know, Spider-Man. She also asked how his dance thing was going. Peter blushed and muttered about drill instructors and pink tulle. May had laughed all the way back to the car.

Last week he’d gone to the dance classes on Tuesday and Friday. Michelle was right about boys not wanting to learn ballet; he’d been the only one. The rest of the class was eight-year-old girls decked out in tutus and pink ballet shoes.

Peter showed up in jeans and sneakers.

When May discovered how underdressed he was, she took him to the thrift store after breakfast to buy him proper dance clothes. After, they went to the dance store, and, despite his protests, bought him real dance shoes. Peter felt bad about the money, but May shut him down and told him to enjoy himself.

So, standing in the bathroom of the studio, Peter looked himself over and tried not to feel out of place. He wore a grey polo, black leggings - instead of tights - and thin black socks with black ballet shoes. He was nervous, but not as much last week. He had enjoyed the class, although he felt silly being so out of place. It helped that Michelle was his age, instead of an older teacher.

Michelle was a good teacher. He thought she would be harsh and cynical with the rambunctious girls, like she was with all the idiots at school. But she wasn’t. She explained all the steps to everyone, many times if necessary. She didn’t yell. And it seemed like she genuinely enjoyed dancing. At the beginning of their first class, she did a dance to show off what she could do.

And boy, could she dance.

Peter was amazed as Michelle flowed from one movement to the next. He clapped along with the girls when she executed several turns in a row. It was impressive. She then got them started on barre work, which Peter immediately disliked. Michelle's cool music playlist only made it marginally more tolerable. 

All in all, Peter was excited to continue. Leaving the bathroom, he entered the main dance room with all the mirrors and bars. No one was there yet, but he figured he should stretch. Michelle had shown the class how to do a few simple stretches last week. Peter knew all those and more from his warmup regime when he went out on patrol.

It wasn’t long before the room filled with chattering little girls. Michelle wasn’t in yet, so he encouraged them to start warming up. Helping them into the right positions and checking they were held for long enough. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Michelle arrived looking put off and flustered. She paused at the door to see him leading the stretches. Peter swore he spotted a brief smile cross her face before it disappeared.

“Sorry, I’m late, everyone. Thank you for listening to Peter and getting started on your warmups. If I’m not here or get called away, he’s in charge. Alright?” After receiving an affirmative answer from the girls, she began class.

A few hours later, after all the girls had gone. Peter helped Michelle put away the few materials they’d used for the class. They didn’t talk, they just worked in comfortable silence.

“Thanks for taking charge before I came in today,” said Michelle, as she locked the door to the room.

“No problem, I figured something must have come up. I’m used to stretching and felt pretty sure I could handle it.”

“You did a good job. Do you have anywhere to be?” she asked.

Peter shook his head, and they exited the building. “No, I’m free this evening. May has a shift tonight. She won’t be home until really late this evening.” Peter pushed away the pang of loneliness that crept up whenever he mentioned or thought about May’s schedule. At least he had a patrol to keep his mind off things.

“There’s an ice cream place around the corner if you’ve got time to kill. I don’t have to be home till eight-fifteen for dinner.” Peter was taken aback; Michelle was turning out to be way friendlier outside of school. He nodded, and they walked down the street to Bruster’s Ice Cream Shoppe.

“You know,” he said once they were standing at the window waiting for their ice cream. “You’re good with the girls in the class, super nice to them.” Michelle took her ice cream from the cashier, and Peter gave the woman his order.

“And I’m not nice normally?” Michelle asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter’s eyes widened. “No, no, I mean-”

She smirked. "You’re right, I am nicer to the girls than I am at school. Most of them aren’t idiots yet, or at least if they are, it’s because they haven’t yet been exposed to the world, which makes us even bigger idiots.” They went and sat on a bench in front of the store.

“I guess it’s a bit of a shock, you’re normally so… closed off.”

Michelle remained silent for a moment. “Yeah, I’m not friends with anyone at school. It’s easier to be antisocial and combative than to try to get close to people. Less drama that way.”

Peter thought that was a little dramatic.

“Well, that’s a little narrow-minded. Everyone needs a friend, or at least someone they can go to and rely on. Even as social outcast losers, Ned and I have each other. Aren’t you close to anyone?"

"No."

"Outside of school?"

"Not really."

Now, Peter grasped at straws. "Your parents?”

Michelle scoffed and took another bite of her ice cream instead of licking it. “No.”

“That’s it? Just no.”

Michelle glanced over to Peter, and once again, wondered if she could read his mind with the way her eyes were all intense. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

“Debatable, but I’ll accept your clumsy overtures of interest. No, I don’t have anyone I’m close with, at least not now. I used to have a few friends at the private school I went to back in middle school. I would have continued going there had I not gotten kicked out.”

“Why’d you get kicked out?”

Michelle smirked. “The administration caught me running a secret library out of my locker. I loaned banned books out to those who wanted to read them. Another girl left one of the books out in the open, and they tracked it back to me. I refused to apologize, and the administration politely requested I leave for a different school.”

Peter snorted, almost dropping his ice cream. “Oh my gosh, really?” She nodded. “That’s insane. I could so see you doing that, though.”

“Yeah, my parents were pissed about it for a while, but I wasn’t. Besides the few friends I made, I hated that school. Stuffy upper-class rules and etiquette. You think Midtown has problems with classism, you should have seen my old school.” She turned to Peter. “What about you?”

“Nothing as dramatic. I attended Astoria Public Elementary and Middle School. Ned and I were best friends from day one of kindergarten and have been inseparable ever since. We scored scholarships to attend Midtown. The only other person we know from before is Flash.”

Michelle tilted her head. “I thought Flash was rich?”

Peter snorted, thinking of memories from years past. “Oh, he is, old money too. I think they were waiting for a rich relative to die before they got most of it. One day, he was just a minor bully on the playground; the next, an asshole who was as rich as Midas. I’ve been his punching bag since the second grade. I was looking forward to going to Midtown to escape him. I didn’t even think he’d go there too; I know the entry criteria better than anyone. There was no way he got in on his own merit. His parents definitely bought him his spot.” Michelle flinched. “What?”

“I’ve got no leg to stand on, my parents did the same.” Peter’s jaw dropped. Michelle glared at him but looked embarrassed all the same. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I asked them to.”

“But... but you’re insanely smart. You always know the answer at Decathlon practice. I swear you have better grades than half the class in English and History. And you can run verbal rings around everyone.” Michelle’s cheeks flushed, and she bit down on the cone of her ice cream.

“Thanks, Parker.” A rush of heat went through Peter when he realized what he’d said. “I do have good grades, but my interests are English and History. We go to a school for science and technology. I’m good at Decathlon because I study. You know, that thing you never do?”

Peter focused on his ice cream. “I study.”

He can practically hear Michelle rolling her eyes. “Not as much as someone who has your grades should. Plus, you never pay attention in class, and you still always know the answer. You deserve to be at this school. Me, on the other hand, I couldn’t care less.” They finished the last of their ice cream and started to walk to Michelle’s uncle’s apartment. It was less than a ten-minute walk from the dance studio.

“Why buy your way into a school you don’t even want to attend?”

“I didn’t, my parents did. They think I should be a scientist, an engineer, a corporate lawyer, or a doctor. All Jones family-approved occupations. Dancer, or artist, or anti-establishment protester is not on that selective list.” Michelle’s tone was dismissive, but her pursed lips and the glare in her eyes showed otherwise.

“That sucks, Michelle.”

She shrugged. “Nothing I can do until I graduate. They can’t force me to do anything after that. What about you? What do you plan on doing after graduation?”

“I don’t know, it depends on where I can get scholarships for. I’d love to go to MIT or Midwestern, heck, even Columbia would be great. I don’t know. I hope I can get to college and the classes won’t be as boring or slow-paced.” He rambled like he was talking to Ned. When he realized MJ wouldn’t appreciate hearing about how bored he was in class. “I mean-”

“I know you’re bored in class, it’s obvious.”

“Really?”

“For anyone who pays attention, but nobody does.”

“Oh.”

“Except me.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed, and they walked in silence till they got to an apartment complex.

“Whelp, this is me," said Michelle, gesturing back at the building. “You did well tonight. You’re more flexible than I thought you’d be.” Peter rubbed the back of his head. He used a bit too much of his power in the class, but he wanted to be good at something for once. As Peter Parker. Even if it was only for a group of nine-year-olds and Michelle.

“Thanks, Michelle,” he said. Michelle looked over Peter once more. Then turned away and headed off to a nearby apartment. At the last second, she called out over her shoulders.

“My friends call me MJ.”

Peter smiled. “I thought you didn’t have any friends.”

“I have one now, Parker.”

“My friends call me Peter.”

MJ gave him a backward wave. “See you Friday, Peter.”

“See you Friday, MJ.” He watched until she entered the building and disappeared out of sight. The sun setting over the horizon cast everything in an orange glow; the whole world was calm and peaceful.

A friend, huh?

It seemed kind of silly to be so excited about it, but Peter hadn’t had any new friends since he was in elementary school. He headed to the nearest bus station. It would be dark by the time he made it home, but his evening had just begun. A long night of patrol ahead of him.

Manhattan, New York - June 13, 2016

Swinging through Manhattan was way different than swinging through Queens. Peter knew his normal areas by heart now. Manhattan’s crowded streets and high-rise buildings kept Peter on his toes in a way Queens couldn’t. Thankfully, Ned helped him find his way around.

Ned returned from Polynesia, and they tried to patrol together as often as they could. Ned, seated at his computer, hooked up to a refurbished police scanner. Peter had his earphones plugged in and a cordless mic taped near his mouth to talk and respond to Ned without needing to hold his phone. It was a crude system, but it was the best they could come up with given their limited resources.

“…TURN LEFT, no, no, no, right! Ugh!” The sharp tapping of keys came through his earbuds before Ned spoke again. “There’s an alleyway three streets down, it’ll cut you right out on 4th street. And the car is being herded there.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter replied, and followed his instructions.

Swinging around, the sound of sirens and the speeding car pierce the noisy New York street he’d spent the past fifteen minutes chasing. Every so often,  crunching metal rang through the air grating on Peter’s ears. The driver of the car did not care who or what he hit. Peter had already saved three pedestrians from getting run over. There was little he could do about the property damage, though.

Cutting through the alley, Peter spotted the oncoming car and the line of traffic it was about to hit. Including a giant passenger bus. There was nowhere for the car to turn, but instead of doing the reasonable thing, and slowing down, the car sped faster.

It was going to ram the bus.

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” Peter swung from the building, and without hardly thinking, he swerved his way in front of the car. Landing on the side of the bus, and a second later, the car was there. Peter braced himself for impact and held out his hands.

The car hit him at full speed. The back end rose into the air and hit back down onto the pavement. The shifting gears and the sound of crunching metal and glass grated against his ears. Heat poured off the car. A thousand little other details all bombarded his senses.

Peter’s feet shifted an inch. The bus tilted back.

The whole world slowed around him, and he took a slow breath. His arms weren’t sore per se, more like they tingled from the extra strength he used.

The feeling of time moving a beat per minute ended, and all the outside stimuli hit his ears at once.

Ned screaming in his ear, wanting to know what happened.

Cries of surprise from onlookers.

Hissing pressure was released from the car in front of him.

Sirens grew louder as the police cars drew closer.

Peter shot out a web and swung himself away. With Ned’s chattering in his ear, he landed at the top of a nearby building. Resting for no more than a moment before the distinct sound of copter blades grew closer. Peter cursed, he couldn’t let himself get caught on camera.

“Dude, what happened? My police scanner said you stopped the car from crashing into a bus.”

“Cool it, Ned. I need to get away before the news crew gets here. Can you find me a place to hide?” said Peter.

“Sure thing… uh, there’s an alleyway two blocks down that looks blocked off due to construction. No one should see you there.”

“Thanks, Ned.” Peter leaped off the edge of the building and swung his way over. Ned chatted in his ear, directing him where to go. A minute later, he landed in the secluded alleyway. Sighing, he leaned back against the brick wall. The adrenaline from the fifteen-minute car chase still rushing through his system.

“Oh my gosh, that was the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” breathed Peter giddily.

“Someone just uploaded the footage of you stopping the car on YouTube. That was insane, Peter. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, dude, I’m fine. A little shaky, but fine.” Peter took another big breath of air and let himself rest for a moment or two. His hands shook, and he slid down, ignoring the dirty concrete, sitting against the wall of the alley. “Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe I did that.”

“You’re telling me," Ned laughed, half maniacal. "I’m watching this on replay, Peter, and I can’t believe you did it. How did you know you wouldn’t get crushed?”

“I didn’t. I just had to stop the car before it crashed into the bus.”

“Oh my god, dude. You could have died.”

Peter shook his head and drew in another breath. “Yeah, no, let’s not think about that, shall we? Is there anything else? No. Wait, don't tell me. I’m done for the day.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea to me. You want to come over and hang?”

Peter shook his head before remembering that Ned couldn't see him. “Nah, I’m gonna head home. I’ve got a headache coming on. We can meet up tomorrow before I have dance practice.”

“Yeah… how’s that going?” Ned’s voice teased.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine, thank you. You have no room to tease me, you’re the one who suggested taking up dance.”

“Yeah, but I meant something cool like breakdancing, not dorky like ballet. And besides, it’s with Michelle, she’s terrifying.”

“MJ’s not so bad outside of school.”

“You’re calling her MJ!? Do you have a death wish?”

“Her friends can call her that.” Peter ignored the warm glow that arose in his chest when he thought of how MJ considered him a friend.

“Better you than me, dude. Catch you later?”

“Yeah, later, Ned.” Ned hung up the phone, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He was alone. Pulling up his mask enough to expose his mouth, Peter tore off the tape that kept the microphone on his face. Wincing as the adhesive pulled at his skin.

Covering his face back up and preparing to leave the alley, his Spidey-sense pinged; the feeling of someone watching him. Peter tensed, whipping his head around trying to find the source. He cautiously took a step forward and nearly jumped when paper crinkled underneath his shoe.

He looked down.

It was a missing children’s poster. The type you see on a Walmart bulletin board. Crinkled and faded, but fine despite the rain that showered the city yesterday. His Spidey Sense was strangely silent; whoever was here before wasn't here now. Slowly, he bent down and picked up the paper, the pictures catching Peter’s interest.

One showed a little girl with bright eyes and curly black hair. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. The other was a girl in her mid to late teens. Her eyes were no longer bright, and her clothes and the background were generic.

It was an approximate picture of what the little girl would look like today.

Peter's mind twisted and turned - always moving - rearranging pieces of a puzzle that was still incomplete.

What if… he could do that?

The small, blurry pictures in the HYDRA files did Peter and Ned no good giving clues to who he’d been. But if they took a picture of what Peter looked like now, and de-aged him, that might work. They’d have something solid to go off. From there, they could search online, send the image through Google search, or match it to cases in public databases for missing kids.

Peter’s mind continued to whir as he folded up the flyer and placed it in his pocket. Digging out his phone, he called Ned again. His friend picked up on the second ring.

“Peter, what’s up? Don’t tell me you ran into more trouble?”

“No dude, I haven’t left the alleyway yet. Listen, I just thought up a great idea. Are you still good with me coming over?”

“Yeah, sure. I thought you had a headache, though?”

“It’s gone now. I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

Peter carefully checked around, making sure no one was around, but he was solidly alone now. Who had been watching him? Shrugging, he swung himself out of the alleyway. Paranoia was replaced with excitement and adrenaline at the thought of having answers soon. He'd come so far and was determined to see just how much more he could discover about his past. 

Chapter Text

Leeds’s Apartment – June 13, 2016

Peter sat on Ned’s bed as his friend typed away at his computer. After he explained his grand idea to Ned, his friend dove for his phone to download pictures of Peter. Then scoured the internet for any software that could turn back the clock.

There were a lot of options

The problem was… none of them were very good.

“Ugh!” Ned’s head dropped onto his keyboard. “It would be easier to make my own program than to deal with these godawful versions.” His head popped up, and the light in his eyes made Peter edge back. A Ned Leeds determined to succeed was a dangerous thing. Potential explosions occurring type of danger.

“That’s it! I’ll make my own program. It’ll be ten times better.”

“Dude, you don’t need to do that. I’m sure there must be one version online that’s good. You can modify-”

“Oh, there are plenty of good ones; they’re just all behind paywalls. And we are not going to pay fifty dollars for a program I can make that’ll be as good or better. No, no, give me a while, I’ll have a better program than the freakin’ idiots at,” he leaned in close to his computer screen. “Wonderyears Restoration for their $49.95 premium package.”

“Well, uh… thanks, Ned,” said Peter, “I’m gonna swing home quick and grab something for me to work on. I’ll be back in like, fifteen minutes.” Ned grunted in response, and Peter dived out of the window. His friend was fantastic, but sometimes got into things a little too enthusiastically.

LATER THAT DAY

Peter hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor in hours.

Ned hadn’t moved from his desk either.

Dinner was delivered by an amused Mrs. Leeds. She had watched Peter and Ned delve into projects headfirst for years. The best thing to do was to place the food within arm’s reach, and hopefully, it would be eaten before it got cold.

Peter grabbed Richard’s files on cross-species genetics, his laptop, and a few books he borrowed from the library. Between the twenty tabs opened to a variety of Wikipedia articles and obscure science journals, Peter kept himself entertained trying to decipher Richard’s work.

The little Peter understood that it. Richard Parker was a genius. An absolute madman, but a genius.

His plans were straight out of Frankenstein if Peter understood everything correctly. Fusing DNA and tampering with it until it produced the correct results. With goals to weaponize the process on top of the already enhanced capabilities, Peter wasn’t surprised that the work was stolen by an evil organization. This research screamed supervillain material.

Peter was also pretty sure Richard’s work had survived in the hands of someone, despite Marianna’s best efforts. The process Richard hypothesized, the effects a subject would undergo while obtaining the altered DNA, was exactly what happened to him when he’d been bitten by the spider at Oscorp. Or, at least, Peter thought that’s what had happened. It scared him to think there might be scientists working there, who ten years ago were attempting to create an army of enhanced child soldiers.

It seemed like fate that he’d gotten those alterations one way or another.

Peter hoped nobody at Oscorp figured out what happened.

“I’m a fucking genius,” muttered Ned, dragging Peter out of his thoughts. Ned leaned back in his chair and popped his fingers.

“Well, duh, I knew that.”

With a flourish of his hand, Ned directed Peter to his computer screen. “I designed the program for our needs. Taking reference photos of you throughout the years. I guided the program so we would have the most accurate pictures of you at the ages we don’t have.” Peter looked over the rather complicated coding Ned had put together and smiled.

“Ned, you’re amazing. What would I do without you?”

“Overthink everything, and ultimately crash and burn.”

“Thanks, dude.”

“So what age are we ballparking here?” asked Ned.

“Well, the file said I was in the program from the spring of 2005 till the fall of that year. Which means I would have been about three years old when I was kidnapped.” Peter paused as a thought struck him. “I don’t know how old I am.”

“Uh, yeah you do, your birthday is in August.”

“No, that’s the one the Parkers picked for me. They had no clue when I was born. I could be fifteen right now or just turned fourteen, or...” Peter trailed off. It was times like these when Peter realized how much weight he placed on his identity. It was times like these when he realized his past was nothing more than a thin sheet of paper ready to crumble.

“Well,” interjected Ned, pulling Peter out of his depressive spiral of thoughts. “You’ve pretty much followed the natural progression for kids our age. Let’s still assume you were born in 2001 and make pictures for ages one to four.” Peter nodded, glad he had his friend there to keep his head on straight.

Looking at the pictures Ned printed out, Peter memorized the image of what he used to look like in his mind. Peter imagined he recognized himself, but to be honest, this chubby-cheeked child with big ears could have been any small child walking through the streets. But this was who he’d once been, a boy with a real name, with a family that probably thought he was dead.

Something inside Peter wanted somewhere to belong, something adrift since his uncle had died.

No, before that. There was something about himself that made Peter know he was different. When he was bullied and teased at school for knowing all the answers, he knew. When he was told to be quiet and still when he finished his work so much quicker than his classmates, he knew. When he read books bigger than his head and thicker than the length of his hand, he knew. When the ideas in his mind wouldn’t stay quiet, driving him to new heights, wondering what he could create, what he could do, he knew.

Maybe, just maybe. If he found those people… he would have a reason why. He would find people like him, who understood why he was different.

Then again, who’d be able to understand a genius kid with superpowers? A kid riddled with guilt and plagued by anxiety attacks. A kid who woke silently screaming from nightmares and avoided sleep as if life depended on it.

'Face it, Peter, you’re a mess,' Peter thought. What kind of parents wanted a kid as screwed up as him?

Peter went to grab his laptop, an ancient piece of machinery mostly jumbled together from junk he scrounged together from dumpster diving and the junkyard, when Mrs. Leeds poked her head into the room.

“What in the world are you two doing up at two in the morning?” she scream whispered. Peter and Ned cringed. “And Peter, I have a string of increasingly frantic calls from May. You didn’t tell her you were here?” Peter’s eyes widened in distress. Reaching for his phone, which he had silenced earlier, twenty texts and seven unanswered calls from May lit up his screen.

Shit.

He pressed on May’s contact, and the phone rang once before it picked up.

“Um, hey May?” Peter almost felt her glare from the other end of the phone.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you are in so much trouble. I ask for one thing: for you to let me know where you are. I don’t mind you staying the night with Ned, but I don’t want to come home to find the house dark and empty when I don’t have a clue where you are. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for an hour. I almost called the police, Peter.” By the end of her rant, May’s voice was choking up. Peter felt a hot rush of guilt flow through him.

“I’m so sorry, May. We got caught up in a project, and I turned my phone on silent. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Peter, this has happened before. I give you a lot of freedom, but this is non-negotiable.”

“I’m really, really sorry, May.”

She sighed, aggravation clear.“I know you are Peter, but this time you’re going to mean it. You’re grounded for a week.”

“But May, I-”

“No buts, Peter! Be grateful I don't make it for two weeks. Am I understood?”

“Yes, May.” Damn it, May was always strict when it came to punishments. He wouldn’t have phone, computer, or TV privileges. And considering he was getting in trouble for being over at Ned’s, he wouldn’t be able to see his friend either

“This is effective immediately; Mr. Leeds is going to take you home – I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” The call ended before he had a chance to say anything.

“I’ve got to go,” he said to Ned, picking up his things.

“But what about-?” Ned cut himself off, realizing his mom was still in the room. Peter sighed, slinging his bag around his shoulder.

“Well, I’m grounded for a week, and I won’t have access to a phone. Um… don’t bother with the project. We’ll pick this up in a week. Okay?”

“Sure thing, dude, see you in a week.”

Peter walked out of Ned’s room and downstairs to where Mr. Leeds waited for him.

“Sorry you have to drive me home this late,” said Peter sheepishly.

“It’s fine, Peter. I wasn’t asleep anyway. Next time, try to keep everyone informed of the situation. Tamar and I love having you over, but your aunt’s rules come first.” Peter nodded and climbed into the passenger seat of Mr. Leeds’s car. Dreading the conversation looming once he got home.

Hollanday Dance Studio – June 21, 2016

Peter’s week of grounding felt like an eternity. The night he’d gotten home May had reamed him out for half an hour before sending him off to bed without his phone or his laptop in his possession. The next day, she took the hard drive for his desktop computer and hid all three.

He was banned from going anywhere without May, and he couldn’t contact any of his friends, including Ned and MJ. He also wasn’t allowed to attend dance practice either, although May did let him text MJ, saying he was grounded for a week, so not to expect him at practice.

The entire week would have been mind-numbing if not for patrol. He still didn’t dare risk it when May would be at home, but he left a few times and worked off the excess energy that had built up.

Sunday was the worst. It was the first Father’s Day since Ben died. Peter didn’t want to do anything. Even though May had a shift, Peter didn't bother putting on the suit. He spent the whole day curled up in bed, thinking about all the fun times he and Ben had had together.

Ben never tried to be his dad; he’d always been that cool older brother person or uncle figure. But every year on Father’s Day, they would do something together. Ben told him a few stories about Richard, and they’d go out and get Ben’s favorite meal and Peter’s favorite ice cream. It was nice.

Peter didn’t have that this year.

When May returned home the next day, she looked even more exhausted than normal. Despite still being grounded, they spent Monday curled in her bed watching Ben’s favorite movies and working through the pain.

He’d gotten his phone back the next morning, and the first thing he’d done was call Ned and talk about the de-aged pictures. Ned hadn’t done anything with them as Peter requested. He wanted to come over immediately and work on stuff, but Ned and his family left for a small outing upstate and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. They planned to meet on Thursday and spend the whole day running Peter’s pictures through every missing children’s database they could find.

Until then, all he had to distract himself was patrol and dance.

He practiced dancing on Tuesday and Friday in his room, trying to remember the steps MJ showed him hoping he wouldn’t fall too far behind. Peter didn’t need to worry though.

The class had gone well, and MJ didn’t even insult him underhandedly. The little girls were excited to see him again, which made Peter smile. When the class finished, he and MJ stayed behind. Catching him up on the more advanced moves she was teaching him. MJ helped him work on a few routines she wanted Peter to memorize. They were halfway through their extra practice when MJ spoke up.

“So, there’s this community dance competition thing. It’s at the end of July. I need a partner for it. Would you be willing to give it a chance?”

“Dance? In a competition for you – I mean with you?” Would he be able to dedicate enough time to practice? He would have to spend more days here. But it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He’d finished all his summer work ages ago, and he only patrolled at night. “I guess, as long as you’re willing to teach me. I don’t know if I’ll be any good.” He smiled when the tension released from her shoulders.

“Don’t sell yourself short, idiot.” The nickname held none of the usual derision, like when she’d used it at school. Now it was laced with annoyed fondness. Peter couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face. “It’s not a ballet competition, though. It’s a swing dance competition. Is that okay?” Peter figured if he was picking up ballet this fast, learning other types of dance should be easy as well.

“Sure, I guess. I’ve never done that before.”

“Well, you hadn’t done any ballet before this month either, and you’re doing good. You’ll be fine.”

“So, should we start working on that stuff now, or...”

“No, I’ll pick out music and start coming up with a few routines. It’ll be easier and faster to know what I have to teach you, rather than starting from the bottom.” Peter nodded; MJ knew a lot more about this stuff than he did. He had to admit he was kind of excited. He’d done plenty of science fairs before, a few robotics competitions too. But nothing that ever involved physical activity. He wondered if this was breaking his rule about using his powers to do things he couldn’t before. He discounted the idea, though. That was only for things at school. This was different.

The rest of the hour was spent in relative silence. On occasion, MJ corrected him on his form or told him to hold a pose for longer. By the end, he was ready to down a water bottle or two and eat a huge meal. Normally, he visited Golden Corral after dance practice. For some reason, he was even more famished after three hours dancing in a studio than when flipping around Queens all hours of the night. But May was home tonight, which meant charred dinner with a side of no second helpings.

Peter pushed down the anger that flashed through him at that thought. May tried her best, and he shouldn’t be taking shots at her. Even in his head. He should be grateful for anything because he was the source of all their problems, and –

“Hey Peter, are you listening to me?” MJ’s voice snapped him out of his intrusive thoughts.

He smiled weakly. “Sorry, MJ. Got lost in my head there.”

She nodded slowly. “Well, sorry to interrupt your inner monologue, but I need to head home before dinner.” Peter nodded, holding open the door of the studio, and they walked out into the hot, muggy summer air. They made their way towards MJ’s uncle’s apartment.

“You know, I’m fully capable of walking ten minutes by myself,” snarked MJ. Peter smiled; they’d had this conversation before.

“Yes, I’m aware. But it’s not a big deal for me, plus there’s a bus stop close by, so I might as well walk you home.” MJ opened her mouth, and Peter cut her off. “Not that in any way means you are incapable of protecting yourself from creeps or are expected to remain shackled to a male figure to maintain your innocence and delicacy,” he finished in a snooty tone.

She grinned and playfully hit his arm.“You can be trained. Now, if only I can get you spouting anti-establishment rhetoric on the regular, I might be convinced to take you to a rally.” They laughed a bit.

“So, I know I might be overstepping my bounds here… but, do your parents really leave you here alone the whole summer? They seem kind of like control freaks.” MJ didn’t talk much about herself. She preferred letting Peter ramble, which he was good at. But the few times the girl decided to talk about herself, Peter got the distinct impression she and her parents were always at odds with one another. MJ sighed, slowing her pace.

“Well, it’s complicated. They want what’s best for me, they really do. And I love them, but they are immeasurably overbearing,” she rolled her eyes. “They should be super controlling when it comes to summer too, right? But for as long as I can remember, they’ve always gone on their trip to Asia every single summer. Some sort of mountain top retreat. Not that they still don’t try to be overbearing halfway around the world.”

“How do they do that?”

“Oh, they have wi-fi there – they’re not savages. They FaceTime whenever they get the chance.” Peter nodded, and they lapsed into silence. Peter felt MJ wanted to say more on the subject, but soon enough, they arrived at her uncle’s apartment.

“Thanks for agreeing to do the dance competition with me. I’ve wanted to do it for a few years now, but never had a partner.”

Peter blushed, trying to quash the weird feelings zinging around his stomach. “No problem. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“See you on Friday.” They headed off in their separate ways. When Peter arrived at the bus station, he spared a minute wondering why MJ was so quick to respond to his question, but hadn’t told him much about why her parents were overbearing. What else had she held back? He felt ike he was missing something important. Peter figured that he wouldn’t know until MJ wanted to tell him.

The bus arrived, chasing away his thoughts. By the time he arrived home, that feeling of unease had left him, fading away to the back of his mind.

The Parker’s Apartment – June 22, 2016 

Peter walked through the door with grocery bags in hand, having run out to the corner store to pick up candy and drinks. He and May were having a Doctor Who marathon, and they required more snackage if they planned to finish the rest of the evening. Summer was flying by, and Peter felt like he’d barely seen her between her job and the training program she was in.

Admittedly, he was still a little mad over his grounding, but he couldn’t stay like that for long. Peter had more freedom than most when it came to where he could go and what he did. May had simple rules, and he broke them. It wasn’t the end of the world, not having his stuff for a week. He was more mad about the lack of contact with Ned.

He hadn’t risked going over to Ned’s apartment on the off chance his parents saw him there. And since it was a part of his main punishment, he would have felt guilty going there against May’s wishes. After technically breaking his grounding with patrolling. No need to make it worse.

“Hey, May, I’m home,” he called. The sounds of the television were easily heard from the living room. He placed the drinks in the fridge next to a bottle of wine to cool.

“Didn’t run into any problems, sweetie?” asked May. Peter smiled, grabbing himself a slice of cooling pizza from the stove. Delivery, not homemade.

“No,” his hearing focused on the words coming from the TV, and he realized May had the news on instead of Doctor Who. “What are you watching?”

“Oh, it’s an old news story. Runs every once in a while, it’s about Tony Stark. You’ve probably seen it before.” Peter nodded. If it was about Stark, he probably had. Peter was not ashamed about his fan obsession with the world's coolest superhero after all. Entering the living room, he glanced at the TV.

His plate dropped to the floor.

He hardly noticed it clattering, as his mouth opened in shock.

It wasn’t just a news program about Tony Stark.

It was a news program about his son. His dead son.

“… as we all know. Anthony and Virginia Stark announced their son, Samuel Stark, dead, eight years ago, after the devastating discovery that SI’s Vice President Obadiah Stane was responsible for the toddler’s kidnapping. A confession on tape showed Stane was responsible not only for the disappearance of the child but the murder of the Stark heir. Unfortunately, the child’s body was never recovered.”

On the screen was a picture of a boy, one Peter sworn he had seen before.

Because it was him.

Or at least damn close to the age regression picture Ned made.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

“…Peter, Peter, Peter!” Called his aunt, the teen reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the now muted screen to look at May, staring at him in concern. “Hun, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Peter didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t seen a ghost; he’d been looking into a mirror.

“Um… I hadn’t realized the Starks had a son.” The words coming out of his mouth seemed far away, almost as if they were said by another person. Peter didn’t know how to feel. He was panicking, and numb, and he didn’t know what else, all at once.

“Oh yeah, it was a big deal when his birth was announced. I remember the media wouldn’t shut up about it for months. Then Stark and Potts had the wedding about a year later. Biggest celebrity event of the entire decade.” May scoffed and sipped a bit of wine from her glass. “Then, only a few years later, the poor child gets kidnapped. They searched for months; the whole country searched. No leads were ever found. You have to wonder how much was due to the police and how much was due to Stane.

“When the Starks found out their business partner was responsible for the kidnapping, there was a funeral for the boy. The media made a big spectacle of it all. I can’t believe it’s been eight years. I might not be the biggest fan of Stark, but God, I can’t imagine the pain he went through finding out about everything so soon after he’d been held hostage. Why were you so bothered by it, Peter?”

The teen didn’t know how to answer that question. He looked back over to the news story, still running through the details of the boy’s life and kidnapping. Peter didn’t need to look at the picture again to know, with almost certainty, that that boy was him.

But how could it be?

The child was dead.

Wasn’t he?

Peter’s bad feeling grew as he felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. "I-I guess I just thought I k-knew everything about the Starks," he replied, grinning shakily. In the back of his mind, he does recall the Starks' dead son as part of his general knowledge of the couple. But since it wasn't related to engineering or superheroes, Peter guessed he must not have paid much attention to that tidbit of information. 

He's really regretting that right about now. 

May stared at him, confused, but settled back into the couch, taking a sip of her wine. "Yeah, Weird, I thought you had an encyclopedic knowledge about the man you've dressed up as for Halloween fou-"

"Three," corrected Peter, still half dazed. 

Raising a judgmental eyebrow from behind her wine glass, May scoffed. "I'm pretty sure it was four." She shrugged. "Whatever, it was just something to watch while I waited for you." Flipping the television over to the DVD player, she pulls up the menu for Doctor Who. Haltingly, Peter dropped to the couch and pulled the throw blanket over himself. Mentally still comparing the pictures of Samuel and the de-aged photo in his head. 

Maybe he was wrong. It'd been over a week since he'd seen the photo Ned cobbled together. And didn't everyone have like eight identical people somewhere in the world? This could be one of those instances. 

Peter's brain whirled around the idea. It's insane. Impossible. It wouldn't be out of place as the plot of a badly slapped-together Iron Man RPF fanfic. 

Deep into his spiralling thoughts, and the absurdity of his life, Peter doesn't notice the episode ending, or the next one starting. Time passed oddly, melting like one of those weird, warped clock paintings. Jolting back to his body only when May clicked off the TV and stretched with a groan. 

"It's getting late, Peter. I think I'm gonna call it quits and head to bed." 

"Oh, yeah, sure. T-thanks for watching the show with me." 

May smiled, ruffling his hair. "Wrap it up soon, you're still growing and you need your sleep." 

"Of course, Aunt May." 

Peter blinked back the dazed fog that clouded his brain. How much time had he lost? An hour? Two hours? He can't tell. Without the weighted calm of detached distance, the panic at the newest shocking revelation crashes into his body like the speeding car he stopped last week. 

Calling out goodnight on instinct, Peter fled the living room and barricaded himself in his room. Sliding down to the ground, he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, not even bothering to release it when a faint ripping sound pierced through his growing freakout. 

Like normal, his enhanced senses take his panic as free rein to jack themselves up to fifteen, picking up every sound in a five-mile radius and blasting it into his brain at full volume. The buzz of everyday life rampaged through Peter’s head, bending him over in pain. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stuffed a hand into his mouth to stop himself from crying out loud, afraid May would hear. Squeezing his eyes shut, and desperately wished for the crying and the noise to stop.

Peter tried remembering what he was supposed to do to calm himself.

Breath in…

Hold.

Breathe out…

Hold.

Gasping for breath for several minutes left Peter shaky and exhausted. But eventually, he got himself under control and stood up from where he’d collapsed at his door.

Staring at his room, with bloodshot eyes, Peter sluggishly stumbled over to his bed. Trying to reason with himself now that his panic attack had passed.

He was overreacting.

There was no possible, human, logical, fucking way boring, nerdy, Peter Parker was the long-lost, thought-to-be-dead son of Tony and Pepper Stark. It wasn’t possible. Peter had to have lost the plot somewhere. Finally, the events of the past few months drove him past the edge of insanity.  Or this was a messed-up dream, and in a minute, he would wake and all this would be nothing but a nightmare.

Peter pinched himself.

Ouch.

Okay, not a dream. But the other two options were still possible. This was not okay. Peter was not okay with any of this.

Peter closed his eyes and tried to think back to the exact moment he saw the picture on the screen. He hadn’t looked at it for very long. Maybe he was wrong. But as he replayed the moment again in his head, something clicked in the back of his mind, and he just knew what he was seeing was the truth. 

And that meant the Starks’ son wasn’t dead.

Because Samuel Stark was Peter Parker.

Fuck.

Lying back on his bed, Peter stared at the ceiling as thoughts raced through his mind. How was this possible? Why wasn’t he dead? How did he end up in the hands of HYDRA? Why hadn’t the Starks ever found him? What was he supposed to do now?

Pressing the palms of his hands as hard as he could to his eyes, Peter tried to stop the endless barrage of questions that flooded his mind. God, he wished his brain would shut up for two seconds and let him think.

Think. He needed to think. This... this was just insane. He needed to take a step, or two, or three hundred back and reexamine this from a logical, rational position. Peter needed proof. He was a scientist above all else. Despite what his gut told him, despite his feelings, thoughts, or desires. He needed proof before continuing to indulge this fantasy. No conjecture, until he was working with all the facts.

Peter jumped out of bed and raced over to his desk. First things first, more pictures of Samuel Stark. Sure enough, there were plenty to find. The internet loved the kid; conspiracy theories, news, and tall tales all battled for attention, making the facts hard to find. There were tons of photos on Google, and even though it’d been a week since Peter last looked at the photos Ned had made, there was no mistaking the similarities to the boy in the picture.

But what cinched it was the birthmark.

It was mentioned on the official Samuel Stark website (internet, what the hell?). It was visible in several baby photos the Starks released to the public. There, on Samuel’s left shoulder, was a birthmark. It was vague, as almost all birthmarks tended to be. Peter thought it looked a bit like a triangle with a deformed square balancing on top of it. But there was no mistaking it for the same one that was on Peter’s shoulder.

Shucking off his shirt, he went over to the mirror in his room and looked over to see it on himself. Yep, stretched, a little lighter, but it was disturbingly similar.

Putting back on his shirt, Peter sat on his bed and grabbed his phone.

Ned picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Peter, what’s up, dude?”

“Ned, are you busy?” asked Peter in a panicked tone. This was the first time he’d spoken since he locked himself in his room, and he was surprised to hear how shaky his voice was. From the other side of the phone, he heard the quick movement of Ned running upstairs, and then the sound of a door closing shut.

“Not at all, what’s the matter?”

“Do you know who Samuel Stark is?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. Any relation to Tony Stark?”

Peter drew in a stuttered breath. “Yeah, it’s his son. His dead son. Look him up.” For a few minutes, there was quiet, although he could hear Ned’s fingers typing on his keyboard. Then silence.

“No fucking way.”

“Glad I’m not the only one to see the resemblance.” Sighed, relieved at not being the only person to recognize the similarities. “Did you see the ones with the birthmark on his shoulder?

“Uh, yeah. Do you have the same one?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure, dude? Like one hundred percent, same shape, size, shoulder?”

“Pretty sure, I mean it looks a little different, but that might just be due to age and stretching and stuff.”

“This is impossible, isn’t it? The kid is dead. The Starks seem to be very clear about that.”

Peter bit his lip, thoughts still racing.  “They never found a body, though. And didn’t Stane try to kill Tony Stark, too? He ended up not being dead.”

“Peter, there is a huge difference between a grown adult escaping terrorists and a tiny kid escaping kidnappers.”

“I don’t even think it was escaping. Unless Stane hired HYDRA to kidnap me. Plus, my file never mentioned my real name or where I was taken from. What if I were double kidnapped?” The idea was insane, but in a way, kinda logical.

“I mean… I guess? God, Peter, this is nuts.”

“I know, I know. But the timeline matches pretty well. Samuel’s birthday is a couple of days after my birthday, which would line up with the age I thought I was. He was kidnapped in December of 2004, and my file at HYDRA starts in February of 2005. Enough time for the heat to die down.” Peter's brain whirled as he tried to connect the shadowed facts.

Now, Ned's voice was a little less skeptical. “Plus, it would explain why you’re an absolute genius. You’d be the son of Tony and Pepper Stark. The power couple of the 21st century.”  Peter was glad Ned wasn’t there to see his face blush beet red.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a genius-”

“Peter, you reverse-engineered an 8-bit Gameboy to play DS games when we were eight. You understood arc reactor technology and its uses when you were nine at a statewide science fair. You pulled off a presentation so advanced that there was an investigation into whether you cheated. And in less than two months, you developed an inorganic compound with a tensile strength that lets you swing from buildings. And the device you use to deploy it, you built out of cheap material from Home Depot and a junkyard. Face it, you’re a genius.”

Peter sighed. “I’m not going to argue this with you. What should I do now?”

“What should you do now? Dude, you go and tell Tony Stark you’re his son, and then you’re set for life, my dude. Don’t forget me when you’re jetting off to exotic locales with the Avengers or something like that.”

Panic replaced certainty, and Peter's heart dropped out of his chest. Oh, that would... that would be what- “No, absolutely not!” he yelled, before wincing.

'Everything okay, Peter?" May called from her bedroom. Shit, he’d been so focused, he assumed he was alone like always.

“Yeah, May,” he called out as cheerfully as possible. “Just talking to Ned real quick, I'll try to keep it down.” Lowering his voice, he whispered frantically to Ned. “Yeah, no way is that happening.”

“Why the hell not? All you have to do is go to them and be like, here’s what happened, here’s what I figured out. You show them the picture, show them the birthmark, and bada-bing bada-boom; your parents are the two coolest people to ever exist.” Now, Ned's voice was cheery, even anticipatory. 

But now that Peter was thinking about it, he wished he could go back and stop himself from looking up Samuel. The idea of what would happen to his life if this turned out to be true...

“Ned, sometimes you are so smart, but other times I wonder. The Starks have thought their child dead for eight years. They haven’t seen him in over a decade. And suddenly, this kid comes out of nowhere claiming to be their long-dead son. Did you see the same articles as I did? They went through years of people claiming they found the missing Stark child. I doubt I’d even be able to get close to them.”

“So, what, you’ll let the Starks go on believing their child is still dead when you know you’re not?”

“When we think he's not. We don't have any actual proof."

"The birthmark-"

"Is just a birthmark. Thousands of kids probably have the same one." Peter felt like a live wire ready to spark and writhe if agitated too much. This was getting emotional in ways he didn’t expect. He didn’t want to talk about this. He wanted it to be six months ago when he was a semi-normal high school student, with an Aunt and an Uncle, a best friend, homework, and clubs. When he was Peter Parker, without any amount of uncertainty. "This is all just too much." 

"Come on, Peter, don't tell me you're backing out now? When we're so close to the finish line. There are way too many similarities to be more than a coincidence. Maybe, I could refine my program a bit more, and we can get a better progression now that we-"

"We'd just be confirming our data with our own biases, Ned." Looking back at the past several minutes, Peter was sure that was all this could be. The ramblings of an insane teenager grasping at straws to make sense of his life. Sure, the birthmark was a little on the nose. But look-alike contests are held in New York monthly. Surely, more than one person could have a similar-looking birthmark. 

He ignored the blaring alarm bells in his head. 

What did his super-powered anxiety know? It wasn't like it had any facts to back up its prodding. 

The fight drained out of Peter, and he sighed.

“Listen, Ned. Let's just drop the whole thing." 

“No, wait, Peter-”

Peter shook his head, resolve hardening in his chest as he thought about the situation. “No, you were right to be so skeptical when I called. This-” he waved at the computer screen where the image of Samuel Stark sat taunting him. "This is a jump and a stretch too far."

"Farther than being kidnapped by HYDRA and saved by a Black Widow?"

Ugh, he didn't need Ned's sass being turned back on him. "Well, we have proof that that happened. The idea of me, being Samuel Stark, is just... circumstantial coincidences stacked in a similar shape."

"Peter-"

"No, Ned, I'm serious. We're just going to drop this. We figured out enough with Richard and Mariana, any more past that is just... It's just looking for trouble where there doesn't need to be any. Anyway, May's calling, I gotta go." Peter hung up the call and powered off his phone. He’d get flak from Ned later, but right now he didn’t care. Peter was drained and tried, and so fucking done with his life.

Closing out the tabs on his computer, he wiped his history. Hiding the saved picture of Samuel Stark deep in a file no one would ever look through. It was so sim- No. His questioning, wondering, and digging had, after months, turned up this... this fantasy.

He was just Peter Parker. Peter Parker was bullied at school. Peter Parker tripped over his words when he got nervous, which was all the time. Peter Parker was responsible for his uncle's death. Peter Parker had superpowers and had been a subject for human experimentation.

He was a mess.

And the Starks… they didn't need him trudging into their lives and messing up their grief. The coincidences aligned in his mind, his Spidey-sense hummed a low warning, but he shoved them away. Peter Parker being Samuel Stark? 

Ha! What a joke.

Trudging over to his bed, he fell on top of his messy sheets. His head was pounding, and the lights were too bright. Pulling his sheets over himself, he cuddled into his bed, hoping to block out the world for a little bit longer. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Hollanday Dance Studio – June 24, 2016

Peter was ignoring everything he learned over the last several months. He hid every single thing from the Parkers in a locked box under his bed, covering it with a blanket for good measure. The past was in the past; he’d gone digging and gotten burned. So, he wouldn’t think about it anymore.

May asked him what he'd been talking about with Ned that got him so worked up. Thinking fast, Peter lied and said he'd brought up some theories on what the next season of Doctor Who would be like, and Ned had disagreed, and they'd both gotten a bit heated over it. May took it at face value, rushing to get the food off the stove before it burned - it wasn't burned, but it was very stringy and bland. Peter ate it anyway - and then left before her shift started. Peter may hate her new schedule, but it was useful for keeping May distracted enough not to notice his life imploding into pieces.

Small miracles. 

He still hadn’t talked to Ned again yet. Although not for his friend’s lack of trying. Over three days, Ned texted fifty times and called at least half as many. When he hadn’t gotten a response, he arrived Friday morning and pounded on the door for at least fifteen minutes. Peter ignored him.

He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and didn’t want to hear Ned insisting on how he should tell the Starks. As far as Peter was concerned, there was nothing to tell. 

So, he was avoiding his friend.

He would deal with that later.

On Thursday, MJ sent the songs for the dance they were learning for the competition. If Peter was honest with himself, he was nervous. Not because he didn’t think he could do it, but because he didn’t want to disappoint MJ.

After class on Friday, they worked on the new dances. MJ showed him a couple of videos of the type of dance they were doing. The song she had picked was an electro-swing song, called Lost in the Rhythm. Peter thought it was super catchy.

The videos of other swing dancers made him even more nervous, though.

The amount of fast-moving feet, twirls, and jumps was enough to make Peter’s head spin. MJ promised she would simplify it for them because Peter was a beginner.

“I pretty much have an idea of how I want the dance to go, but it depends on one thing,” she explained, leaning back against the dance barre, eyeing Peter with a calculating expression.

“What?”

“Are you strong enough to lift me?”

Peter couldn’t help the snort that escaped. Was he strong enough to lift her? He could probably lift MJ and yeet her into Manhattan with the strength he had. He saw MJ’s observing gaze turn into an unpleased frown.

“Do not laugh at me, Parker.”

“Sorry, sorry, MJ. But yeah, I’m strong enough to lift you.” Appraising him for a minute, before eventually finding something worthy, she nodded and turned back to her computer, where she had the dance videos pulled up. She showed him a pair of dancers, and Peter saw how the boy lifted the girl and how she flipped over his arms.

“Do you think you have enough strength to do that?”

Peter gulped. “Uh… strength? Sure. The ability to do that without tripping over my own two feet? Not so sure.”

MJ waved him aside. “Let me worry about teaching you how to do the fancy moves. You just have to practice. Believing you can do this is half the battle. Don’t tell yourself you can’t dance, because the more you repeat it in your head, the more you’ll think it’s true.” She moved to the center of the room away from the computer. “Come over here.”

He approached her and they stood face to face. Not for the first time, Peter noticed MJ was a tad bit taller than him.

MJ saw him glance her over, and she smirked.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be wearing heels.” Peter blushed. “Now take my hands.” Placing his hands in hers, he couldn’t help but notice how soft they felt. The heat radiating off his face could have melted ice.

“Okay, so if you understand the basic swing elements, you can put them together to form any kind of dance. Kind of like those Lego things you and Leeds always talk about.” Peter rolled his eyes. “The most basic steps are easy; there’s walking, but not like normal walking. You want to be leaning forward on the balls of your feet. Touch stepping, which moves from side to side. Triple stepping which is like touch stepping but with a little more beat to it. And a kick-ball-change.”

One after the other, MJ showed Peter the basic steps. They danced around to music from her playlist while Peter got used to moving in a different style from ballet. MJ was a fantastic teacher, and although her comments sounded harsh, there was no bite behind the words.

Finally, their extra hour of practice was up, and Peter was exhausted. MJ had worked him through several basic chains of moves until he could do them all right.

“You’re doing well, Peter,” said MJ as they made their way out of the studio. “You said your mom was a dancer, right? Looks like you inherited some talent from her.” Peter froze in the face of her words. Marianna had been a dancer, at least he assumed she had been from the picture inbox. He wondered if that had been part of a Black Widow’s training.

But did Virginia Potts-Stark...

Damn it, no, no. That wasn't real, it was just a silly idea, and he needed to banish it from his mi- 

“…Peter, Peter?” The teen shook his head and turned to MJ, who was looking at him in concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Uh, no? Sorry, MJ – I got distracted. Yeah, I inherited that talent from my mom,” he said, lying through his teeth. She narrowed her eyes, peering at him with that soul-splitting glare she was excellent at.

“I didn’t want to bring it up, but you’ve been distracted lately. What’s been going on with you?” Peter floundered for an excuse. He could lie to May like a champ now, a fact he wasn’t proud of, but standing in front of MJ made his brain blank.

“Um, well… you see. May’s been super stressed, and I have to do more at home now. Everything’s still weird and kind of… well, you know.” The words he could usually conjure up to convince everyone he was okay wouldn’t come. MJ’s glare turned into a glower, and she leaned in close to him.

“If there is one thing, I despise more than corporate greed - it’s liars. I don’t care if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, but don’t stand there and lie to my face. I will know, and I will drop you like an overheated laptop charger. Am I clear?”

Peter gulped in fear and awe. “Crystal.”

MJ huffed and leaned away from him. They continued walking down the street in tense silence.

“So, let’s try this again. What’s been going on with you?” asked MJ, her voice quieter and softer than before. Peter glanced away. Thinking about everything that happened in the past three months. Every secret he uncovered, every lie he unearthed. From the blood on his hands at Ben’s death to the guilt on his shoulders at May’s grief. Everything from his powers to his parents. Every insane and unbelievable thing that bubbled beneath the surface – ready to explode and spill over.

Peter opened his mouth.

Closed it.

And shook his head.

“Sorry, MJ. I don’t want to talk about it.” That was the truth. Peter couldn’t even begin to make sense of it all in his head, much less confess things aloud. It was why he was avoiding Ned. Plus, MJ didn’t need to be burdened with all his problems and his crazy life.

MJ sighed, but smiled at him. “Thanks, Peter. We all have our secrets. I won’t begrudge you for keeping yours. Just don’t lie to me about them. I deal with enough of that from everyone else. I don’t need it from a friend.”

Peter nodded in agreement. A weight lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he couldn’t be all the way open with MJ, but at least he didn’t (or couldn’t) lie to her. If he didn’t want to say something, he would simply say he didn’t want to talk about it. Or that it was a secret.

It was different.

It was nice.

They arrived at the apartment complex.

“I expect you to know those moves down flat when I see you on Tuesday. Listen to the song religiously. Learn the beat, learn the little ticks. Do you have plans for the fourth?”

Peter shook his head. “No, May has a shift that day.”

“Good, we’re going to practice all month long. I finagled time in the studios on Wednesday and Thursday. Two hours from six to eight, plus our normal hour after ballet. We will crush that competition.” She looked him in the eyes and pointed her finger in front of his face. “That means nothing foolhardy and getting hurt. Do not get sick; avoid the train, the subway, people who cough, or small children. And don’t even think about anything that’s not dancing for the next thirty days. Got it?”

Peter raised his hand in a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

MJ’s eyes twinkled even though her mouth was set in a stern frown. “Good. See you later, Peter. I hope whatever’s bothering you gets resolved before the competition. I don’t need you distracted.”

“I won’t be MJ. I promise. See you on Tuesday. Have a good weekend.” He smiled as she walked off to her apartment.

“You too,” she called. Peter stayed for a few minutes as MJ climbed the steps to her aunt and uncle’s apartment. Once she was out of sight, his smile faded from his face.

The problems he had wouldn’t be resolved before the competition.

Peter didn’t think he’d ever be able to resolve them.

Streets of Queens, NY – July 12, 2016

It was July 12th, in the early hours of the morning, when Peter committed his biggest mistake so far as Spider-Man.

But let’s back up just a bit.

Peter was never busier than he was in the two weeks that passed since he stumbled onto, and utterly rejected, the crazy idea that he might be Samuel Stark.

He took to patrolling every night, with running out of web fluid no longer being an issue. A late-night experimenting session discovered that adding a few common household chemicals would make the fluid spread thinner without damaging the integrity. If he modified his remaining stock, he could double what he had left. Enough to last him until school started back up at the beginning of August without having to be stingy.

Initially, he worried about Aunt May waking up to find him gone, but she was so exhausted from her shifts that an alien invasion could happen, and she wouldn’t wake. Regardless, he still locked his bedroom door. If she questioned him, he could always rely on saying that he was a teenager and needed his privacy.

Tuesday through Friday was dance practice, and boy, did MJ drive him hard. She was determined to win the competition with every trick in the book. Unfortunately, Peter needed to learn all those tricks first. He was still convinced his nightly dance sessions with MJ were more challenging than swinging about being Spider-Man.

Between dancing and his nightly patrol, he spent most of the day asleep. With just enough time left over for hanging out with May whenever she was home, which wasn’t often. He was also keeping himself up to date with the scientific and engineering communities. A benefit to having a stack of cash to use as he could buy subscriptions to several journals previously unreadable because of a paywall. With a little bit of time left over for eating and social media, his days were filled to the brim.

As for Ned…

Peter hadn’t talked to his friend in two weeks, although it was more like three because of his grounding the week before. After about five days, Ned stopped texting or calling, except for one text at the beginning of every day that read…

I’m here to talk whenever.

Each day Peter read that text, his stomach twisted a little more. The weight in his chest made it harder to breathe.

Peter wanted to scream at himself for not doing anything, and yet at the same time, he just couldn’t. It was incredibly frustrating and exhausting.

So, he continued ignoring the problem.

For two weeks, he hadn’t played video games or talked about theories with his friend. He hadn’t done a joint patrol or bonded over junk food and sugary drinks. Despite being as busy as ever, he felt alone and isolated.

MJ mentioned his bad mood more than once. Although Peter maintained his stance that he didn’t want to talk about it. He knew the response irritated MJ.

Something had to break, and soon. Because Peter didn’t know what he was going to do with himself if it didn’t.

And that brought him to July eleventh. May left for an evening shift and wouldn’t be back until noon. So, after a dinner of slightly undercooked pasta, Peter headed out for patrol. Glancing at his phone, he saw it was a couple of minutes to midnight. It had been a slow night. A few minor thefts, and a couple of kids who’d gotten lost and needed help getting their way back home.

Swinging around the corner to a late-night bodega, he ducked in to grab a quick snack. The cashier was used to seeing him at this time of night, and after stopping a few gang members from brawling in the front parking lot three weeks ago, sometimes they gave him food for free.

A few minutes later, a bag of chips in hand, he swung to the top of a nearby building to gaze out across the East River to the glistening Manhattan in the distance.

Including Avengers Tower.

Peter growled, turning himself around. It was hard not to think about the Avengers, and in turn, think about the Starks. He lived in New York, Avengers headquarters. The Tower always loomed in the skyline, superhero-themed graffiti lining walls, and overpriced merch sold at every corner store for gullible tourists. It all served as a constant reminder.

Peter took down the posters in his room and hid all his themed clothing and merch, including his beloved Iron Man mask from the 2010 Expo. Once it was all hidden safely in the back of his closet, his room seemed pretty barren. But that was fine, all that stuff was childish anyway. His blank walls left him plenty of room to put up more fandom merch, or.. Well... anything else he liked that wasn't superhero related.

His walls were still very empty.

Unfortunately, his good-for-nothing brain still twisted the pieces of information over in Peter's head until he didn't know what to believe. On the one hand, there were so many coincidences that lined up between him and Samuel Stark. On the other hand, it was almost too fantastical to even be true. 

So why bother? 

Peter knew he was right in his thinking, leaving this whole twisted mess alone; he discovered more about Mariana and Richard. Fine. Okay. That was a hornet's nest with many heads, but he survived it. Now? Now it was just best to let whoever he'd been before HYDRA obtained him be dead. Whether that was Samuel Stark or somebody else. Best move on. 

Was it avoidance? Sure.

But Peter didn’t know what else to do.

He glanced down to see the chip bag crumpled in his hand. The remaining chips inside pulverized into little crumbs. Peter sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

Late into the witching hour, as Peter sailed across rooftops, he felt his Spidey-Sense tingling in the back of his mind. His ears detected the faint sounds of arguing in the distance.

Finally, something to do.

Swinging over to the sounds of the argument, he stayed out of sight to observe what he could gather about the situation before swinging into action.

It was a familiar situation.

A man backed up against a wall, begging and pleading to be let go. And another man demanded the guy’s wallet and anything else valuable. Except for this time, there was no knife in sight.

There was a gun.

Surprisingly, it was the first time he’d run into a gun in his time as Spider-Man. New York had pretty strict laws about owning guns, and while criminals weren’t inclined to follow those rules, some found it easier to get their hands on knives if they wanted to commit a petty crime. Peter also tried to help the little guy, mostly focusing on petty theft, fistfights, and helping people out whenever they needed it.

Once in a while, he may deal with gang-related violence or the occasional mugging, but it wasn’t often.

Just looking at the small black object made Peter’s insides do loops. He felt sweat race down his back, and his senses jumped from twelve to twenty.

He was scared.

But he was Spider-Man, and so he would help the best he could. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut and the shaking of his hands, he crawled down the building until he was almost in sight of the two men.

The guy holding the gun was getting increasingly angry, waving the piece of metal wildly. He was intoxicated. The other man handed over all the criminal had asked for and had nothing left to give.

Flipping off the wall, Peter sent a web to the criminal’s hand with the gun and yanked it out of his reach. Or at least he would have, had his hands not been shaking.

For the first time, his aim missed, and the web hit the side of the guy’s face. He turned his attention to Peter. Suddenly, the gun was aimed at him.

Peter felt his stomach drop, and all he could hear was the sound of blood pumping in his veins.

“You st-tupid ffreak!” yelled the man.

“H-hey, man, no, no need to be all, uh, up in arms,” said Peter weakly, his voice shaking. Breathing got harder the longer the gun was pointed at him. And then everything was spinning out of control, every sense going haywire despite his goggles that reduced visual input. Oh God, was he having a panic attack? He’d never had a panic attack as Spider-Man before.

“G-get out ofsh here Spiderish-Man,” said the guy, continuing to point the gun, and Peter froze in place. 'Come on, Peter, move!' He thought to himself. With as much concentration as he could, while descending into a panic attack, he took his other hand and shot it at the man, this time hoping to get the gun out of his hands.

It was at this point that everything went to hell.

The victim, who had been on his knees in the alley, decided to move, which caught the attention of the mugger. He moved faster than a drunk man should be able, which made Peter’s already shaky shot miss. The criminal turned towards the victim, and before Peter could move, he shot the gun.

Right into the chest of the victim.

The sound was deafening.

Peter sprinted across the alleyway towards the man with the gun, who was now focused on Peter. Peter’s Spidey-Senses blared, but before he could do anything, another shot rang out. A second later, caught up in the momentum of running, he socked the criminal in the jaw. The punch sent the man flying, and he hit the other building and slumped down. Whether he was dead or unconscious, Peter didn’t know. He turned his attention towards the other man who had been shot.

Peter recoiled in horror as he saw the blank eyes staring back up at him. A red spot on his shirt slowly grew larger with each passing second. He had been shot right in the heart. Looking down, he saw the man’s wallet on the ground, dropped when Peter had attacked the criminal.

His name was John.

He was only twenty-five years old.

And now he was dead.

And it was all Peter’s fault.

It wasn’t until a few seconds later, as the weight of the situation sank in and the adrenaline faded, that Peter realized his leg was burning. His suit was ripped, and blood soaked onto his costume.

He had been shot.

Peter stood in stunned silence.

He heard groans from behind him. He turned around, ignoring the sharp pain in his leg, and saw the criminal attempting to move. Without thinking, Peter shot off several webs, sticking the man to the ground. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’d like to report a shooting.” His voice was surprisingly steady for how much his brain was panicking.

“Sir, are you all right?”

“There has been a shooting right off the corner of 33rd Street and Broadway in Astoria, Queens. It’s in an alleyway. I just heard the gunshots go off.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Peter was silent for a minute and looked back at the guy who was dead because Peter was weak, a coward, and a failure.

“I think someone might be dead.”

“Sir, I have confirmed your location and have sent a dispatch unit. Do you need me to stay on the phone, or-?” The woman’s voice got cut off as Peter pressed the end call button.

He put his phone in his pocket.

“I’m so sorry, John,” Peter whispered.

He shot his webs to the top of the building, swinging out of sight as he heard sirens approaching in the distance.

Leeds’s Apartment – July 12, 2016

Peter’s hands still shook as he swung his way across Queens. The pain in his leg radiated outwards, sending shivers of agony throughout his body. He had never gotten hurt like this on patrol. Minor bruises, or cuts and scrapes – once, a guy managed to nick him with a knife, but never a gunshot wound.

Peter was in hell.

After his webs failed to make his mark for the third time, landing him face-first on the top of a building, Peter knew getting all the way home was going to be impossible. Looking around, he saw he was a minute from Ned’s house.

For a moment, he wondered if he should try to make it home. But, as another shiver of pain wracked through his body, he knew he’d never make it that far. He needed help, and he needed it now.

But would Ned even help him after almost three weeks of radio silence?

Peter wasn’t sure. But Ned still sent that text message every morning, so he hoped his friend would still help him, instead of turning him away. Not that Peter wouldn’t deserve it after the failure he was tonight…

Standing once more, Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and shot off another web, swinging over to Ned’s house. When it was in sight, he almost sobbed in relief. Every movement he took further served to cause him pain.

Landing on the roof of Ned’s apartment building, he took a moment to breathe and looked at his leg. The whole section of his pant leg was soaked in blood, and the fabric clung to his skin. Shuddering, he crawled to the window he knew was Ned’s. Barely hanging on to the side of the building, with how much his hands shook.

He rapped against the window and waited for a response.

Nothing.

Once more, he knocked and waited.

Nothing.

Peter knew he wouldn’t make it home. If he couldn’t get into Ned’s place, what would happen to him? Would he pass out on the street and die of blood loss? Would May lose another member of her family? Would a passerby find him and send him to the hospital? Would the police find him and connect him to the murder that happened tonight?

So many questions, and Peter couldn’t focus on an answer. He hung limply outside the window, stuck between a haze of pain and a panic attack.

He knocked a third time.

This time, Peter heard movement from inside.

He waited a few seconds before the window finally opened. And there stood Ned, hair mussed up, pajamas on, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Peter, what the hell, dude? It’s three in the morning. You can’t just show up unannounced after weeks of radio silence. What are you doing here?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his best friend’s voice. Even half-asleep, it didn’t stop Ned’s incessant questions. “I-I’m in-n a... a bit of a bind,” he stuttered, his voice laced with pain. “Can I come in?" Please say yes, please say yes.

Ned sighed. “Yeah, sure, come in. Just be quiet, my parents will kill us if they find you here.” Ned moved away from the frame, and Peter clumsily climbed through and fell to the ground, whimpering from his wound. At the sound, Ned’s eyes opened wide, and his friend flicked on a light to take a good look at Peter.

“Oh my god, your leg is bleeding.”

“Y—yeah, I… I couldn’t make it home. Do you, do you still have that first aid kit?”

Ned was already kneeling and grabbing the kit from underneath his bed. “Oh my gosh, you’re bleeding. Are you going to die? Please don’t die.”

Peter sighed and dragged the mask off his face, wincing as the light hit his eyes. “I’m not going to die, Ned. It was one bullet, okay?”

“You got shot!” Ned nearly screamed.

“Shush!”

“Sorry,” Ned whispered, his voice still panicky. "You got shot!?" 

“Yes, I got shot, but it’s going to be okay. We practiced this, remember?”

Ned shot him a look of disbelief. “We watched YouTube videos on how to bandage a cut, not deal with a bullet hole.”

“Ned, we’ve got to stay calm.”

“Calm? We need to get you to the hospital.” Despite those words, his friend was already digging into the well-stocked first aid kit. 

Peter’s panic trumped his pain, and he reached for his friend, who was frantically looking between him and the bullet wound.

“No, no hospitals, Ned. Remember, they will find out about the bite and my powers. Everyone will know, and I’ll be locked away for the rest of my life to be experimented on. We have to do this ourselves. Please, Ned.” At this point, Peter stopped pretending to be strong about the pain. Tears streamed down his face.

Ned looked at him in fear but nodded his head.

“All right, I’ll do it. Okay, okay, breathe Leeds, what’s the first step?” Ned muttered under his breath, pumping himself up.

“We need to see if the bullet is still in my leg.”

Ned glanced at the wound and lifted Peter’s leg, which made him double over in pain. “Sorry,” his friend said again. “There isn’t any exit wound, so I guess the bullet is still in there. Which means…” he trailed off.

Peter dragged in a labored breath. “You need to get it out.”

“Peter, I can’t do that.”

Nope. Refusal was not an option; Peter couldn't heal around the bullet wound, he watched enough medical dramas to know that was asking for an infection. If his fancy healing powers would let him get an infection.“Yes, you can, Ned. I believe in you. I know I’m asking a lot, but… I can’t do this. Not by myself.” Peter didn’t know what hurt more, the pain, or the guilt of dragging his friend into his shit.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got this.” This time, Ned did sound more determined.

Peter smiled weakly. “Of course, you can, you’re my Guy-In-The-Chair. You should g-go lock your door, in case someone tries to walk in.” Ned nodded and rushed over to the door to lock it.

He paused, turning back to Peter. “I need to go get more supplies: hydrogen peroxide to help clean the wound, paper towels, and pain medicine.”

Peter shook his head. “Don’t bother with the medicine, it won’t work on me.”

“I’m not going to dig a bullet out of your leg without pain medication.”

Peter paled at the prospect but shook his head again. Then an idea struck him, one that was so stupid it might work. “Do your parents have any alcohol?”

Ned shifted uneasily. “Peter, we aren’t old enough to drink.”

“Yeah, but think – alcohol dulls pain, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll metabolize it, but not as fast as medicine, which takes forever to work anyway. I just need enough to get buzzed. Come on, Ned.”

Ned hesitated but nodded. “Yeah, we have a whiskey bottle that Mom hides in the back cabinet. My parents don’t drink from it often, so I doubt they’ll notice some missing. I’ll grab a towel for you to bite down on, too.” Ned slipped out of the room and closed the door, leaving Peter alone. He dropped his head against the bedpost and rested for a minute, insanely glad he had the coolest best friend in the world.

A few minutes later, although with the pain building, it felt like an eternity, the door creaked open again. Ned carried the supplies back into the room and shut and locked the door.

“Okay, paper towels to go underneath you while we’re working. Water to wash the wound and hydrogen peroxide to clean it. A towel for you to chomp on and alcohol for you to drink. And a box of matches to sterilize the tweezers." He shook his head. "I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he huffed. Peter smiled weakly.

Peter smiled weakly. “You’re doing great.”

Ned glared at him. “Oh, shut up, I’m panicking. And once you’re not bleeding all over my floor, I’m going to demand every detail of how this happened.” He spread out the paper towels and grabbed a pair of scissors from the first aid kit.

“Whoa, dude, what are you doing? That’s my costume,” Peter complained.

Ned snorted. “Peter, it’s soaked in blood, it’s unsalvageable. You can get new pants later. I need to cut off the fabric around the entry wound.” Without another word, he snipped the pant leg off. Peter's leg, laid out on paper towels, ran sticky with blood. It hadn’t looked like the wound had healed at all yet. But then again, Peter used a lot of energy patrolling and hadn’t had a particularly big dinner. He was probably running low on whatever powered his healing abilities.

Ned handed the alcohol to Peter, who unscrewed the lid. The smell of it wafted over to his nose, which crinkled in disgust. But he had no other options. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took a small sip.

Gah! It tasted worse than it smelled.

“Oh my gosh,” Peter choked out. “How the hell do adults drink this stuff?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you’ll need more than a tiny bit.” Peter nodded and took another sip – it was as disgusting as the one before. A few minutes later, with a significant amount of the bottle downed, Peter was still coughing every time he drank. He was starting to feel something, though, so he placed aside the bottle to watch Ned work.

The bullet wound was off to the side of his shin, away from his bone, which was a small miracle. Ned poured water over the wound and washed some of the blood away. Wiping the rest up with paper towels. It stung, but Peter was kind of drifting, so he did nothing more than grunt.

“I just want to state for the record that I think this is a bad idea,” defended Ned, grabbing the pair of tweezers and the box of matches.

“Your opinion is noted, but I have a bullet in my leg. So, let’s focus on that instead,” responded Peter drowsily.

Ned poured hydrogen peroxide over the tweezers and struck a match, holding them over the open flame. The alcohol burned away, leaving the tweezers at least moderately sterilized.

“I would put that towel in your mouth if I were you,” commented Ned. Peter grabbed the cloth and stuck it in his mouth, preparing for a lot of pain. He saw Ned breathe heavily, and he placed the tweezers in the bullet wound. For a few seconds, Peter didn’t feel anything, and then the pain hit him. He could no longer watch, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Twisting the towel with his hands, he tried hard not to scream.

For a few minutes, Peter was in agony; he was sure he had even passed out for a few seconds here and there when he finally heard Ned speaking.

“… It’s gonna be okay, Peter, a few more seconds. I just felt metal click metal. I’ll have the bullet out soon. Just a little while longer, you’re doing well.” Again and again, he repeated those words until, with a quick yank, he pulled out the bullet.

Peter screamed into the towel.

And then it tore in two.

“It’s done, we’re good, you’re good,” Ned smoothed. Peter’s mind was awash with white, and he grappled behind him searching for the whiskey bottle. Once in hand, he spat out the towel and took another swig of whiskey. It was still awful, but the burn down his throat distracted him from the pain radiating out of his leg.

Peter watched with watering eyes as Ned used the pads from the first aid kit to clean the wound with hydrogen peroxide.

“Do you think it needs stitches?” asked Ned.

“No,” croaked Peter. “That’s for length, not depth – I think. Let’s just wrap it and let my healing factor take care of the rest.” Ned nodded. For a few minutes, there was nothing but silence, only occasionally interrupted by pained breaths from Peter and the swish of liquid as he continued to drink. Finally, Ned finished and moved to clean everything up. Peter placed the lid back on the whiskey bottle and handed it off to his friend.

Silence.

Once the immediate danger was taken care of, a tense mood descended on the room. Peter watched Ned take a seat at his desk and swung the chair around to face the hero.

“So… that happened,” he said. Peter chuckled – his mind swirling. For once, his thoughts were blessedly still. “What happened tonight?” Peter grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was tell Ned what had happened. But he did make his friend dig a bullet out of his leg, so he owed him an explanation.

Peter gave a brief overview of what had happened that night. He explained in as clinical terms as possible what happened in the alleyway, but Ned caught on and forced him to tell about his panic attack and how he had screwed up.

“Peter, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

Peter rolled his eyes.“Uh, yeah, I can. If I hadn’t gotten myself involved, that man could have walked away.”

“Or the mugger would have shot him, whether you were there or not.”

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in my stupid fears, I could have stopped the mugger before he even had the chance to shoot the gun.”

Ned sighed. “Peter, you can’t blame everything on yourself. You tried your best, now you know.”

“Yeah, at the cost of someone’s life.”

“It still isn’t on you. You didn’t pull the  trigger.”

“But-”

Ned shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “No, Peter! You have to accept this if you’re going to be a hero. Sometimes, you’ll win, and sometimes you’ll lose. Look at the Avengers, look at the fallout of the SHIELD leaks. Even the big heroes don’t always win the day. Yeah, it’s awful that a man is dead. That means you pick yourself up and be better next time. But sometimes your best isn’t going to be enough, and you have to be okay with that. Otherwise, you’ll crack, and you’ll be no good to anyone.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Ned silenced him with a glare.

Peter couldn’t agree with his friend. Not with the blank, dead eyes of John still gazing at him. But he understood where Ned was coming from.

Peter took a deep breath. “Thanks, Ned. And I’m so, so sorry about everything else. Ignoring you and avoiding you and shit. I just… I just couldn’t deal, and I needed to be alone.”

Ned rolled his eyes, but sported a small smile on his face. “Peter, when you’re left alone with your thoughts, you overthink. When you overthink, you convince yourself of the worst things imaginable. And then you feel guilty. And like you’re too much of a burden on everyone else. And you don’t say a word. Then you try to tell everyone you’re fine when you’re not fine.

“And then you can’t bring yourself to fix it because you always think you’ve ruined things beyond repair. If you hadn’t been shot, would you have ever come to me?”

Peter opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a good answer.

Ned sighed, slumping back into his chair. “Peter, you can’t shut me out like that. We’re doing this whole thing together for a reason. You need someone on your side. I’ve been with you every step of the way. And when it comes to your problems, I let you make the call. You don’t want to tell anyone about your powers, I disagree, but fine. You don’t want to tell anyone about your past, I disagree, but fine. You don’t want to tell the Starks you’re their biological child-" Peter opened his mouth to argue that last point, he was not-

"I disagree," Ned continued with a pointed look. "But fine. Your choice.” Well, at least it looked like Ned would drop that. 

"You want to avoid the hospital when you’re shot, and let your completely inexperienced best friend dig a bullet out of your leg? I completely disagree and think it’s stupid, but fine.” Ned huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Peter felt the shame and guilt curling in his stomach, making him want to run. "But when you let your brain run off and say all these mean things about my best friend, that's when I'm going to step in and put a stop to it." 

Peter finally smiled, and both boys couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. “I’m sorry, Ned, I am. You know how weird my head gets.”

“Yeah, I do. Which is why I’m not as mad as I should be after you ignored me for two weeks. Just don’t do it again, Peter. We’re in this together. Got it?”

“Got it.” The whiskey had finally settled in, numbing Peter’s leg and his brain to the point where he was drowsy and loopy. “Hey, Ned?”

“Yes, Peter.”

“You know I love you, right? You’re my bestest friend.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “Wow, so you’re an affectionate drunk, good to know for future reference. Yeah, I know Peter. I love you too, I couldn’t ask for a cooler friend.” Peter giggled, feeling warm and fuzzy. His eyes started to drift shut when he heard Ned speak again, but almost as if he was hearing him through the water.

“You won’t make it back to your house tonight. When does May get home?” Peter muttered something about noon. His eyes were closed shut, and his brain had turned cotton. Peter was so tired. “Tsk, tsk, what would you do without me?”

“Overtink, everything. And crash an’ burn,” Peter slurred.

“Damn right you would. You can sleep on the bottom bunk tonight.” Two hands hauled Peter off the ground, his leg throbbed a bit, but he was too tired to care. “Jesus, Peter, you’re as light as a feather.” The next second, Peter felt his head hit a soft surface. “Goodnight, dude.”

“Nighty, night.” Darkness and silence overtook him.

Scarsdale Community Center – July 29, 2016

Peter didn’t think he’d ever been more nervous before in his life.

The slightly run-down community center was packed to the brim with contestants, families, friends, and people who wanted to see a dance competition. He and MJ were set to perform in a few minutes, and Peter was sure he was going to mess everything up. He felt a presence come up behind him, and he turned around to see MJ.

She was dressed in a white halter neck top and a red and white polka dot skirt that came to her knees. She also had a red and white polka dot neckerchief tied around her throat, and she had styled her hair in those weird 40s curls.

Peter thought she looked beautiful.

He was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up with a pair of suspenders over his shoulders. He had on a black fedora and a red bowtie. Peter felt kinda dorky, but MJ assured him they looked coordinated.

“Don’t look so nervous, Peter, we’ve got this,” assured MJ.

“I still feel as if I’m going to mess up – I wish we could have practiced more. I’ve never performed in front of this many people before.”

MJ rolled her eyes.“Oh, relax, we performed this on Friday in front of fifteen eight-year-olds, and you had no problem whatsoever. And if you wanted to have stuffed in more practice, that’s your own fault.” Her teasing glare held a little bit of fire in it. Her reaction to his leg injury, which he played off as a simple sprain, had been frightening.

“I GAVE YOU SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS! Don’t get hurt, don’t get sick, and don’t do anything but dance for the next thirty days. You better hope you get better because I swear to all that is good in this world if you don’t, I will drag you through this broken leg or not.”

“It’s only a sprain-”

“Don’t say another damn word. You do NOTHING for the rest of the FUCKING week, and I will see you on Friday.” Click.

Needless to say, on Friday, he was glad he was fully healed from the bullet wound, lest he face the continued wrath of Michelle Jones.

The remaining two and a half weeks were spent in constant preparation. Peter ate, slept, and breathed dance in the days leading up to the competition. He didn’t even dare go patrolling three days before, just in case he got hurt again. Queens could survive without him for a few days.

But finally, the anticipated and dreaded event arrived.

MJ’s uncle and aunt had driven Peter, MJ, and Ned to the community center. Ned was out in the audience, along with MJ’s relatives. Murray was Michelle’s dad’s younger brother. He was kind of intimidating, but he ran an amazing dance studio. Tina was shorter than even Peter, but she gave huge hugs. She was also the best tango dancer on this side of the East River. Peter liked her immediately.

“NOW ANNOUNCING CONTESTANTS #34 and #35 – Peter Parker and Michelle Jones.” Peter’s breathing hitched, and MJ placed her hand on his shoulder.

“We have this,” Peter looked back at her, and saw, for the first time during this whole process, that MJ was nervous as well. A feeling of calm descended over him. He wasn’t alone in this. He smiled and grabbed her hand, ready to lead her out to the dance floor.

“You’re right. We’ve got this.” They left backstage and strode onto the stage, the lights blocking their view of the audience filling the seats. With a smile on their faces, they got into position and waited for the music to start.

Thirty minutes later, once all the contestants were done and the winners were announced. Everyone stood around congratulating each other for their wonderful performances.

Peter and MJ both beamed with a second-place trophy in hand. MJ was still a little disappointed; it wasn’t a first-place trophy. But they lost to a couple who had been dancing for years together, so to pull off a second-place win after only a month of practice was pretty impressive.

The constant stream of praise from onlookers and other contestants left MJ and Peter happy with their performance. Ned gave both of them huge hugs when they came down from accepting their award.

“Okay, I take back everything I said about dancing. That was so hardcore and very cool. The way you lifted her and then the flips, and oh my gosh, it was so cool. And Michelle, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person’s feet move that fast. Could you go faster?” Ned’s chatter made the whole night all the more enjoyable. It seemed the nice compliments and curiosity about dancing had gotten Ned on MJ’s list of people she could tolerate.

“Yeah, I could have gone faster, Ned.”

“That’s so cool, Michelle.”

“You can call me MJ.” Ned’s mouth dropped open, but before he could say anything, Tina and Murray came over to wish them congratulations too.

“Oh, Michelle, I’m so proud of you, sweetie,” announced Tina. “And Peter, dear, you did fantastically too.” She gave MJ a big hug. Peter caught Ned mouthing at him. ‘I can call her MJ?!’ Peter chuckled; it was nice to have his friends getting along. He nodded.

The auditorium was filled, but Peter couldn’t help glancing around, looking for one specific person.

May.

He knew she wouldn’t be able to make it. She wanted to and desperately tried to get her shift off this evening, but things hadn’t worked out. She had hugged him and told him he’d be amazing before running off to her shift. It wasn’t the first time she had to miss something of his, but he always had Ben there to fill in the gaps.

Now he had no one.

“Hey loser,” called a soft voice.

“Hey, dance queen.” He turned around to see that MJ had left her aunt and uncle, who were chatting with other dancers. Ned disappeared somewhere into the crowd.

“I like that. I am the dance queen.” MJ smiled, glancing around as Peter had done. The energy disappeared from her eyes, and the smile became forced. Peter didn’t like seeing it, especially when she truly had been happy the whole night.

“Your aunt couldn’t come?” 

Peter nodded. “It’s not her fault, though. Had a shift she couldn’t get out of. Her job is more important.”

MJ rolled her eyes and scowled. “It isn’t, but at least yours has a good excuse. My parents straight up didn’t want to come.”

“They’re back in town?”

“Yeah, they got back yesterday. Said they were too tired to come tonight. Which, I mean, sure. They did have a long flight and everything, but still…” she trailed off. And for the first time, Peter caught the disappointment in her eyes.

“Well, they’re idiots for not coming, and I’m glad you had your aunt and uncle here to support you. And Ned got into it, too. I saw what you did with the name thing.”

MJ’s smile brightened a bit and took on a teasing quality. “Well, you talk about him so much; I feel as if I already know him. Can’t have him calling me Michelle when you’re constantly calling me MJ.” She sniffed and tilted her head. Peter reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“It means a lot to me. I don’t have many friends.” MJ looked back at Peter, and her expression softened.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I did it.” The look in her eyes and the way her voice grew softer made Peter think she wasn’t only talking about letting Ned call her MJ. “Come on, loser, Uncle Murray’s going to take us out for food. You must be starving.” She pulled him through the crowd over to the door, where Murray, Tina, and Ned waited for them.

Walking through the crowd, hand in hand with MJ. He realized his loneliness wasn’t so big anymore. The worry in his mind from every little thing that made his life a mess didn’t seem as big when he had friends to face it with.

His life was what it was, even if it started as a lie. He was Peter Parker – Queen’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, May Parker’s nephew, Ned Leeds’s best friend, and MJ’s dance partner.

He didn’t need to be anything more.

As everyone left the busy convention center, laughing and joking, still high on energy from the competition, Peter finally felt content. For the first time in a long time, he was happy.

He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the Starks. Whether or not he was Samuel Stark. Despite the urge of curiosity to pluck at the mysterious thread, Peter knew it was better to leave it be. He wished them well, but he had his own life now. One that wasn’t perfect, one that even hurt, but it was his and he wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

Besides, it wasn't like Peter would ever have to deal with the consequences of not searching them out to confirm he was their kid. They lived in two separate worlds. There was no reason for Tony and Pepper Stark to ever know Peter Parker even existed. And that’s exactly how it should be.

Chapter Text

Queens – August 12, 2016

"Dude, it's only the second week of school and I'm already dead," complained Peter. The hot August sun beat on their necks on the walk from the bus stop to Ned's house.

"Tell me about it. How do you think you did on the Algebra test? I blanked on the last five questions."

Peter winced; he finished the test in twenty-five minutes. His teacher shot him a dirty look and began grading it. Probably expecting the test to be wrong. Eight minutes later, Peter had never seen a person's eyebrows go so high.

It wasn't Peter's fault that he noticed a mistake in the test and corrected it.

"Oh, I think I did alright on it." He readjusted both backpacks on his shoulders. Peter insisted on carrying their bags whenever they walked together. When all their books were in the bags, they weighed twenty pounds apiece. Peter possessed super strength. Ned did not.

He carried the bags.

"Whelp, here I am," said Ned, walking through the parking lot over to his building. They exchanged a handshake, and Peter handed him his backpack. "Are we still on for gaming tomorrow night? Sorry, I was sick on your birthday. 24-hour flu sucks. I'm pretty sure Kayla gave it to me. The perils of little sisters still stuck in elementary school."

Peter waved his hand. "Nah, it's fine, I would have gotten sick too if it hadn't been for the whole..." He thwipped his hands in the motion he made when swinging from building to building.

"Lucky you, immune to the flu," Ned grumbled. "Now, if only you were that lucky with bullets." They laughed, which had been harder to do since Peter ended up shot on patrol. After that, it had sunk in that what they were doing was not a game. Peter could get hurt. Other people could get hurt or die. Peter added more fuel to add to his never-ending nightmares. The dead eyes of that poor man he failed to save.

It sucked.

But he had to keep trying.

"Catch you later," called Ned.

"Yeah, you too."

Peter shoved his earphones in and cranked his music, hoping to drown out as much noise as possible. He was tempted to stop at Delmar's for a snack, but Aunt May was home today and would have food waiting for him. Sighing, he passed by the store wishing for a sandwich. Maybe he'd grab one when he went out for patrol later.

He wasn't kidding when he said school made him feel dead. Between patrol, mindless schoolwork, his own academic interests, dance practice with MJ (because that was still a thing), and decathlon meets starting this week, Peter's time was packed full. He was glad to drop robotics and band, otherwise, he'd be swimming in activities with no free time. And while Peter grew more used to his hyped-up senses over the summer, the hallways, the cafeteria, and even the classrooms were still hellishly loud and grated on his nerves.

Combined with renewed bullying from Flash - thankfully, nothing too physical like the incident at the end of last year - school was just eight hours of hell.

He couldn't wait for college.

A few minutes from his building, he ducked into an alleyway behind an old electronics store. They often threw out old junk and didn't mind when Peter scavenged from their garbage. Despite his birthday being a few days ago, he was already working on Ned's birthday gift for November.

He wanted to create a hologram displaying the Death Star. And that would play out the X-wing battle where Luke blew it up. He needed all the parts he could scavenge before admitting defeat and getting the rest online.

Most of the stuff in the electronic store's garbage was junk, but there was a DVD player that could be used for parts. Peter grabbed it and headed his way down the street.

Apartment in sight, Peter's Spidey-Sense dinged. He glanced around but didn't see anything suspicious.

Then he spotted the car.

Low to the ground, sleek, and pitch-black, Peter couldn't tell what kind it was from this distance. It must have cost a small fortune, though. Peter let out a low whistle of appreciation. Whoever owned that piece of machinery had better have good insurance. In a neighborhood like this, it was begging to get jacked.

Slowing for a second or two to admire it, Peter entered his building. Taking the elevator for once. He enjoyed the coolness of the air conditioning after stepping in from the hot summer.

The elevator dinged open, and Peter held tight to the DVD player. Turning down the hallway, he grabbed his keys out of his pocket. The key chain was new. It was a gift from May for his birthday. Instead of just carrying around a house key, he had a car key on there, too. She promised she would teach him how to drive as soon as he passed his written exam.

Peter unlocked the door to his apartment. Engrossed in his music, he hardly noticed the faint hum of his Spidey-Sense tingling.

"Hey, May," he called. He placed his backpack and DVD player on the front table and made his way into the kitchen.

"Hey," he heard her call from the sofa. "How was school today?" Peter rolled his eyes; school was always the same. Too long, too loud, and too boring.

"It was okay." He walked over to the opening between the kitchen and the living room. "There's this crazy car parked outside." His senses finally blared at him, and he raised his eyes.

His aunt was not alone on the couch.

Sitting next to her, a piece of walnut date loaf in hand, was Tony Stark.

Fuck.

He was so screwed.

Peter's brain shut down for a second while he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

Why was Stark here?

The signs of a panic attack started, which was the last thing Peter wanted. Slowly, he dragged in a breath of air and focused on the sound of his heartbeat.

"Hello, Mr. Parker." Peter's stomach dropped at those words. He'd heard the man speak a thousand times on video, and only once or twice in person. But seeing him sitting there was a whole other experience. Peter was caught between intense fanboying – his idol, his hero, was sitting in his living room; and intense panic – Tony Stark, the man who had the potential to be his biological father, was sitting in his living room.

Stark, dressed in a suit, just like all the other times Peter had seen a picture of him. He exuded the presence of a man who was always cool, calm, and collected. The only thing that seemed out of place was the bruise around his right eye.

And the fact that he was sitting in Peter's living room.

May was leaning over the couch, a bemused smile in place. She held a glass of wine in her hand. With a bottle on the table next to her walnut date loaf, she had made for Peter's birthday. His brain booted back up, and Peter realized he should say something.

"Um…" He took his earphones out of his ears and clicked off his music. "What…? What are you doing…?" His voice pitched higher, a sign of his nervousness. No Peter, try to be polite, try to remain calm. "Hey, I'm, I'm, I'm-" ‘

'Oh god, you shouldn't be here, why are you here!?'

"Peter," he finished lamely. The billionaire tilted his head, flashing a smile. 

"Tony."

"What're you- What're you- What're you doing here?" stuttered Peter, desperately trying to keep a hold on things inside his mind. The panic bubbling in his stomach combined with the blaring in his head from his Spidey-Sense meant he was spiraling. It didn't seem like Stark recognized him as anybody but Peter.

Good. Because he wasn't.

But... if the man wasn't here about that, then why was he here?

"You've been getting my emails, right?" prompted Stark. Peter's eyes glanced towards May, seeing if she noticed anything weird. She mouthed, ‘Can you believe it?'

Peter could not believe it. He had no idea what Mr. Stark was talking about. The man winked several times.

Peter was so confused.

"Yeah, yeah," he responded, figuring it was best to go along with whatever was playing out in front of him. "Regarding the…" he trailed off, hoping either of them would fill him in the blanks.

"You didn't tell me about the grant," complained May, taking another sip of wine. Peter's internal confusion rose another few clicks.

"About the grant," Peter repeated. A grant?

"The September Foundation," clarified Mr. Stark. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, at least he knew whatever cover story he was using. He still didn't know why though as he'd never, ever applied for a grant for Stark Industries.

"Right," confirmed Peter.

"Yeah, remember when you applied?" asked Mr. Stark.

Hell no.

"Yeah," replied Peter warily. He was so out of his depth here.

"I approved," stated the man matter-of-factly, as if all this was actually happening and not an elaborate lie being woven out of thin air. "So now we're in business." Peter heard the man's tone shift and Mr. Stark gave a little nod.

May looked so put out about not being included in things. "You didn't tell me anything. What's up with that? You're keeping secrets from me now?" Peter's eyes widened a bit. He was getting better at lying to May. A fact he was none too proud of. But having Tony Stark sitting there was throwing off his game.

"Well, I just- I just know how much you love surprises. So, I thought I would let you know..." he trailed off and looked over to Mr. Stark. He hoped the man would help him out because he had no clue what this "grant" was supposed to be about. "Anyway, whatdidIapplyfor?"

"That's what I'm here to hash out," replied Mr. Stark.

"Okay, hash – Hash it out. Okay." He curled his arms tighter around his stomach as if that would protect him from the panic in his head or the clear and present danger sitting in his living room. His Spidey-sense really should have warned him more; this entire situation was extremely dangerous. 

"It's so hard for me to believe she is someone's aunt," the man commented, and Peter's panic increased. Did he not think that May was his aunt? Was this a subtle indicator he was here about-

"Well we come in all shapes and sizes; you know?" May's voice was light and giggly, probably from the wine she'd sipped on. But underneath was a tinge of sharpness. The same tone she used whenever she got hit on. It happened more often than Peter liked to remember (or admit), and that was when he was around.

Oh, Mr. Stark had been flirting.

Ew.

"This walnut-date loaf is exceptional." Peter nearly gagged. May's cooking was not great. (Not that he would ever say that to her face.) Which meant Mr. Stark was continuing to flirt, and Peter needed to shut that down and fast.

"Let me stop you right there," interrupted Peter, finally uncurling his arms.

"Yeah?" Mr. Stark looked at him with another wink.

"Does this grant have money involved, or whatever? No?" Peter waved his hands around. This was a pretty normal question to ask.

Right?

"Yeah," the man's voice pitched – the same tell Peter knew he had when he was lying, no shut up, that didn't matter, that was a coincidence - but it was a normal indicator that someone was lying, so Mr. Stark likelu was not here to talk about a grant. 'Stop comparing yourself to him, you idiot.'

"It's pretty well funded. Look who you're talking to."

Peter wished he couldn't. No, he was painfully aware of who he was talking to.

"Can I have five minutes with him?" Mr. Stark asked May. Peter's stomach dropped again. No, no, no, no. He did not want to be alone with him. Peter was barely keeping up with this conversation with May in the room. What was going to happen when he had to deal with the man alone? But it was already too late. Mr. Stark rose from the couch and walked around clasping Peter's shoulder. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He sent a quick forced smile to May before the man steered him into the kitchen and over to the door to Peter's bedroom.

He knew where Peter's bedroom was.

Peter was so fucking screwed.

He scrambled inside and watched Mr. Stark follow behind him. The man clicked the lock shut and moved over to his trash can and spat out the last piece of the loaf he'd taken a bite of. Peter couldn't blame him. He hadn't been able to take more than three bites of it himself.

No, Peter. Focus.

"As walnut-date loaves go, that wasn't bad." Mr. Stark wandered over to his desk where he had old tech set up to scrap for parts for Ned's present. Peter stood guard by the bed. Everything important; every item, and paper, and photo that revealed who Peter was, was hidden under his bed. And he could only hope Mr. Stark had no clue.

"Ah-hah, what do we have here? Retro-tech. Huh. Thrift store? Salvation Army?" Peter winced. Most of the time he didn't bother to check those places when he had the junkyard or alleyways to search through.

"Ah, the, uh, garbage actually-"

"So, you're a dumpster diver?" The man turned around and faced him, with a calculating look in his eye. Peter couldn't meet his stare. He kept twisting his hands and glancing back at the bed wondering if he would have to make a move to keep the man away from it.

"Yeah, I was-" he cut himself off before he could explain the stuff was for a present. "Anyway, I definitely did not apply for your grant."

"Ah-ah, me first," Mr. Stark cut him off, before digging into his jacket pocket. "Quick question, of the rhetorical variety. That's you, right?" He flipped out his phone to show a video.

Of Spider-Man.

"Um no. What're you- What're you…" Peter mumbled out, unable to come back with a response when all he could feel was a relief. Oh, thank god, the man wasn't here because he knew about his past. He was here about Spider-Man.

This was still bad.

But it could be much worse.

"Yeah." The man insisted. He flipped the phone up and the YouTube video of him stopping the speeding car from hitting the bus earlier in the summer played out in hologram form. Exactly what he'd been trying to make for Ned's birthday. Great minds think alike.

No, Peter. Focus. Do not compare yourself to him.

"Look at you go. Wow! Nice catch. Three-thousand pounds, forty miles an hour. That's not easy." He placed down the phone which continued to play holographic videos of Spider-Man. Peter's hands itched to take a look at that technology for a second to see how it worked.

"You have mad skills." Oh, wait. He was in the middle of trying to convince Mr. Stark he wasn't Spider-Man.

"That's all- That's all on YouTube though, right?" He made his way past the man. Unable to resist the siren's call of that beautiful tech. "Because that's where you found that. You know it's all fake. It's all done on a computer. It's uh- It's like that video..." Peter tried to come up with an excuse on why those videos existed. He knew it was thin, but it was an excuse May would believe. Maybe Mr. Stark would believe it too? His hands grazed over the StarkPhone, amazed at the sleekness of the design. What he wouldn't do to get his hands on a piece of tech like this.

"Uh-huh," he heard the other man mumbled. "Yeah like those UFOs over Phoenix."

"Exactly." Peter glanced away from the hologram to see what Mr. Stark was doing when he noticed the man lifting the trapdoor to the attic space where he'd hidden his suit. It came tumbling down, and Peter rushed over to grab it to get it out of Mr. Stark's sight.

"What do we have here?" the man questioned. Peter leaned against the wall. Kicking himself for not finding a better hiding place. At least none of the other stuff was there too – Peter would have really been panicking.

"Uh, that's uh..." he watched Mr. Stark move to stand in front of him. The black eye did not distract from the man's obvious curiosity.

"So, you're this… Spider-ling? Crime-fighting-spider? You're Spider-boy?" Peter's cheeks flushed. He knew he wasn't well known outside of Queens. Stark obviously knew who he was, but he didn't know his superhero name?

"Spider-Man," Peter snapped. Mr. Stark scoffed.

"Not in that onesie, you're not." Peter grit his teeth. Sure, his suit wasn't great, but it was his. He'd made it, and fixed it, and even had planned on making a black stealth suit.

"It's not a onesie." Peter made his way back to his desk. Trying to create distance between him and Mr. Stark. He needed air to breathe, and he felt like all of it was sucked out of the air whenever the man drew closer.

"If you can believe this, I was actually having a really good day Mr. Stark. I didn't miss my train. There was this perfectly good DVD player just sittin' there." Peter watched the man pick up his suit and examine it in his hands. "And algebra test," he tapped his screwdriver against the desk. "Nailed it." More like made an enemy of his teacher for daring to correct his test.

"Anybody else knows?" Mr. Stark asked. Peter's mind jumped to Ned, but he couldn't have his friend put into the crossfire too. He didn't know why Mr. Stark was here yet. Peter shook his head.

"No, nobody."

"Not even your unusually attractive aunt?" Peter felt a spark of irritation at the comment. It was drowned out by fear though.

"No. No. No, no, no. If she knew, she would freak out." Plus, it would be another weight to put on her, another person to drag into his crazy web of lies he'd spun around himself. He couldn't even find humor in the spider puns when he was this worked up. "And when she freaks out, I freak out."

"You know what I think is really cool?" Mr. Stark commented. "This webbing." Peter's senses dinged, and Peter lifted his hand without ever looking at the other man. He caught the bottle of web fluid. "The tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?" Peter rolled his eyes. What? Like the man couldn't believe Peter could do it himself.

"I did." He said, tossing the web fluid out of sight in case May came in.

"Climbing walls? How you doing that? Adhesive gloves?"

"It's a long story, I ah…" it was not a story Peter particularly wanted to get into.

"Lordy!" Peter saw the man looking at the googles that helped reduce input. Mr. Stark put them up to his eyes. "Can you even see in these?"

"Yes, yes I can," he grabbed the suit away from him, and he heard the man chuckle. "Yes, I can see in those. Okay?" Mr. Stark turned his head to look at Peter. "It's just that when whatever happened, happened..." He didn't want to delve into the whole experimented on and gifted powers ten years later thing. "It was like my senses got dialed up to eleven." On a good day. Or if he wasn't having a panic attack. Otherwise, it was worse. "There's- There's just way too much input. So, they just kind of help me focus." He saw Mr. Stark roll his eyes.

"You're in dire need of an upgrade. Systemic. Top to bottom. Hundred-point restoration. That's why I'm here." Peter sat on the bed and looked at the man. The imminent danger was gone, but Peter was still wary. He didn't trust that all Mr. Stark wanted was to give him an upgrade.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. Peter glanced away. What could he say? That he had powers that were derived from the experiments done on him as a child, and a fluke accident on a field trip. That he was responsible for his uncle's death. That the thrill of using his powers to help people made him feel more whole than he'd ever been in his life. All 2that and more?

"I got to know your MO. What gets you out of that twin bed every morning?"

"Because…" Peter looked at his hand. The one the spider had bitten. He rubbed it; remembering the intense pain that had radiated out of it when his body had mutated. "Um… uh…" He glanced at Mr. Stark who was still waiting for an answer. "Because I've been me my whole life." Peter hadn't known any other life but his own. It was screwed up. It was sad. It was broken. But it was his. He was Peter Parker.

He had to keep telling himself that.

"And I've had these powers for six months." He paused and looked at Mr. Stark. He nodded, in understanding. "I read books. I build computers," he gestured over to his desk. "And yeah, I'd love to play football. But I couldn't then, so I shouldn't now."

"Sure, 'cause you're different." Peter nodded.

"Exactly, but I can't tell anyone that, so I'm not." Except if he revealed it to his best friend.

But he wasn't going to use his powers for self-gain.

One, it would land him in trouble with whoever monitored people with powers. Two, it would attract the attention of any people who knew about project Anima. Or anyone who knew about Richard Parker's research. And three, it would go against everything Ben had taught him about helping those less fortunate than yourself, without expecting anything more.

And Ben…

He'd done this, all of this, because he could have saved Ben. But he didn't.

Because he was a coward.

Because he was selfish.

Because he didn't think of others.

Because he was a screwed up, messed up, failure.

He looked at Mr. Stark again. His real father, whether he wanted that to be the case or not. And he was asking why Peter wanted to be a hero. And it was because Peter knew he wasn't. Not when it had mattered.

"I… When you can do the things that I can, but you don't. And then the bad things happen. They happen because of you." That's why he couldn't tell them. His father was a real hero, his mother a badass businesswoman. He was a messed-up kid, a wannabe hero from Queens. He would disappoint them he wasn't what they would want Samuel Stark to have been. And so, he'd keep his mouth shut. He saw Mr. Stark lean forward and a faraway look enter his eye. He wondered what he'd said to make the man pensive.

"So, you wanna look out for the little guy? You wanna make the world a better place? Do your part, and all that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah just looking out for the… for the little guy." He wondered if Mr. Stark had watched the same news program that he had. "That's what it is."

Mr. Stark got up from the chair and walked over to the bed. Peter tensed. He didn't want the man over here. He felt like he was sitting on top as a pile of dynamite that at any second could explode.

"I'm gonna sit here, so you move the leg." Peter reluctantly moved his leg, and Mr. Stark sat next to him. His Spidey-Sense warned him of the hand lingering over his shoulder before it ever touched him. It still made him jump a bit when it did.

"Got a passport?" Asked Mr. Stark out of the blue. Peter's confusion came back in full swing. What?

"Um, uh, no. No, I don't even have a driver's license-"

"You ever been to Germany?"

"No." Peter was still perplexed about where this was going.

"Oh, you'll love it." Why would Mr. Stark take him to Germany?

"I can't go to Germany."

"Why?"

Because I don't know what you're dragging me into.

Because I don't want to be around you because I know that I'll slip up.

Because I don't want you to be disappointed in me.

Because… Because… Because…

"I got… homework." Peter nearly facepalmed at that lame-ass excuse. But he had to commit to it now.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," sniffed Stark. He rose off the bed and headed over to the door.

"No, I- 'm being serious. I can't just drop out of school." Actually, he would fucking love to drop out of school. He would miss Ned, and MJ, and decathlon, but everything else could rot for all he cared.

"It might be a little dangerous. Better tell Aunt Hottie I'm taking you on a field trip." Between the panic of him telling May, and the confusion from why Mr. Stark wanted to take him to Germany, Peter did not entirely think through his next action all too well. He activated his web-shooter.

And stuck the man's hand to the door.

"Don't tell Aunt May," Peter ordered, in the sternest voice he could manage. Mr. Stark looked at his hand in shock and back at Peter.

"Alright, Spider-Man," said Mr. Stark. Peter lowered his hand, feeling that he had control over the situation for the first time since he walked into the apartment. "Now get me out of this." Peter blushed; it wasn't the greatest idea to have trapped the man.

"Sorry, I'll grab the fluid dissolver." He raced over to his desk and dug through the bottom drawer looking for the vial of dissolver. Peter was grateful school was back in session so he could make more web fluid. Even after the nifty little trick he'd discovered in June, he's still been close to running out of fluid before school started.

"So, um, why are you taking me to Germany?" He asked, turning back to the man who was staring intently at the webs sticking his hand to the door.

"Are you at all aware of what happened in Lagos two weeks ago?" Two weeks ago, he'd been panicking over a dance competition. He shook his head as he applied the dissolver.

"I'm not going to bore you with all the nitty-gritty details, but there's a bunch of stuff going on with laws concerning superheroes." Peter looked up from his work.

"Things that would affect me?" The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Doubtful. You're small stuff, kid. I'm talking about international borders, property damage, loss of life. Above your paygrade." Peter gritted his teeth. Loss of life. Above his paygrade. The mocking voices in the back of his head laughed at that.

"If you're really interested, I'll give you the run down at a later date. All you need to know now is that Steve thinks he's right, and that makes him dangerous." Peter's eyes widened when he realized who Mr. Stark was talking about.

"Steve… as in Steve Rogers? Captain America Steve Rogers." He saw the other man role his eyes.

"Yeah, that Steve. He's gone rogue, and I've been given thirty-six hours to bring him in before more violent methods are used. He'd say that there's a lot more going on that we don't understand, but nothing will get fixed unless people can talk things out. And that's not going to happen with a shoot to kill order on his head." Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. Here he was panicking about whether Mr. Stark knew about his past.

"So… why me?"

"I need them to stop running, you'll be there to web them up if things get too rowdy. We should be there and back in less than two days if everything goes alright." Peter nodded, every emotion swirling around in his chest was making it hard to think straight.

"Okay, I'll go with you." The small smile on the man's face was enough to let Peter know he'd made the right decision.

"Thanks, kid. I'm going to go tell your aunt about the "internship conference" you've been invited to. I'm going to be on my way. I’ll send a driver to pick you up and take you to Germany on a private plane. That way we'll be able to avoid customs, and the pesky little problem of you not having a passport."

Peter was both relieved and disappointed that Mr. Stark was leaving. He wanted to spend more time around him because the man was a genius. Peter desperately wanted to talk with someone smarter than him that would answer his questions. But the longer Mr. Stark was around him the more chance of him figuring out who Peter once was. And that would be a disaster.

"I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, the man slipped out of the room. Peter was alone.

He crossed over to his bed and faceplanted on to his pillow. He felt like he'd run across rooftops for two hours, took four AP tests, and dealt with a round of bullying from Flash. In other words, he was exhausted and emotionally drained.

The adrenaline slowly started to fade from his system, but that didn't mean his nerves had settled. In fact, they were getting worse. It wasn't helped that Peter could still hear Stark out in the living room chatting with May. If he concentrated a bit more…

And that was his mistake.

The whole world burst into intense sounds and senses. The feel of his sheets, normally comforting, became rough and course. The void in his stomach clawed for his attention. While a thousand sounds from all over the neighborhood competed for his attention.

But above it, all was the single voice only a few feet away from him. It cut through the fog and reminded Peter of how close he was to danger. How close he was to his entire world falling apart.  

Peter dug his hands into his eyes trying to ride out the wave of his senses. Too much input indeed.

His lungs started closing in on themselves. It took all Peter had to drag in enough air to keep himself from passing out. He knew he couldn't make a sound. Not only could he not let May see him like this, but he couldn't let Mr. Stark see him like this either. The man thought he was good enough to bring to a fight with the Avengers. The last thing he needed was for the man to see how weak Peter was.

The storm quieted, which left Peter lying face down in his bed still breathing heavily.

He closed his eyes…

Eventually, he was startled by a knock on his door.

"Come in," he called. May walked into the room, holding papers.

"Hey sweetie, I can't believe you got this grant and internship. Why didn't you tell me about it?" Peter internally groaned. He was too fucking tired to come up with a good lie.

"I wanted to see if I would even get accepted May. The worst they could do was say no. I didn't want to get your hopes up." May smiled and brushed a hand over his hair.

"Well, keep me in the loop next time, okay?" Peter nodded. "I guess this is good. I've got shifts this weekend so at least you won't be here all alone. You know I feel horrible about leaving you all by yourself all the time."

"I know May, but it's okay. I'm asleep most of when you're gone anyway. And I have so many things coming up that I'm going to keep myself busy even if you did have time off. Everything works out fine." May nodded.

"Well, I signed the permission slip for you to go. Stark took a copy with him. He said the driver would be around to pick you up in about an hour. That was a little while ago, so you better get packed. I'll go make you a snack." She gave one last ruffle to his hair and left the room closing the door behind her.

Peter crash his head back onto his pillow. But only for a second as he heard his phone buzz. He grabbed it out of his pocket and saw that it was a text from Ned.

Ned: hey u want pizza or hot dogs for dinner tmrw?

Shit, Peter was going to have to miss his sleepover with Ned. But he already promised he would go to Germany. He also needed to tell Ned what had happened. He pressed the call button.

"Problem, dude?" Peter sighed and leaned against his pillows. He bolted out of bed, Mr. Stark's driver would be here in less than half an hour, he needed to move fast.

"Yeah. We have a Code December. I'm not going to be able to make our sleepover." After they had apologized to each other the figured having a code word to indicate when they needed to talk about Peter's past. Peter could hardly be blamed for being paranoid not when your enemies (or the people you were avoiding) had the ability to hack cameras and audio equipment.

They'd chosen to reference Anastasia, Kayla's favorite movie. (That in no way Peter or Ned watched… more than once.) It fit the situation better than Peter was comfortable with.

"HYDRA agents? Oscorp Scientists? Kidnappers?"

"No dude. Tony Stark." He heard a crash on the other end of the phone. "Ned, you okay?"

"I'm sorry I thought I heard you say Tony Stark."

"I did. He was at my house. Dude he knows-"

"About you being his son!?"

"No. Not that. Or at least, I don't think he does. No, he knows about me being Spider-Man."

"No way."

"Yes, way. Anyway, there's this whole big thing going down in Germany? Apparently? He said something about Captain America going crazy and he needs me there to web them up. His driver is going to be here in an hour to take me on a private jet."

"Oh my gosh, this is the coolest thing ever. You're going to fight with the Avengers."

"Ned, I'm not fighting with them. I'm fighting against them. Or at least some of them."

"You must be so freaking stoked. Peter this is our childhood dream."

"Yeah, but this means that I have to interact with Mr. Stark."

"Dude he's your dad."

"Not as far as I'm concerned. We're not having this argument again Ned."

"Alright, alright, you know my opinion on things. I think you should at least give him a chance. Maybe he'll like you, and it won't be awful if you tell him. Please, keep an open mind, Peter.

Peter sighed. Ned had been raising this point for weeks. Peter didn't think it would be the case, but stranger things had happened.

"I'll – I'll think about it." Briefly. Without much weight. Aaaaand… nope. He was keeping his mouth shut even under pain of death.

"That's all I ask. You'll keep me informed?"

"As much as I can. I'll film it and everything, and I'll give you the play by play when I get home." Peter heard a knock outside his door.

"Peter you better almost be packed. The car will be here in twenty minutes." Peter threw his suit on top of the pile and roughly shoved the boots to the side.

"I got to go Ned. I'll call you if I get the chance. And see if you can find anything about what's going on. Mr. Stark was sparse on the details."

"Will do Spider-Man. Guy-In-The-Chair out." The call disconnected and Peter snapped his suitcase shut. A few seconds later, May walked into the room carrying a plate of cheese, crackers, and meat. Peter smiled at the gesture.

"Thanks, May. I haven't had anything since lunch." His aunt smiled and ruffled his hair.

"Well, hopefully, you'll get fed a little more on your way to California. You'll call me, right?" Peter was confused for a minute. He figured Stark had to have told his aunt he was taking Peter somewhere in the states and not out of the country to get her to agree with the whole situation.

"Of course, May." She moved her hand out of his hair and down his face. Her eyes started to water.

"I'm so proud of you sweetie. It's about time that people see you for the smart young man you are. I just hope in all this you don't leave me behind." Peter's stomach flopped over and the nerves on the back of his neck tingled.

"Of course, not May. We're all we have. Just you and me." He reached a hand up to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Hey, there's no need to cry. I'll be back at school on Monday."

"I know, I know. Ignore me I'm being over-emotional." She grabbed his suitcase off his bed, and his heart lurched. Did he remember to close and lock it? What if it fell open and she saw his suit?

But that didn't happen. May carried the bag out into the living room and sat earlier where she had been talking with Mr. Stark. She grabbed her glass of wine and refilled it; drinking most of it in one long gulp. The constant buzz in the back of his head gave a twinge at the sight. May never used to drink during the day. Peter had a hard time remembering the last time he hadn't seen a drink in her hands.

Despite all of Stark's not-so-subtle flirting, Peter couldn't help but notice the deepening lines in May's face. There were a few streaks of grey popping up around her temples. And above all the lingering weight and sadness in May's eyes made her seem older than she was.

She had just turned forty…

Losing Ben had aged her. But it had aged Peter too. He could see it in himself whenever he looked in the mirror. When his eyes would be clouded with grief and pain; he would look ten years older. When he would have his bad days where all he could do was sit and scream at the world. Or the days when the world would scream at him and Peter would have to ride out the storm. The days where he could still feel the slick red blood from his uncle staining his hands.

And it wouldn't go away.

No matter how hard he scrubbed.

Peter shook his head. Desperately pushing down those memories and feelings. He couldn't worry about them now. He would dissolve into another panic attack. His aunt needed him now. And Mr. Stark needed Spider-Man. He couldn't let anyone down.

Seating himself next to May he grabbed the TV remote.

"You wanna watch a little Great British Bake Off before I leave?" May smiled, taking another sip of wine. That now that Peter had noticed, made him wince internally in guilt.

If he hadn't caused Ben's death, she wouldn't be so stressed. She wouldn't need to work this much. She wouldn't have to drown the world out. It was all Peter's fault.

It was his fault.

"-thing honey. What episode were we on again?" Her words dragged Peter's out of his thoughts, and he put on the next episode. They were about halfway through when they heard a knock on the door. Peter jumped up from the couch and walked over to the door.

He opened it to find a man in a suit. He seemed disgruntled, like the whole world was out to inconvenience him. But he didn't make Peter's Spidey-Sense ding, so Peter figured the man was okay.

"You Peter Parker?" The man asked. Peter gulped and nodded. "Harold Hogan. Call me Happy. Let's get going we have a long plane ride ahead of his. Grab your stuff." Peter turned around to grab his suitcase, but May was already behind him. She gave him a quick kiss to the cheek and another ruffle of his hair. Her eyes had cleared of any tears from earlier. Peter could almost convince himself that it had never happened.

"Have fun sweetie. Be safe and call me when you get the chance." Peter blushed and grabbed the suitcase from her. In his peripheral, the man scowled and tapped his foot impatiently.

"I will May. Try not to have too much fun without me." And with that, he had stepped out of the apartment. He followed the man back to the elevator in silence. Once the finally made it out to the car, a black SUV that probably cost more than a whole year's rent at the apartment, the nervousness and anxiety had died down.

To be replaced with over-excited giddiness.

He, Peter Benjamin Parker, was going to Germany. To fight with the Avengers. On the request of Iron Man himself. Despite everything that could go wrong, Peter was beyond excited.

Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, he started to film as Mr. Happy drove down the road. Maybe he should make a documentary type style video for Ned? He was sure his friend would love to see it.

"Queens. It's a rough borough, but hey, it's home…"

Chapter Text

Queens – August 14, 2016

Peter had never been more excited and terrified than he was when he was in Berlin for forty-eight hours. His Spidey-Sense hadn’t stopped buzzing. It was always a low hum, reminding him he was in a new place, surrounded by people he didn’t quite trust. At any moment he was afraid he was going to slip and say something wrong or revealing.

He didn’t.

The fight with the Avengers had been amazing. Peter had gone toe to toe with the Earth’s mightiest heroes, and… well not won exactly, but he did beat some of them up. Having Captain America, the Captain America, tell him he had heart was a highlight of the trip.

Getting knocked out of the sky by the big dude had sucked though.

Peter thought he’d done pretty well and had said as much on his video diaries. Mr. Happy had said he couldn’t show anyone, but Ned was going to flip when he saw the footage.

And then there was the suit.

Peter thought Stark had been kidding when he’d mentioned an upgrade. But, he hadn’t been. The red and blue suit was sleek and high tech. It fitted to a tee and smelled like a new car. Peter was in love. It wasn’t completely perfect – there was still way too much sensory input. And it impeded his sticking abilities a bit, but it was better than anything Peter could have made. Peter hoped he would get to keep it. No matter how much he loved his homemade suit, it paled in comparison to what his fa-

Mr. Stark’s tech could make.

Speaking of Stark…

After the man had checked on Peter, he’d disappeared. Peter had learned later on War Machine had been shot down and been taken to a hospital. Mr. Stark must have been with him. Mr. Happy had taken Peter back to the hotel and told him to get some sleep. They were going to leave the next day, and it was a long plane ride back to America.

Peter hadn’t expected to see Stark again before he headed home.

Once they had landed late Sunday night, Peter had come down a bit from the constant adrenaline and stress. He could feel his body ready to crash. His stomach was full, a rarity for him, and he was warm. The perfect combination to send him into a twelve-hour coma. With all the energy he’d used, there was a chance his nightmares might leave him alone.

Approaching the car waiting on the airstrip, his Spidey-Sense pinged. But it was already too late. Mr. Happy had opened the door to reveal a disheveled Tony Stark sitting inside. The warm contentedness Peter was so sure would have lulled him to sleep, vanished.

“Get on in kid, we don’t have all night,” commented Stark, who was busy tapping away on his phone. Mr. Happy had already gone around to the front of the car and had started the engine. Peter, left with no choice, entered the car next to Mr. Stark and buckled himself in.

Trying not to seem too awkward Peter pulled out his phone to distract himself. After an eight-hour plane ride, it was almost dead. The drive from LaGuardia to Astoria was short, no more than ten minutes at this time of night. As much as Germany had been fun (and scary, and nerve-wracking, and -) he was ready to get home and see May.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sneaked glances at Stark wondering where and why he’d disappeared after the battle. He wondered if War Machine was alright. He wondered where Captain America and all the people on the man’s side had disappeared to.

Peter kept silent. It wasn’t his place to ask.

Plus, he really didn’t want to have a conversation with Stark.

The less he talked to him the better.

Mr. Happy hadn’t pulled up the partition. The light streaming in was nice, and Peter felt a little bit of the stress seep away. He was back in Queens. His home. Hoping he had enough charge to grab a few seconds more of video, he flipped over to the camera. Of course, Happy had to notice.

This led to an entire debacle with trying to make an alibi video with Stark for May. Peter tried hard not to cringe or flinch when the man rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder. It wasn’t his fault Peter couldn’t be around him. In fact, three months ago, Peter would have been over the moon. But that was before he knew.

Maybe Peter was complicating this all. Maybe Ned was right. He wondered what would happen if he said something right now…

The car drew to a halt and brought Peter out of his thoughts. If he was contemplating telling Stark, he must be more tired than he thought.

“Why don’t you grab Peter’s case out of the trunk.” Peter clicked off his phone before it went dead.

“I can keep the suit?” Peter was ecstatic. He got to keep the suit. That kind of tech, that kind of advanced design mechanics, that kind of –

“Yeah, that’s what we were just talking about.” The man slipped his glasses on. “Do me a favor though. Happy is kinda your point guy on this. Don’t stress him out. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve seen his cardiogram. Alright?” Peter could have been cackling out loud from the wave of relief that swept through him.

It was obvious the driver didn’t like him, which meant he could probably avoid the man altogether. Mr. Happy wouldn’t even notice. That meant Peter didn’t have to interact with Stark at all, and he got a whole new suit out of the deal. The vague Ned-sounding-like voice in the back of his head reminded him, that not telling Stark was a bad idea.

Peter ignored that voice

A perfect solution had dropped straight into his lap. So what if it was avoiding the issue? Peter had a million other things to worry about. Imagine what Stark had to be going through.

No.

This was perfect.

“Yes.” Peter had to curb his enthusiasm to not frantically nod.

“Don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a little grey area there, and that’s where you operate.” Peter smiled tightly at the restrictions, but what Stark didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Peter now had the proper tools to really help Queens. And if meant tangential contact with his… father. Then that’s what Peter would do.

A rough tap on the window made him turn around.

“7th floor,” said Stark. Peter shook his head.

“No, no, no. Don’t bother I’ve got it.” Mr. Happy grunted and returned to the front of the car. Peter was itching to get out now, but he figured it was rude to leave without saying anything.

“So… uh, does this mean I’m an Avenger now?” Peter kinda hoped it did. It had been his dream since he was a little kid to be a superhero. He’d kinda started the process with being Spider-Man, but if he got accepted into the Avengers that would definitely make him one.

“Uh, no. If we need you though, we’ll call.” Peter couldn’t help the slight disappointment at the man’s answer.

Then Stark leaned over, brushing against Peter’s side. Was he giving Peter a hug? Peter’s hands flailed as he processed this. They hardly knew each other. He heard the click of a door, and Stark pulled back.

“That wasn’t a hug, just opening the door for you.” Oh.

Peter couldn’t get out of the car quick enough. He grabbed the silver suitcase. Peter heard a halfhearted, ‘Bye’ from Stark. The door closed, and the car squealed away leaving Peter alone in front of his apartment building.

‘They’d call him.’

God, he hoped not.

He entered his apartment, basking in the familiarity. It was hard to believe a day ago he’d been fighting against his childhood heroes in Europe. Now he was back to being him; Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. The Avengers could keep their lives, and Mr. Stark could keep his.

Peter was content with his own.

Everything was back to normal.

Parker’s Apartment – August 15, 2016

Peter had pretty much crashed as soon as he got to his room. After locking the door his senses finally stopped buzzing and for the first time in days, Peter felt safe. Falling asleep had been a matter of putting his head on the pillow.

Despite how tired he might have been, that didn’t stop his nightmares from coming.

At this point, he was almost used to them.

He woke, breathing hard, from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. The numbers on his alarm clock announced it was 4:23. Peter rolled his eyes and climbed out of bed. He knew from experience he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

After a shower, he pulled on some clothes and wandered out to the kitchen. May was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee.

“Morning sweetie. What are you doing up so early?” Peter didn’t look at her. He grabbed a box of off-brand Cheerios and poured some into a bowl.

“Oh, you know, time difference and all. Couldn’t get too much sleep.”

“You alright to head to school today? You had such a big adventure over the weekend. I want to hear all about it.” Peter smiled.

“Yeah May. I’ll head to school. It’s the beginning of the semester, I can’t piss my teachers this early.” Plus, he wanted to hang with Ned, and talk to MJ. After the competition had ended, dance practices had stopped. With her parents back in the states, MJ couldn’t go over to the studio. Peter found himself wondering what he missed more; the dancing or the time with MJ.

“I have to go in for the program tests today, and then my shift starts at three. I’ll be home late this evening. You can hang out at Ned’s if you like; don’t forget to text me. And your bedtime is eleven, so please be at home and in bed by then.” Peter resisted rolling his eyes, instead, he promised May he would be.

Shortly after she headed off to the hospital and Peter was left alone. He finished off the last of his soggy cereal and headed back to his room to pack for school.

Everything was back to normal.

Midtown School of Science and Technology – August 15, 2016

Later that day at school Peter worked his way through the crowds on his way to third-period English. It wasn’t his favorite class by any stretch of the imagination. It was better than Spanish, sure, but he was a science and math nerd. English was easy enough, but it was boring.

Yet, his AP Literature teacher, Ms. Carbonell was awesome.

She was the newest teacher at MSST, and everyone loved her. Not the least because she refused to be called by her last name and told all her students to call her Ms. Ginny. She had a Hogwarts house flag in her room; embracing the nerdiness that came with her name. Younger than most of the teachers, she preferred to wear graphic t-shirts and jeans. She allowed music in class, referenced memes in a non-cringy way, and had proven to be a huge movie and television fan.

Peter figured even if he didn’t like the subject all too much, this was a teacher he would be able to get along with.

He had two science classes this year since he had taken AP World History the year before. There was AP Physics, his best subject since forever, with Ms. Warren – who was strict but nice. AP Chemistry with Mr. Cobbwell, who was an absolute dork. Honors Spanish with Senora Hernandez who taught Spanish I and II. There was Current Events and World Politics with Mr. Harrington. P.E. with Coach Wilson. Workshop with Mr. Hapgood. And Honors Algebra with Mr. Wescott.

It was a hectically crazy schedule. Ned thought he was insane for doing two science classes, but Peter knew he’d be able to handle it. Homework might be an issue – if only for the amount of time it would take to do everything to his standards. But Peter was sure he could manage it all.

After English ended, he had a little bit of time for lunch, before he had to get back to his locker. He only had gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he only had to focus on academics. Grabbing as much food as he could, he headed to the table he and Ned usually sat at.

Someone else was sitting there.

Peter recognized that curly hair anywhere.

“Hey MJ,” he said, sitting next to the girl, who was picking at her food. As usual, she was reading a book.

“Parker,” she snapped, then she grabbed her book and her half-eaten apple and left. Peter could only stare after her in shock. MJ tended to be a bit more caustic and reserved at school, but this was overboard.

A few minutes later Ned sat down. They chatted back and forth, but nothing about his weekend in Germany. Peter had already sent him a text telling him he’d fill Ned in when they returned to his place after school. Peter’s paranoia made him set a ground rule back during freshman year. No talking about Spider-Man at school. At most, they could text, but Peter didn’t even like doing that. He and Ned would clear their conversations every day. The last thing they needed was for someone to take a look at a text and find out something super important.

Peter didn’t bring up MJ’s weird attitude. But it was lingering in the back of his head. Had he done something wrong?

Distracted by the conversation and his worry – Peter barely ate a thing from his tray.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The last bell of the day rang, and Peter couldn’t be more grateful. He nearly skipped out of Mr. Harrington’ class. Ignoring the insults from Flash in the background, he couldn’t wait to fill Ned in about everything that had happened that weekend.

On his way to the front doors, he saw MJ out of the corner of his eye and redirected himself over to her.

“Hey, MJ wait up.” She didn’t even turn around, but Peter’s long legs caught up to her.

“What do you want?” Peter’s Spidey-sense sent out a quick warning but gave him no advice on how to fix the situation. Some help that was then.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, cringing under the weight of her glare.

“What gives you the right to be acting as if everything’s fine?” she asked. Peter was confused. What was she talking about?

“Are you okay, MJ? Did something happen? Are you hurt?” Peter's mind jumped to the worst possible scenarios. He heard her snort, and she quickened her pace, which Peter immediately matched.

“Where the hell were you on Friday?” she accused. Peter searched his mind; he’d been on a plane crossing the Atlantic. Had he made plans with her he’d forgotten? Not that he remembered.

“Um… busy. Why?”

“You were supposed to meet me at the studio.” Peter shook his head.

“Not as far as I know. Did you text me or something? I thought your parents weren’t letting you do dancing?” MJ’s gait slowed a bit, and she roughly grabbed her phone out of her pocket. Her eyes still spoke of pain and murder. Peter waited in baited silence before the girl looked up. A small blush spreading across both of her cheeks.

“Sorry, Peter. I- I guess I forgot to send a text telling you to meet me at the studio. I convinced my parents to let me continue. After they saw the trophy you and I won, they agreed a physical activity would be beneficial to my health.” Peter finally let the tension seep from his shoulders. This had all been a big misunderstanding.

“It’s okay MJ. Glad I didn’t actually screw things up.” He saw her glance down and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever idiot. Don’t be late for tomorrow’s practice. It’s from 7-9, now that I’m not teaching the ballet class anymore, but I’ll still teach you.” Peter was thrilled. As much as he loved being Spider-Man, and he was excited he had a new suit to help him, his powers came with a responsibility. A certain expectation to be better, to be more than just Peter Parker.

But dancing with MJ?

That only required Peter to be himself.

He didn’t have to hide how athletic he was, because she already knew. He didn’t have to hide his dorkiness, because she didn’t care. He didn’t have to lie (more than necessary) he could trust her not to say anything.

It was nice.

“And you better not flake on me. I saw you quit robotics and band. I have to show my parents competitions can be a good thing. If we do this, I need a reliable partner. You understand Peter?” At this point, the hallways had cleared, and they were alone in the middle of the hallway. Peter’s heart raced a bit, although he couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t his Spidey-Sense.

“Mam, yes mam.” Peter saluted, and MJ rolled her eyes.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.” He watched MJ walk away, and he turned back to the side doors where he was meeting with Ned so they could walk home. He was glad everything had been a misunderstanding. He was lucky MJ wasn’t one to hold a grudge once proven wrong.

He made it outside to see Ned waiting for him. Seeing no one else was around, Peter made a running jump and flipped over all the stairs. He landed in a crouch in front of his friend.

“Dude, no matter how many times I see you do it will be cool,” gushed Ned. Peter smiled and grabbed his friend’s bag.

“No matter how many times I do it, I’ll always think it’s cool.” They headed off in the direction of the buses. Peter eager to tell about his trip, and Ned eager to know.

Everything was back to normal.

Hollanday Dance Studio – August 19, 2016

Tuesday’s session had been intense. He hadn’t been too beat up from the fight in Germany, but his ribs had still been bruised from the fall he’d taken. MJ showed no mercy in getting him back into shape. Peter had been in more pain before (the night of the bullet coming to mind) so he pushed through his discomfort.

Friday’s session had been much easier in comparison. MJ had informed him of a dance competition that was happening at the end of November. The competition would be stricter and fiercer than what they faced at the end of July. There was even a qualifier round held three weeks beforehand, to ensure the best dancers got into the final competition. MJ was sure with continued dedicated practice they would blow everyone out of the water.

Peter was less confident, but his job was to learn what he was taught and to dance to the best of his enhanced abilities. So he didn’t object. On Friday they spent most of their time warming up and reviewing everything MJ had drilled into on Tuesday. After they picked three songs and started to eke out some moves for a routine.

Eventually, their time was up, and they packed up. Unlike before where Peter would walk MJ to her Aunt and Uncle’s place, her parents would pick her up outside the studio. Peter would still walk to the bus station, so he decided to stay until her parents came.

“So where were you last Friday anyway? I can’t believe I forgot to text, but I did try calling you.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t want to lie to MJ. Getting caught out by her was one of his biggest fears. He was afraid to lose this new friendship, but he couldn’t tell her anything.

“Uh, I was- I was at an internship conference,” he mumbled.

“An internship conference?”

“Yeah, I applied for a Stark internship using my biochemical adhesive formula.” That was his fancy scientific term for his web fluid. “I got approved, and now I’ll be doing internship days at Stark Industries.” MJ let out a low whistle.

“I knew you were smart, but that’s impressive. I thought they only let college students do apply.” Peter chuckled – but inside his heart was pounding rapidly. Maybe that was the case, Peter didn’t know for certain. He needed more information if he was going to keep this alibi thing straight.

“Yeah, but they wanted me to be utilizing proper equipment and labs. They said the idea was too good not to capitalize on and that waiting until I was college age was a waste of time.” The lie slipped from his tongue. But for Peter, it was less a lie, more of a dream. He would love for his inventions to be looked at and deemed important. Or let it be acknowledged that high school was a waste of his time and that he could do so much more if only he was given the chance, and that-

“Well, I can’t blame you for taking the opportunity. I can be disappointed in you for selling out to our corporate overlords though.” The glare on her face was more teasing than mean. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Puh-lease you’re even more in love with Stark Industries and its CEO than I am with its R&D.” MJ sniffed and tilted her head high.

“Well, she had been Businesses-Best-CEO three years running. Virginia Potts-Stark turned Stark Industries into a powerhouse of clean energy, communication, and charity work. She’s crafted tragedy into treasure.” Peter felt his stomach drop out at those words. Tragedy.

“Uh, huh… yeah. She is pretty cool isn’t she,” murmured Peter wistfully. “So, uh… yeah, I was in California. Or at least traveling to California Friday night. That’s why you couldn’t get ahold of me. Although I wonder why your missed call didn’t show up.” MJ scoffed.

“That’s probably to do with the fact that your phone is fucking ancient.”

“Well, that shows I’ve taken good care of it.”

“Peter your screen is cracked, and your case is held together by duct tape. The last thing that phone would be considered is “taken care of”.” Peter huffed and placed his phone away. He thought of something and turned to MJ.

“I trust you and everything, so please don’t go spreading around I have a Stark Industries Internship.” MJ looked at him with curiosity.

“Why not? I thought that would be something you’d love.” Peter blanched. Three months ago, he would have crowed the fake excuse for his Spider-Man activities to the rooftops. But now? Now he wanted to be as far away removed from Stark as possible.

“It’s just that no one would believe me. As you said, they only take college students, and suddenly a high school nobody gets in. Yeah, no. I’m already a social outcast. I don’t need to be labeled a serial liar too.”

“That’s fair,” she admitted. And Peter let out a small sigh of relief. A black car approached and slowed right in front of them. MJ turned to Peter.

“I’ll see you on Monday.” Peter gave a little wave as MJ hopped into the car. He stayed there on the sidewalk as it drove away. Peter gazed out at the night sky, the last bits of daylight slowly fading away. May wouldn’t be home tonight, and he had his new suit stored in his bag. Straight into patrol, it was.

Everything was back to normal.

Queens - September 2016

Despite his midnight masquerading as a superhero, Peter’s life had become pretty routine. If not overwhelmingly hectic.

Patrol was something he tried to do every day. It didn’t always happen. He hadn’t heard a word from Stark. Peter tried to push away the slight hurt at the man’s neglect. That was what Peter had wanted after all. To be left alone. He also hadn’t heard anything from Mr. Happy either.

Peter did send brief texts at the end of the week with anything he thought was important. Mostlyjust whenever he ran into gang violence – he hoped they sent the information along to the police. Peter never stuck around after he finished webbing up the bad guys. He could never fill cops in on any information he found out.

Besides those texts, he had no other interactions with the Starks or any superheroes for that matter. A few days after Peter got back it was announced the dissenting Avengers had been declared war criminals. They talked about it a bit in Current Events. His teacher used the terms political terrorists, but the internet had taken to calling The Rogues.

Either way, it wasn’t Peter’s business. He had a borough to patrol, school to do, and a life to live. The Accords, and The Rogues, and the Starks weren’t Peter Parker or Spider-Man’s world. And he liked it like that.

He was up early in the morning from nightmares. Which meant he got four hours of sleep at most during the week. He grabbed an energy bar or two – too busy for a full breakfast. He’d spend those early morning hours finishing homework or studying ahead. The train ride to school would be taken up by whatever science article he had been sucked in to.

Classes were classes. He got to have little snippets of conversation with Ned and MJ. Lunch was a passing thought most days. Enough time to sit and chat, but rarely Peter got to eat more than a few bites before he was running along to his next class.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were hell in gym. Not because Peter couldn’t do the exercises, but because he had to pretend he couldn’t.

Flash was Flash; still an asshole, but whatever had crawled up his butt at the end of last semester had disappeared. He hadn’t even tried to push Peter lately. He lobbed insults and taunts that fell flat more times than not. Peter didn’t care; Flash was the least of his concerns.

Once school finally ended, an hour later for him because of his extra class, he was off. Ned would normally wait for him, and they’d ride back to Astoria together. They’d grab a meal or snack sometimes, and then Ned would head home and Peter would be out as Spider-Man. Ned would act as his guy in the chair if he didn’t have plans with his family or overwhelming amounts of schoolwork. Peter would patrol until dinner. He’d swing by whatever fast food joint was closest and grab a quick bite to eat. But on the rare days, May was home during dinner he would go home.

Except on Mondays and Wednesdays regardless if she was home or not, those were his “internship” days. The only people who knew about that excuse was MJ and May. Peter had withdrawn from all activities but Decathlon at school and he and Ned were social losers no one cared if he never showed up to anything.

Tuesdays and Fridays, he would have dance class from 7-9 with MJ. He had workshop class for 4th period at school on Mondays and Fridays, the rest of the week he went to decathlon practice. After school Thursdays, and Saturday morning from 8-11 he would have practice too.

After dinner, he would work on school till nine, when May would be asleep if she was home. Or until most of the sunlight faded away outside if he hadn’t bothered going back. He’d patrol until one in the morning, and then would trudge back to his apartment. A few hours of restless sleep before the nightmares, and the cycle would repeat again.

There was a certain comfort in the busyness. There wasn't any time to think or worry. Peter would push down his problems or troubles whenever they arose. They’d soon be forgotten under the litany of things he had to do. This would have all been fine if he was remembering to eat.

This cycle continued through August and into September. Before he knew it, Peter saw the leaves on the trees changing, and the sun was setting quicker and quicker every night. Peter kept up his pace, certain if he could juggle everything just so, none of it would come toppling down.

He was wrong.

It was a sunny day mid-September, a slight chill in the air. Summer hanging on by the skin of its teeth.

Peter supposed he’d gotten lucky it happened after school and Ned was there with him. If he hadn’t had Ned, or he’d been on patrol Peter would have been screwed.

It started off with a panic attack like most of Peter’s problems always did.

Peter was walking a few steps behind Ned, listening to his friend chatter about something that had happened a few days before. He hadn’t been feeling well since he’d woken from this morning’s nightmare. He was hungry, but then again, he always was, he was looking forward to grabbing a bite to eat with Ned before patrol.

Suddenly the whole world came too clear into focus. Peter halted in the middle of the sidewalk and clamped his hands to his ears. The assault of input rushed in all at once.

Everything was loud.

Everything was bright.

His nose felt on fire from every scent wafting by.

The feel of his clothes to the dust particles on his skin set his nerves on edge.

He collapsed on the ground.

Clenching his eyes shut, his breathing started to labor. God this was the worst.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP!

The noises disappeared as a weight settled itself around his head. There was pressure on his shoulders and when he managed to open his bleary, tear-filled eyes he saw Ned right in front of him. It took a few minutes but eventually, the extra stimulus passed. Peter lifted his hands to his head and found a pair of earphones. Sliding them off his ears, the noise filtered back in, this time bearable.

“Feeling better?” Ned asked. Peter nodded.

“W-what are these?”

“My brother works in acoustics, I asked him if he could get a high-tech pair of headphones that stops all noise. They’re supposed to be connected up, so you can hear music and shit, but he told me it would work fine without.” Ned rubbed the back of his neck. “Consider them a really late birthday present.” Peter looked at the black headphones and smiled.

“Dude you’re amazing. What would I do without you?”

“Overthink everything and crash and burn,” they said at the same time. They both chuckled, and Ned stood, extending a hand to Peter.

“Come on, we can head to Dominos buffet and get some food in you. You get panic attacks more often when you haven’t eaten enough.” Peter grabbed his friend’s hand, hauling himself up. His legs were still shaky with nerves.

“That’s not true,” Peter mumbled weakly.

His stomach gave a growl.

Ned raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little true.” Peter took one step forward, and his vision blacked, sending him tumbling back towards the concrete.

“Peter!” Ned cried. Peter shook the ringing from his ears, he didn’t feel good.

“Dude, when was the last time you ate something?” Peter glanced up; his vision blurry.

“Uh… um, this mornin- no wait didn’t have milk, so no cereal. Uh, last night after dance practice I got a sandwich – no, Delmar’s was closed. I… uh- uh. Yesterday at lunch I think?” Ned’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“Peter you barely ate half your sandwich. Remember? Flash came by and spilled his drink on you. You spent half of lunch cleaning your shirt. You can’t go that long without food, you idiot! You have su-” Ned cut himself off remembering they were in public. “You have low blood sugar; you can’t risk not eating.” Peter nodded his head.

Slowly the two made it down the street to the Dominos they were headed too before Peter had passed out. Ned dropped him into a booth and told him not to move while he grabbed food from the buffet.

“Like five slices please.”

“I know.”

“Hawaiian with-”

“Extra pineapple. Yes, you heathen I know.”

“Thank you, Ned.” Thunk. Peter’s head fell to the table in an uncoordinated slouch.

“Good god, Peter. You’re hopeless.”

Half an hour later the last of the shakiness had finally left. Peter had devoured ten slices of pizza, two salads, and three pieces of cinnamon bread. Ned had stopped eating a while ago, watching Peter gobble down food like there was no tomorrow.

“I feel like I should be concerned with how much you just ate.”

“Don’t be, I finally feel full.”

“Dude when was the last time you had this much?” Peter thought it over for a second.

“Probably back at the beginning of August when I went to Germany. There was a buffet at the hotel, and I must have gotten four plates of food.” Ned shook his head.

“Peter, I don’t get why you can’t be full all the time.” Peter played with the edge of his napkin tearing small pieces off and pushing them into a pile. His pride sewed his mouth shut, even when it came to his best friend. “Peter?”

“Do you know how much it is to provide for a teenager in New York? Even with my schooling covered under tuition? I’m fucking shocked we still live in the same apartment. May works every other day twelve to fourteen-hour shifts. She comes home exhausted. I haven’t had more than a hello and goodbye from her since last week. Yet the cabinets are filled with the bare minimum. Not because she doesn’t shop. It’s because she can’t. And here I am needing to eat, four? Five? Six times what the average person a day eats.” Peter shook his head. This is why he didn’t stop moving. This is why his schedule was filled to the brim.

If he stopped, if he thought, for even a second, he would start to drown.

“Besides I barely have the time to eat during the day. I’m too busy.” Peter cringed when Ned fixed him with a steady glare.

“Dude, you have,” he looked around carefully, and leaned in close, “superpowers. You patrol every night; you don’t get the luxury of swearing off food. I was able to carry you and our bookbags a whole block. The bookbags felt heavier. You have to eat, even if it’s those energy bars. Besides, don’t you have all that money from Mariana’s box.” Peter nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, I do, it’s just… what if there comes a real emergency. One where I have to have cash and I don’t because I spent it on food.” Ned rolled his eyes.

“Peter there will be a real emergency when you pass out and someone takes you to the hospital because you’re sixty pounds underweight. Use the freakin cash, and for Thor’s sake don’t skip meals.” Peter knew Ned was right. Maybe he did need to cut back a little. If only so he had some more time to eat.

“Alright, mom,” he whined. Ned shoved him and Peter picked up the last piece of crust and finished it off.

“You aren’t going patrolling tonight. I want to make sure you aren’t going to pass out or anything again.” Stated Ned, as they left the restaurant. Peter started to argue, but Ned held up a hand.

“No dude, we’ve barely hung out all week. And you need to take a break, if only for today. You almost passed out Peter. You may feel fine now, but if we had taken you to a doctor, I’m 99% certain they would be keeping you overnight. Sleepover?” Ned didn’t use puppy dog eyes, not as Peter did. It was more like a gleaming hope that would extinguish if you ever disagreed. Peter sighed.

“Let me text May.” Ned pumped his fists and let out a small, ‘yes’. Rolling his eyes, Peter grabbed his phone and texted May as they walked to Ned’s apartment. One night off couldn’t hurt him. Besides he was feeling a little tired. Peter sent off the text and got a confirmation from May. They chatted as they walked along the concrete sidewalks dappled with leaves. He was warm in his jacket, with his stomach full, and a best friend by his side. Despite the tumultuous afternoon Peter couldn’t have been happier.

Everything was back to normal.

Chapter Text

The Leeds’s Apartment – October 5, 2016

Peter crawled through Ned’s window. His hands still shaky and his stomach turning in knots after being hit with the anti-gravity gun.

“Dude are you okay?” asked Ned. Peter pulled off his mask.

“Yeah… I think. Delmar’s blew up.”

“What do you mean Delmar’s blew up!”

Peter sighed in frustration, tearing his hands through his hair. “I mean, I fucked up dude. These guys tried to rob an ATM, and they had Avengers masks on and guns. Huge glowy guns that could explode shit, and they ran away with the cash. And Delmar’s exploded, and I pulled Mr. Delmar and Murph out, and I just- I just- I’m going to head home. I can’t deal with today.” Peter huffed, frustrated he couldn’t explain what had happened in the last twenty minutes, without freaking himself out. He pulled his backpack out from under Ned’s bed.

“Thanks for letting me store my shit here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ned lunged for Peter grabbing on to his arm. “Peter, no, no, no. You can’t go anywhere. You need to tell someone about this.”

Peter looked at his friend. Was Ned insane? “Tell who, Ned? An adult? The police? The police already know what happened. They’ll have security footage. Fuck it’s going to be all over the news. Queens’ local hero screws up again. The Daily Bugle will have a field day with this.” Peter sunk onto the bed.

“I mean like Mr. Stark.”

Peter's stomach dropped at the name, he hated himself for reacting like that. “Uh, why would I tell him about a robbery? It’s kinda below his paygrade.”

“You said the bad guys had big glowy guns, those sound dangerous. And Delmar's BLEW UP! This should get handled by adults. If you have his number, you should use it.”

Peter sighed. “You’re right, you’re right; I know.” He pulled his phone from the hidden compartment on his belt. “I don’t have Mr. Stark’s number, but I do have Mr. Happy’s.” Peter stared at his phone as if it would bite him.

“Well go on and call him,” urged Ned.

“I’ve never done that before. I send him a text once a week, and he never responds. What if he doesn’t pick up?” Ned rolled his eyes.

“What if he does?” Peter unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he reached Mr. Happy’s name. He worked up his courage before pressing the name. Peter brought the phone to his ear, hearing it ring.

“Happy Hogan.”

“Um… hey, Mr. Happy it’s Peter Parker.”

“Parker? Huh, I haven’t heard from you since Germany. FRIDAY, 1st floor please.”

“Yeah, listen, I was on patrol and shit went down. I figured I should get the information through to you right away.”

“I’m listening.”

“There was a robbery in Queens and the guys had advanced weapons. I’m talking alien anti-gravity rays, guns that could explode whole stores. There was a lot of damage done.”

“Are you alright?”

Peter paused he hadn’t expected the grumpy driver to care about him. “Uh, yeah, yeah, Mr. Happy I’m alright. I just… wasn’t sure what to do. Most of the time I text you at the end of the week, and tell you about any big stuff that happens, and-”

“I’ll pass this along to the boss, like the 70,000 other things I have going on.”

“Wow, why are you busy?” Peter could have smacked his head against the window. Happy had little patience for small talk.

“We’re moving upstate. Tony sold the tower. I have a lot to get done in a week and a half.”

“Oh wow. Who did he sell the tower too?” Again, with the questions. Peter. Shut. Up.

“I’m gonna end the call.”

“Sorry, Mr. Happy. Sure, Mr. Happy.”

“… kid, do me a favor and don’t call me that. It’s just Happy.”

“Uh… okay.”

Click.

Peter pulled the phone away from his ear.

“So…" prompted Ned. “What did he say?” 

“Uh… he said he’d pass it along to Mr. Stark.”

Ned nodded in approval. “Well, you’ve done what you can. I’m glad you’re trusting them. Adults can be trusted.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah, no, I don’t trust them. But someone could have gotten hurt tonight…” the sound of gunshots rang out in the back of Peter’s head. "I’ll interact with the Starks if it’s necessary.” He didn’t want Ned to get ideas about him telling the truth to his parents. Peter glanced back at his phone. He shook his head and pushed away the feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

“Listen, Ned, I better get headed home – I won’t do a second patrol tonight. I still have homework left.” He walked over to the door to grab his bag again before Ned placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Peter shrugged. “I ate a sandwich from Delmar’s after school.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “That’s not dinner, that’s your second-afternoon snack. May not home tonight?” Peter shook his head. She had another double shift again. “Then stay, mom’s making Lomi-lomi salmon – your favorite.” Peter’s stomach rumbled.

“Okay, okay let me text May.” Ned smiled, and they heard a call come from downstairs. Leaving the room behind, Peter hoped Mr. Delmar made it home safe too.

Midtown School of Science and Technology – October 6, 2016

It was weird walking through the halls of the school and hearing his alter-ego’s name being called out. A lot of people watched the news story that ran the night before.

Peter stayed the night at Ned’s house – long ago learning to keep an extra set or two of clothes lying around – and on the way to school, they had seen in broad daylight the damage done to Delmar’s. Peter had to admit Mr. Stark, or whoever Happy contacted, moved faster than Peter could have expected. Damage Control was already at the scene moving the rubble and blocking off the damaged building from curious onlookers.

The Spider-Man fever continued through lunchtime and Peter kept getting distracted by snippets of conversation. This led to him not eating; which Ned found unacceptable.

“I will make you miss your next period Peter. I swear it. You must be hungry; I’ll even give you my apple too – I don’t need it.”

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved more food into his mouth. “Ned I’m capable of feeding myself.”

Ned gave him an are-you-for-real face across the table.

Peter swallowed the food in his mouth. “Most of the time,” he admitted. “I don’t need you mollycoddling me.”

“What’s up losers? You being an old bickering couple again?” MJ placed her tray next to Peter and sat. Peter glanced over and a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach grew. Maybe Ned was right, and he did need to eat more. He swiped the extra apple off Ned’s tray.

“We don’t bicker,” defended Ned.

MJ pointed her fork at him. “And yet you did not dispute the couple bit. Are you two dating, or shit?” Ned and Peter looked at each other, and then back at MJ. They busted out laughing.

“Oh MJ,” chuckled Peter, pretending to wipe a fake tear from his eye. “That’s a good one.”

“Yeah, no, not going to happen,” chimed Ned. “Peter knows too much about me, and I know too much about him for us to ever be a couple. Plus, I’m secure in my heterosexuality.” MJ lifted an eyebrow.

“Everyone’s a little Bi,” she said.

“Well, I’m bi-ased,” Peter joked. She looked at him in confusion, and he sighed poking another piece of mystery meat with his fork. “I’m already bisexual. Equal opportunist; not that anyone would ever want to date me.” He figured out he liked both girls and guys last year when he’d watched Force Awakens. He’d had the biggest crush on Rey, Kylo Ren, and Poe Dameron. At the time he’d freaked out a bit over it, but with the way his life changed in the past few months, he figured liking both girls and boys wasn’t that big a deal.

“What about you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes glancing away from his. “Eh, I’m not picky. But I would want to know a person; see their heart and soul before I ever let them see mine. You feel me?” She grabbed a carrot off her tray and chomped it in two.

“MJ,” said Ned. “I think that might be the most girlish statement I’ve ever heard you say.” MJ pursed her lips

“Do not insult me. My proclivity for romance has no bearing or connection on my gender, and to insinuate otherwise is cause for immediate removal of my friendship. You want to go there, Leeds?” MJ’s vocabulary became denser and more complex whenever she was nervous or angry.

Ned shook his head. “No, sorry.” The trio fell into a relaxed silence. But the noise in the cafeteria grew louder; it drew their attention to several popular students walking in. Among them, Liz Allen; the Decathlon Captain.

Ned sighed, “It’s like a scene right out Heathers. What I wouldn’t give to be them.”

MJ scoffed. “You do know the entire movie is a warning about the trappings of popularity and how it’s fake, right?”

Ned waved his hand still gazing. “Yeah, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to not be at the bottom of the social hierarchy anymore. It’s different for you MJ, you may not be popular, but you’re not unpopular either. Me and Peter here have been stuck at the bottom since grade school.” Peter nodded thinking of the years of bullying and torment he and Ned had been through together.

“It won’t be important in the long run,” said Peter. “And we know it, still it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.” MJ was silent, her eyes canvasing both of them with intensity. A few minutes later Peter and Ned both sighed when Liz drifted near to their table chatting with her friends. She was pretty and smart, but so far out of Peter's league, he wouldn’t ever have a chance with her.

“Hey, Liz!” MJ called out. Ned and Peter’s eyes widened. The girl’s head whipped around to her name being called out. She noticed MJ and smiled, waving goodbye to her friends, she walked over to their table.

“Hey, Michelle. Ned,” she turned her attention towards Peter, her smile widened, “Peter! Great job yesterday during practice by the way. With you, on our side, we’re going to crush at Nationals.” Peter's breath left his body. Here was Liz Allen complimenting him; wow this afternoon had gone from normal to unbelievable.

“You still having that party tonight?” asked MJ.

“Yeah, you're still coming, right Michelle?”

MJ nodded. “I am. I wanted to ask if I could bring these two along.”

Liz’s smile brightened even more. “Of course, they can. The more the merrier, right? Besides we may even get lucky to meet Spider-Man tonight.” That jarred Peter into a panic.

“Spider-Man?” he asked, his voice pitching up about three octaves. Liz blushed.

“I know right, Flash said he’s good friends with him, even showed us a selfie he took with him. Says if the guys not too busy tonight he'll drop by tonight.” Peter’s face froze in a state of shock; Flash said what? “MJ can send you guys my address. I’ll see you tonight.” She took one last look at Peter. “Bye, Peter.”

He gave a small wave, but his mind was still caught on the fact that Flash said Spider-Man, Peter’s secret identity, would be at the party.

“MJ, have I mentioned how cool and fearless you are,” beamed Ned. She tilted her nose up.

“You could stand to mention it more.” The bell rang, and people filtered out of the cafeteria. Peter gave Ned a look that said they would talk about the Flash thing later. Ned nodded and left but Peter stayed behind to talk to MJ.

“Hey MJ,” asked Peter, she turned and looked at him, and his stomach flipped. Had his food been bad?

“Yeah, Peter?”

“Uh, well… thanks. Thank you, a lot, you didn’t have to get us invited to Liz’s party.”

She tapped his shoulder with her fist. “Of course, I didn’t, dweeb. But I wanted to, besides it’ll be less of a bore if you’re there.” She smiled, not her normal smirk, but an actual smile – the one that came out when they danced a routine perfectly. Peter… liked that smile.

“You better get going, or you’re going to be late to class,” she reminded him.

Peter huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, I’ll- I’ll uh, see you tonight MJ. You’ll text me the address?”

“Yep.” Peter gave off a wave and turned around walking out of the deserted cafeteria. The smile on his face wouldn’t go away, and his steps felt a bit lighter.

The Parker’s Apartment – October 6, 2016

It killed Peter to keep silent through the rest of school, and the way home. Ned texted his parents telling them he’d been invited to a party. Peter had done the same. May volunteered to take the two of them to Liz’s house. Which was good because the nearest bus stop was two miles from her house.

They made it to Peter’s apartment, and after a brief hello to May, Peter pulled Ned into his room. Flopping onto his bed he screamed into his pillow.

Damn. He had wanted to do that since lunch.

“Dude, can you believe Flash said he knows Spider-man? You’re not keeping secrets from me, right?”

Peter raised his head off the bed and chucked a pillow at his friend. “No fucking way dude. I would never interact with Flash in the Spider-Man suit. Not even to take a stupid selfie. He must have photoshopped it.”

Ned nodded. “You do know what we have to do, right?” Peter searched his mind but came up empty. He shrugged. “Dude, you have to go to the party as Spider-Man and make a fool of him.” Scratch record. Freeze frame.

Ned wanted him to do what?

“No, no, no, no, no. Ned, no that is a super bad idea. Spider-Man is not a party trick.” Ned sat on the bed next to Peter and pouted.

“Dude come on. We're already invited to the party if we can prove Flash doesn’t know Spider-Man and knows us,” he gestured to himself and Peter. “We can be more than losers at school.”

“Or, if Spider-Man shows up to a house party in the suburbs, they check the list of kids who’re there, figure out we go to Midtown, cross reference height and body type, track Spider-Man’s normal patrol route-” Peter needed to change that now “-and combine it together and figure out who I am. If Mr. Stark can do it so can anybody else.”

“But Peter this is our chance. Plus, Flash will keep on lying and making up stories. Imagine if Spider-Man shows up, disses him, and swings away. It would be so cool. Please, Peter.” Peter sighed, this was a bad idea. A mega, horrible, no good, very bad idea.

But dissing Flash…

“I’ll bring along the suit.” Ned hissed a ‘yes’. “But that’s not a promise I’ll use it.” It didn’t matter to Ned who beamed anyway.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Peter.”

He waved his friend off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave for a minute so I can put the suit under my clothes.” Ned left the room, and Peter relaxed for the first time all day. He wasn’t too happy to be missing patrol, but they never had been invited to a party before. So, he figured he could make an exception. Showing up as Spider-Man was still the worst idea ever. But Ned never asked for favors.

He dealt with Peter’s issues and traumas. He made sure Peter ate and kept him distracted when he panicked. He had been with Peter through thick and thin. If he wanted a split second to be popular - and Peter could make it happen – what kind of friend would Peter be if he didn’t.

Besides, Flash kinda deserved it for lying.

Liz Allen’s House – October 6, 2016

They walked away from May’s car and to the house, the music pounded in Peter’s ears. He was still unsure if this was a good idea or not. Couldn’t they be normal teens and try to enjoy the party, without having to one-up people.

They walked inside, the space filled with teens drinking from plastic cups and listening to music. Peter spotted Flash at the DJ table. He winced at the noises assaulting his ears. He’d brought the earphones Ned gifted him, and hung them around his neck, in case his senses decided to go on the fritz.

“So, I figure we’ll hang around for a while. When Spider-Man gets mentioned, you’ll slip out, change, pop in make fun of Flash, compliment my hat or somethin’. Say you have to save Queens, swing away, get back into your own clothes and badda-bing badda-boom we’re golden.”

Peter nodded, but his hands still shook and he wanted to pass out.

“Hey losers,” called a familiar voice. Peter turned around; MJ stood next to the counter with a food plate in hand. She wore a white top with red roses on it, with black jeans. Her hair still in a ponytail, but she had makeup on. He’d only ever seen her wear makeup once; when they danced in the competition that summer. She looked beautiful.

Peter’s stomach flopped.

“Uh, oh, h-hi MJ. Isn’t- Isn’t this party g-great?” Why he was nervous? Was it the fear of someone figuring out he was Spider-Man after he dropped in on a teen’s party. Yeah, that must be it.

“Better, now that you two are here.”A smile spread across Peter's face, and the noise from the party faded to reasonable, if only for a moment.

“Oh my gosh, hey guys.” Another voice broke the moment, and Peter turned around; Liz walked over carrying a drink. Ned’s eyes glazed over a bit looking at her. She looked pretty in the blue outfit, but Peter’s eyes keep drifting back over to MJ. “Cool hat Ned.”

“Hey Liz,” Ned sighs.

“There are pizza and drinks, help yourselves,” Liz offered. She turns towards Peter. “I’m glad you came Peter. I can’t believe you didn’t get the invite earlier.” She smiled and walked closer, the side of her arms brushing against his shoulder. Peter's Spidey-Sense prickle on the edge of his awareness. What was there to be cautious of?

“Yeah, good that I was there,” chimed MJ. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have come at all.” Liz waved her hand. It rested on Peter’s shoulder, and a flutter of butterflies invaded in his stomach.

“I would have remembered to send out the invite to the AcaDec group chat. Listen, Peter, I have a few friends I'd like you to meet. Do you want to come-?” in the distance a glass shattered causing a couple of kids to call out. Liz sighed and removed her hand from Peter’s shoulder.

“Sorry, my parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I better go check on that.” Her hand brushed against Peter’s when she turned to leave. "Enjoy the party I’ll catch up with you later.” She faded into the crowd, and Peter looked back at MJ and Ned.

“What was that about?” Ned shook his head and hid his face in his hand. MJ took another sip of her drink and slammed it on the counter. She walked away without another word. Peter’s Spidey-Sense calmed a bit. Whatever danger had passed, but it left Peter feeling like he missed the point.

“Hey Flash, when’s Spider-Man gonna show up?” Peter perked at those words and turned towards where Flash. A crowd of people formed around the bully. Peter caught Ned’s eye and they moved closer to the group.

“I said he might show dude. He and I are pretty tight, we text all the time. He saved me from a runaway car and swung me back to my apartment.” He showed everyone his phone with a selfie of him and Spider-Man. The whole crowd oohed and ahhed over it. Peter and Ned looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Ned leaned in close.

“Dude, this is our chance for maximum efficiency. Go Spider it up.” Peter edged back from the group and headed out a side door that lead into a garden. The night was cool, the beginnings of fall making itself known. Peter shivered a bit scaling the side of the house to the roof.

Flash deserved to get called out for his lying, but Peter hated the idea of appearing at a party at random. Even if it was a favor to Ned. He shucked off his jacket and pants, he pulled off his shift and held his mask in his hands. The flashing lights, pounding music, and kids felt like a whole other world. Flash was still entertaining a crowd with made-up stories about Spider-Man.

“Hey everyone,” whispered Peter to himself, imagining what he would say when he was down there. “Heard about this awesome party, I wanted to swing in. Oh, who are you? Why do you have a fake selfie of me on your phone dude? Hey Ned, Ned Leeds right, thanks for your help during that cyber robbery last week, I uh…” Peter trailed off. “God this is so stupid. What am I even doing?” He glanced back at the party and knew even if he swung in and humiliated Flash and endorsed Ned and himself, they‘d still be social losers at the end of the day. Nothing was gonna fix that.

Seconds from putting on his clothes and going back to the party, there was a bright blue light of an explosion in the distance. Peter stood in alarm, that didn’t look good. In fact, it was downright out of place around here. Peter glanced back at the party one last time, slipped his mask on, and headed in the direction of the explosion.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The air was thin up here.

.

.

.

It was getting hard to breathe.

.

.

.

Damn this guy's grip is tight.

.

.

.

Then he was dragged back and he began to fall.

F

A

L

L

I

N

G

…

SPLASH!

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t swim.

It was so cold.

Everything hurt.

His limbs twisted in the fabric.

He couldn’t swim. He couldn’t swim.

Water filled in his nose and lungs.

Was this how he died?

.

.

.

Arms grabbed him by the shoulders. 

Should he fight back?

No.

Too tired.

Too cold.

.

.

.

He could breathe again.

0o0o0o0o0o0

If there was a time Peter was ever more grateful for his new suit, he couldn’t remember it. The heater was amazing, and if he could have it always turned on he would.

“What were you thinking?” growled Stark. His suit flying in the air, whilst Peter crouched on a piece of playground equipment. Peter’s ears ached from the quick altitude changes.

“I thought I saw an explosion, and I needed to look into it in case it was trouble. The flying guy is the source of the weapons, we need to stop him about him.” Peter, still relishing in the warmth of his suit, didn’t notice the slip of his words until Stark pointed them out.

“We? Nu-uh. There is no we here buckaroo. You're leaving this to the professionals.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Like the Avengers?” he questioned, a hint of sarcasm lining his voice.

“No, no, no, this is a bit below their paygrade. As in, I pay people to take care of things like this for me. This is way too much for you. Thank God this place has Wi-Fi, or you’d have been screwed. Thank Ganesh while you’re at it.” Peter was confused. Wi-Fi? Ganesh?

“Mr. Stark, where are you?” The Iron Man faceplate opened to reveal an empty space where Stark’s head should have been.

“Bangalore, India. Cheers.” The suit held a hand as if holding a glass. Peter was torn between shock, disbelief, and… disappointment. No, he didn’t expect anything from Stark, he didn’t want anything to do with the man. How could he ever be disappointed?

Because he’s your hero, whispered a voice inside his head. Peter shook it away.

“You’ve been doing good, even professional - for a twelve-year-old pipsqueak. Now you have yourself wrapped up in things you cannot handle.”

“I’m fifteen,” gritted Peter.

“I’m very aware of that Mr. Parker. Leave the flying Vulture guy alone.”

“Why?” questioned Peter; the more Mr. Stark tried to dissuade him the more he was determined to see this through. The Vulture man was a bad guy, and Peter stopped bad guys. Why was Mr. Stark ignoring that?

“Why? Because I said so.” Peter flinched at the harsh voice. Mr. Stark used that tone with him before. The suit gestured at an invisible person. “Sorry talking to a teenager.” Peter's anger rose the more Stark talked at him. He may be a child, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“Besides don’t you have the whole, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man thing going on? Won’t this, ah, you know, ruin the image?” The faceplate flipped close, and Peter rolled his eyes.

“My image is helping people and stopping bad guys from doing bad things. Small or large.” Peter was not going to give up this argument without a fight.

“Kid, I’m trying to make your life easier. Stay low to the ground, do your saving kittens from trees schtick.” The ball of anger in Peter’s stomach grew larger with every passing second. Stark was mocking him, making fun of what he did and who he saved. It didn’t matter if it was a mugging victim or a little girl’s cat; they were all important. “If you run into these weapons again, call Happy.”

“But-”

“Ah, ah, zip it. Conversation done.” An engine roar rumbled over the speakers.

“Are you driving?” Peter asked.

“You know, it’s never too early to start thinking about college. I’ve got some pull at MIT. End Call.”

“Mr. Stark, I-”

“Mr. Stark is no longer connected,” informed a female voice. Peter glared in frustration as the suit flew off.

“No thanks, dad. I don’t endorse nepotism,” Peter muttered. He shook his head, flinging water droplets out of his hair. He shouldn’t say stuff like that in a joking manner. Not even when he thought he was alone. Eyes and ears could be everywhere, and Peter needed to always be aware.

Still irritated Peter slipped through the bars of the jungle gym and landed on the ground. He didn’t know what he should do. Mr. Stark was adamant Peter shouldn’t get involved, and Peter could understand why. He 'd been inches from dying. But damn it, this was on Peter’s turf, he needed to know how to stop it if he ran into it again.

What would calling Happy do? The man could yell at the criminals through the phone, but that wouldn’t stop them from shooting at Peter or dragging him into the air to be dropped and succeeding at killing him this time. No, all Mr. Stark was doing was running away from the problem.

Kinda like you. No, Peter wasn’t running away from his problems. At least not ones that mattered. He was burying the ones that weren’t important in the past, where they belonged.

Sure, you are. Peter was saved from his self-deprecating thoughts by the glow of a light distracting him. He ran over to where it was. It was a piece of weaponry from the truck. Peter knelt to grab it when his cellphone ringing; it was Ned.

“Hey man, what’s up? I’m on my way back.”

“I wanted to see if you were okay. You hung up without any warning.”

“Yeah, Ned, I’m fine. I…” Peter trailed off remembering the impact of his body on the water and the twisting of the fabric preventing him from swimming. He shuddered, wishing he could turn the heater in his suit on. “Sorry for bailing on you dude. I’ll tell you what happened later. I’m tired.” Peter couldn’t hear the sounds of the party on the phone. “Hey, where are you?”

“Oh, I’m outside. In the front yard. Your Aunt texted saying she needed to pick us up early. That was like five minutes ago, I’d get back here soon if I were you.” Peter scooped up the tech piece. He could hide it in his jacket so May wouldn’t see. If he could show Stark, he was capable of taking on both the big and small problems, he wouldn’t be so quick to look down on what Peter's accomplishments.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stall for me if she gets there?”

“Sure thing.” Peter ended the call and raced back towards Liz’s house.

Hotel in DC – October 8, 2016

It was a bad idea.

He seemed to be having a lot of those.

Peter should have called Happy back, told him about the bad guys in Maryland, and had him come and pick up the glowy alien thingy.

He should have done all those things.

But…

Peter reasoned if he couldn’t show Mr. Stark, he was capable of standing on his own two feet, he would continue being treated as a child. As if the things he did - the people he saved, the lives he impacted - didn’t matter.

But they did. 

This was big, out of his normal range of Spider-Man activities, sure. But the world was changing. What would happen, one day, if Queens is in trouble, and Peter couldn’t handle it because he backed down when he should have stood his ground?

That’s how he got here.

That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

“Peter, I don’t know if we should be doing this. I mean, the tracker’s in here for a reason. If you hadn’t had it, you would have drowned.” Ned sat on the bed glancing at his laptop with worry. Either net cables connected it to the suit spread out on the bed. 

“I know, I know, but I’m never going to be able to learn if Mr. Stark keeps me down. If it gets out of hand, I’ll call him. Or well, I’ll call Happy. But I don’t want to bother him. He’s moving the stuff at Avengers tower to upstate, he’s busy. I can take care of a little reconnaissance by myself. I’ve done it before.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “You’ve dealt with drug deals and creepy stalkers, not weapons dealers. These people are serious Peter.”

“And I’m totally serious. Can you please hack the suit?”

Ned let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

Twenty minutes later, Peter had not only gotten rid of the pesky tracker but had also disabled the Training Wheels Protocol. The name made Peter eye’s narrow in anger. Another sign Mr. Stark viewed him as an incompetent child. He zipped up his hoodie and headed out the door. He told Ned to keep the alien thingy safe because it was evidence.

Peter tried to leave without being noticed but was caught by Liz and the other students sneaking out of their rooms to head to the pool. The rest of the kids passed him by including Flash, who bumped him on the arm and threw up a middle finger at him.

“Uh, I was gonna go study in the business center.” Peter shifted back and forth on his feet, he needed to get going.

“Peter you don’t need to go study. You’re, like, the smartest guy I’ve ever met. And a rebellious group activity the day before a competition is good for morale. I read that in a TED talk, heard it in a TED talk.” Liz leaned in close and grabbed Peter’s arm. Liz was pretty, but Peter needed to go.

“Besides, I’d love to see you in a bathing suit.” Peter's heart beat faster, and his stomach flipped over. Was Liz… flirting with him? A few months ago, he would have been thrilled. Liz was a senior, the captain of Decathlon Club, and arguably the prettiest girl in school. And she was hitting, on him. Peter Parker.

But… Peter wasn’t thrilled. Instead, it felt wrong, like a cold hand on his shoulder. Or the annoying buzz when your foot falls asleep. Peter wanted to get away from it.

“Come on Liz,” called a few kids from the pool. Liz removed her hand from his arm, and Peter's heartbeat slowed to normal.

“Grab your trunks and come join us, Peter.” She gave a wave and walked away. Peter stared after her for a second. Then turned and walked in the other direction. He had superheroing to do; girls and feelings could wait for another day.

On the way back from DC – August 9, 2016

Peter sat in the back of the bus watching the city light go by. The sun faded from the sky. Ned’s head rested on his shoulder, low snores joined the cacophony of whispers and other noises pounding Peter’s ears. He was glad his friend could get sleep after the long day he’d had. Peter hadn’t slept till late Friday night. He was unconscious for a few hours in the vault, but otherwise, he was running on complete empty.

Peter was far too terrified to close his eyes.

He screwed up so fucking bad.

Not only did he miss the competition, his team almost died because of him. Mr. Harrington, Ned, Liz, even Flash. God, Peter hated him at times, but he’d never wish him dead.

The worst thing was it wasn’t even a bad guy that caused the explosion. No, it was Peter’s carelessness and misinformation. It made Peter even madder because it was his fault. Spider-Man would be the talk of the town for days, and he still had no clue what the Vulture guy was after. It was a waste.

Well, not a total waste. Karen, the suit lady, who had kept him company when he’d been stuck in the DDC vault; she’d been cool. Overeager, but so was he.

The bus pulled to a stop outside the school, a crowd of parents lined up in the parking lot. Their desperation to see their kids safe and sound was loud and clear. Peter nudged Ned who woke up.

“Hey dude, we’re back.” One by one everyone disembarked from the bus rushing over to their parents. Peter was the last to leave and he could see everyone. Liz hugged her mom so tightly; he was afraid of her mom’s circulation. Abe talked with his dads, who appeared relieved to see their son in one piece. Cindy, Sally, and Charles were with their parents too. He caught a brief sight of Flash who talked to an older gentleman in a suit and gloves.

Off in the corner was MJ with her parents. Her mom wrapped her in a giant hug, and her dad stood by his wife. Despite MJ’s griping about them, it was clear they loved their daughter.

His observations were cut off as a pair of arms circled him, choking the breath out of him.

“Oh, Peter. How are you? You’re not hurt?” Ms. Tamar looked him over to see if he was okay, Peter shook his head. “I watched the news, and near about had a heart attack.” Next to them, Ned’s dad bear-hugged his son. “Your aunt called, there was an emergency at the end of her shift, and she had to stay. She asked us to pick you up.” Peter nodded without care; he wasn’t even mad at this point. Just empty.

The whole way back to Ned’s house the car was silent. Ms. Tamar fussed over him and Ned; feeding both of them and sending them to bed early. Ned fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, even though he slept on the bus, but Peter's sleep was elusive. It wasn’t until late that evening when Peter stared at the ceiling, did the emotions come flooding back in.

This Vulture guy was the source of his problems. He’d been doing fine as a neighborhood Spider-Man. They came onto his turf, messing with his people. They were bad guys, and Peter was going to stop them. One way or another.

You screw this up though, and everyone will hate you forever. No, he wasn’t going to screw this up. He would call people this time. He would take every precaution. Cover his bases. But first, he needed to find them, he needed to find out what their next move was. They were taking things from Damage Control and making weapons out of them. Then they sold them, but to who? And where?

Peter glanced at his bag in the corner of Ned’s room where his suit was. He didn’t have a clue. But he had a pretty good idea of where to start looking.

Queens – October 10, 2016

It didn’t take Peter long to track down Aaron Davis. Karen pulled up his file on record, with an address in Queens. He woke Ned and got him to agree to cover for him. Ned would tell his mom Peter left early so he could stop by his house and grab clean clothes for school. Ned was concerned, but Peter assured him was following after a lead.

Around two in the morning Peter was seated on a parking deck overlooking Aaron Davis’s apartment. The tiredness dragged at Peter's eyes, but he pushed it away. He had work to do, he didn’t have time for sleep. The apartment was a quaint place right on the edge of Queens and Brooklyn, and Peter knew it was only a matter of time before the man emerged.

Karen's heat sensor function locked onto the apartment where Davis lived. There were two people there. One adult heat signature, who Peter assumed to be Aaron, and one child’s heat signature. From the size of it, Peter guessed the kid was about six or seven. Peter hoped Davis would come out soon because Peter did not want to break into an apartment to interrogate a guy with a kid there.

Davis was awake, sitting at what looked to be a kitchen table. Soon enough his heat signature moved. Walking out onto a small balcony off the apartment to take a smoke. That’s when Peter decided to question him.

Karen's suggested enhanced interrogation mode did little to intimidate the man. However, he seemed pretty keen on getting Peter away from the apartment as fast as possible. Soon enough Peter was able to get him to cough up the information about an arm's deal happening on the Staten Ferry. Peter thanked him and left. He didn’t even have to shoot off a single web.

At least not everything was against him today. 

It was three-thirty by the time Peter made it back to his own apartment in Astoria. May’s car was in her normal spot, and Peter peaked in her room. She was passed out on the bed. Still clothed in scrubs; she hadn’t even bothered to take her shoes off.

He entered her room and took them off. He maneuvered her under the covers and turned the bedside lamp off. She would be asleep for hours. Every bone in Peter’s body ached, wishing he could do the same. The food Ms. Tamar had given him seemed forever ago. He headed into his bedroom and changed out of his suit. He left and entered the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal. As he sat there eating, he wondered what he should do with the information he’d gathered.

On one hand, he could go and stop the weapons deal himself. He knew the players, he knew the target, he knew the when and the where. But all Peter could remember was the sickening sound screaming metal as the elevator fell and crashed at the bottom of the Washington monument. It made him want to throw up. He would screw this up, he didn’t know how, but he would. It’s what Peter Parker did. Would the Parker Luck still affected him even though he wasn’t really-

No, it was too early in the morning to be thinking about that. Peter steered his thoughts back to what he should do about the weapons deal.

The second option was to call Happy, and in turn Mr. Stark, and hope that they would take him seriously. That’s what he’d been doing until this point and it had worked. The clock read it was already four in the morning, Peter didn’t even know if the men would be up this early. He looked at his phone and debated for a minute or two.

Was he weak for not being able to handle this by himself?

You’re not an adult, you’re a kid – kids ask for help. This is too big for you.

You’re a superhero above all else. And heroes take care of their own problems.

Look how well that turned out in D.C. People almost died. Call them and let people more equipped take care of this.

D.C. wasn’t our fault; it was an unforeseen series of events. There will always be another person more capable. It is our job to learn how to become that person.

Not at the expense of lives.

Too late for that, isn’t it?

Peter couldn’t deal with the back and forth. Each side was right and wrong. Looking down at his phone the indecision was eating Peter alive. His hand hovered over the call button before pushing it.

The phone rung for a few seconds before the man picked up. Happy’s voice sounded weary, but not groggy. A good chance the man had already been up.

“Kid you better have a damn good reason to be calling this early in the morning.” Peter drew in a breath.

“Happy there’s a weapon's deal happening on the Staten Ferry at eleven today.” Silence from the other end of the phone. Then a soft mumble of ‘It’s too early for this shit.’

“ I’m going to transfer you over to Tony. God knows he’ll be up, and way more equipped to deal with this than me.” The phone was silent for a few minutes.

“Mr. Parker, what are you doing up this early of a morning?”

“It’s late for me.”

“Yeesh kid, you should be asleep in bed. I watched what happened in D.C. Good job with that by the way.”  The clanging of metal rang in Peter’s ears making him grit his teeth against each other.

“There’s a weapons deal going down at eleven on the Staten Ferry today. The Vulture guy is selling to a guy named-”

“Mac Gargan. Yeah, kid, I’m already two steps ahead of you. Look I told you this was out of your league. Why are you still looking into this?” Peter was silent for a moment as his brain fought through drowsiness to come up with a good answer.

“I’m trying to help-”

“Kid look you don’t need to get involved This whole thing is above you. Leave. It. Alone. Go to sleep kid. End Call.” The line clicked off and Peter was left sitting at his kitchen table alone. The familiar rage of dismissal burnt through him. Why wasn’t Stark taking this seriously? These weapons were out on the streets Peter patrolled. These guys needed to be taken down.

Maybe Stark already had guys on the situation?

He would have told Peter that was the case, wouldn’t he? Peter needed to know what was happening. Glancing at the clock he figured he could get a couple of hours of sleep before the deal happened. He was going to see this through. Whether Stark wanted him to or not. Peter placed his bowl in the sink next to an empty wineglass and headed to bed.

Random Building, Staten Island – October 10, 2016

Peter sat on the edge of a building overlooking the water, with the sound of helicopters in the distance. The numbness from before was back, this time accompanied by an aching in his arms and a ringing in his ears.

If he thought he fucked up before, this was even worse. Peter wanted to bury himself under a rock and never emerge.

He fucked up.

He fucked up.

He fucked up.

But if he hadn’t been there would it have been even worse? Would the Vulture guy have still shot at the FBI agents? Would the Ferry have split apart with nothing to hold it together? Peter didn’t know, and the not knowing was killing him.

His arms ached from the strain of keeping the boat upright, and his wrists felt loose. His hands shook, whether, from shock or strain, Peter didn’t know. He was exhausted, the few hours of sleep not enough to make up for being awake for hours. Peter would kill to eat.

He could hear the sound of the repulsers from Iron Man’s suit approaching. God, he did not want to have this conversation.

“Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch: I told you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.” Peter stayed silent, if he opened his mouth, he would either scream or cry, and he didn't want to do either.

“Everyone’s okay, just so you know. No thanks to you. I told you I was two steps ahead of you. I told you this was above your head. Do you know I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a 14-year-old kid.”

“If I had known the FBI was here, I wouldn’t have come,” Peter defended, not bothering to correct his age.

“It’s not your job to know! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Shouted Stark, this time his voice wasn’t mechanized. Peter turned his head to see the man was here in person rather than remote controlling the suit.

“Then what is my job?” sneered Peter, he jumped off the ledge he was sitting on and walked over to Stark.

“Your job is to report back to the people who can handle things,” explained Stark with a sneer. That pushed Peter over the edge.

“I can handle things!” Shouted Peter.

“Well, apparently you can’t. I thought you had more restraint and maturity than this. You were doing fine. Your reports to Happy’s were succinct, and it showed you were consistent. You told him about the big problems, the important things-”

“Everything I do is important,” interrupted Peter. Every person he helped across the street, every woman who made it home safe, every brawl fight quelled, every mugging averted; it was important and he was sick of Stark implying it wasn’t.

“Wow, you have a bit of an ego, huh?” Peter’s fists shook with rage. He wasn’t going to do anything to the man, but Peter was close to screaming, it bubbled on the tip of his tongue, ready to lash out at the next provocation.

“I-” Peter started to explain.

“No,” cut off Stark. “This is where you zip it, all right? The adult is talking. What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? ‘Cause that’s on you. And if you died, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

“I wanted to help, I wanted to make sure everything would be fine. I wanted to be like you!” exclaimed Peter. That’s what this boiled down to. Peter wanted to be a hero, a person Stark could look at and think is good. A person who was worthy of being his son. Not a loser, not a freak, not ruined. Not Peter.

“And I wanted you to be better. Okay, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back.” Peter stepped back in shock. The sting of disappointment too much to bear. Give up the suit? He was just learning how it worked. How he could protect people better with it. And Stark wanted it back?

All Peter ever wanted to do was help people. Why was he being punished for it?

“I said-” Stark’s voice was louder and angrier.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time,” spat Peter. He was angry and defensive, and tired. “This suit is everything I need-” Stark cut him off.

“That suit belongs to me.” The man’s voice was low and dangerous. “If you aren’t something with the suit, you sure as hell don’t deserve to have it.” Peter was shocked he hadn’t started crying at this point. Sheer determination and will were the only things keeping him standing.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant-”

“Playtime is over Parker. Step aside and let the real heroes clean up the mess you left behind.” The words were a slap to Peter’s face. And at the same time, a confirmation of what he had known since Stark appeared in his living room.

Mr. Stark would never see Peter as a hero. He would never see Peter as a capable and worthy person. He would never see Peter for himself. It was then Peter knew he’d made the right call. Stark could never know who Peter had been. He would hate the person his son grew to be. And that would break Peter.

He was a screwup.

He was a coward.

He was broken.

Peter closed his eyes and nodded his head. It was time to go home.

Parker’s Apartment – October 10, 2016

Peter entered his apartment building dressed in pajamas. Stark had gotten clothes from a gift shop and sent him home in a car with a different driver than Happy. It was three in the afternoon.

He entered the apartment. It was silent. He peaked in May’s room and found her still passed out on the bed. Her shoes still where he placed them that morning. Peter let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t up, she had no clue he’d been gone.

He trudged over to his room and sat on his bed. The empty hole deep inside him capturing every emotion and thought. It coalesced it into one big knot in his stomach. Peter felt sick. God, this was awful.

The numbness ebbed away leaving nothing but hurt, panic, and disappointment in its wake. Peter tipped over and laid on his bed. The crest of emotions hit him and dragged him under. Tears prickled at his eyes, and he cried.

He didn’t even know what he was crying about. The ferry? The botched weapons deal? His failure? The loss of his suit? The disappointed and angry eyes of Mr. Stark? Peter didn’t know.

His choked-up sobs made it hard to breathe, but Peter couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t know how long it was until he stopped crying. He worked his way under his covers. Staring at the ceiling, the tear tracks dried on his cheeks, Peter had no clue where to go from here.

The thoughts raced around in his head until Peter couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He fell asleep, hoping when he woke the world wouldn't be so impossible to deal with.

Chapter Text

Queens – October 10, 2016

May roused him from his exhaustion-fueled sleep around seven in the evening. Her phone was filled with calls from the school asking about his absence and his disappearing act at Nationals. Peter spouted off a lie about being affected by his teammates being inches away from dying on the elevator. May asked why he wasn't in the elevator with them; he remembered MJ wasn't on the elevator, which was a relief at the time, and amended his story so he was keeping her company on the ground.

He said he needed a day to not be scared out of his mind. It helped that he looked like death warmed over.

She believed him.

Since she didn't have a shift to get to, they headed to a Thai place for dinner. A celebration for their win at Nationals, and making it back safe and sound, or so May said. The underlying motive for apologizing was loud and clear. Peter didn't care. He couldn't remember the last time he and May hung out.

She asked about his time in D.C.

Peter, existing in a place between numb and exhausted, weaved a story that sounded like the truth.

He should be disgusted at his ability to lie so easily. But the excuses and stories rolled right off his tongue without a second thought. Lies and masks become distressingly second nature to him. Here he was, empty and devoid of emotion, and May hadn't batted an eyelash.

Once they returned to the apartment, they sat and watched television for a few hours. Peter begged off around eleven. Which was usually when he would go and change into his suit for an evening patrol.

A suit he didn't have anymore.

The realization hit Peter harder than it should have. Had the ferry been torn apart a few hours ago? Had any chance of respect from his… mentor? Hero? Father? Been quashed in a few words? Peter couldn't believe it. It seemed unreal.

Sitting on his bed, for the first time in months, Peter didn't know where to go or what to do. If he wasn't being a hero, what was he? A genius freak? An orphaned mess? A gutless coward? An awful human being?

Okay, maybe the last one was a little dramatic. But the point still stood – what was Peter to do now?

He glanced at his crawlspace, where he still had his original suit. The one torn to pieces after the shooting incident. He'd had a newer one made, but he kept that one at school. He hadn't touched either in weeks.

He could go out and patrol in that. He'd used his own suits far longer than the fancy suit Stark designed. It would be a downgrade, a sting to his pride, but it didn't matter what suit he was in. He was still Spider-Man. Still a hero.

If he even could call himself that anymore.

Stark sure didn't seem to think he was.

"Step aside and let the real heroes clean up the mess you left behind."

Wasn't he a real hero? He saved people's lives, spent hours patrolling the streets, spotting the minor inconveniences of life, and did his best to help. He was trying to help.

Dead eyes.

Blood-soaked hands.

Faded heartbeats.

Gunshots.

Concussions.

Bruises.

Gashes

Bullet holes.

The tearing of metal.

The screams of people.

Guilt and pain and disappointment-

Peter opened his eyes, which he hadn't noticed were closed. His breathing quickened, and the noises rushed in too fast. A panic attack.

He dived for the side of his bed where his headphones from Ned hung. Stuffing them over his ears, he screwed his eyes shut. He tried to remember his breathing exercises. The onslaught of memories and feelings tried to drown him.

In 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Hold.

Out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Hold.

After a few minutes, the feelings, which rose at the memories, settled down. The all-consuming emptiness filled Peter once more. He dragged the earphones away and the noises filtered back in, this time more manageable. Glancing over at his clock the glaring red numbers read a quarter to midnight.

For the first time in weeks, Peter decided he wouldn't be going on patrol.

Midtown School Of Science And Technology – October 11, 2016

Despite skipping patrol, nightmares woke Peter at his normal time. The screeching of the elevator and his team's dead and broken bodies made an appearance.

He woke a sweat-drenched shivering mess. His arms and body ached from the strain of holding the ferry together the day before.

He worked on homework in the few hours before leaving for school. May left for her shift hours ago.

Whatever last vestiges of summer holding on in the city had faded away. The nip of cold air sliced through his threadbare jacket. He shivered violently; the cold never bothered him much before. He lived in New York after all. For some reason the cold bit at him more than usual.

He quickened his pace to the train and sighed in relief when the warm air of the compartment hit him.

School was a drag. Classes could have been taught in Pig Latin for all he learned. What grabbed Peter's attention the most was the snippets of conversation around him.

Spider-Man saving the decathlon team.

Spider-Man destroying the Staten Ferry.

Who was going with who to the homecoming dance on Friday?

Peter didn't want to think about any of that.

Peter ignored the rapid stream of texts and calls from Ned. Apparently, his mom and dad kept him home for a few days to recover from the shock of nearly dying. MJ was nowhere to be seen either. He sent her a quick text asking if they had dance practice that evening. This meant Peter was by himself at school, suffering through the noise and unintended scrutinization.

Lunch was a lonely affair.

Decathlon practice was suspended until after the Homecoming dance, to give everyone a break from the constant pressure of practicing. Peter wasn't looking forward to facing the team after he ditched them.

Throughout the day Peter's Spidey-Sense buzzed on the edge of his awareness. This was a sure sign Flash was gearing up to have a go at him. Unlike half the AcaDec team, Flash was accounted for at school. Peter wanted to be annoyed, but he didn't care. Flash could say whatever he wanted, and it wouldn't be as bad as whatever was in Peter's own head.

Flash made his move after Honors Algebra.

The final bell rang; Peter packed up his textbook and the already half-finished homework sheet.

He’d been bored in class.

Mr. Wescott was a decent teacher. But Peter had learned linear equations back in 4th grade. He had a feeling the man didn't like him. Which was why he, out of all Peter's teachers, made his Spidey-Sense go off. Peter made enemies out of teachers before. Teachers who couldn't stand Peter being smarter than everyone in class without even trying.

Peter wouldn't hold Mr. Wescott's dislike against the man. Peter didn't much like himself right now either.

Peter slung his backpack onto his shoulder when his Sense went off. Peter had to hold himself still to not catch the piece of balled-up notebook paper that flew towards his head. He let it bounce off of him harmlessly.

"Wow Parker, you dropped the ball there, huh?" heckled Flash.

Peter scoffed, "Good one Flash. How long did it take you to come up with that? Three days?" The sarcasm slipped out of his mouth unintentionally. Peter had to remind himself he wasn't Spider-Man here. Here he was a bullied sophomore.

Flash's eyes glinted in unrestrained mockery. Peter's comeback hardly denting in his good mood.

"How long will it take the administration to expel you? I mean the only reason you even go here is to provide another trophy for the school's record. If you can't do that, what good are you?" The insult stung, but Peter didn't let it show. He opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off.

"Thompson," called Mr. Wescott. Peter froze in shock, as Flash glared at Mr. Wescott. 

Flash probably hadn't forgotten he was in a classroom; most teachers never bothered to call Flash out on his bullying. His parents donated a lot of money to the school. And despite the appearance of a no-tolerant bullying policy. Flash pretty much got away with any antic other than cold murder and the teachers let it slide. Especially when he only targeted a scholarship student.

Peter hated politics.

"Yes sir?" the boy responded. Peter shuffled off to the side, as the teacher approached them.

"Those comments didn't sound particularly friendly. In fact, I'd say you were outright bullying Mr. Parker." Flash's mouth gaped for a moment, trying to find a comeback, to no avail. His shoulders sunk, and he looked away from the teacher. The teacher surveyed Flash with a hawk-like stare, before turning his gaze to Peter. The sense's low hum rose higher, making Peter uncomfortable.

After a moment the man nodded to Peter, "Mr. Parker you may be excused. Thompson, please stay." Peter shuffled over to the door, shocked a teacher had finally stood up for him. 

"And Mr. Parker?" Peter turned back towards Mr. Wescott. "Get some sleep kid, you look exhausted." Peter hadn't looked in a mirror all day, but he knew he had bags under his eyes. Maybe his Spidey-Sense was wrong. Maybe Mr. Wescott didn't hate him after all. He nodded, closing the door behind him. Peter only caught a snippet of what the teacher said to Flash.

"Now Eugene, I know it's been hard at home after what happened, but it doesn't give you the right…" Peter walked down the hallway and out of range unless he concentrated. Which he didn't do. Even if the rest of the day had sucked, it was nice to finally not have to fight every battle by himself.

The Park Outside Ned's Apartment – October 11, 2016

"-and after that, he sent me home in pajamas from a gift shop," finished Peter. He'd given in to the relentless calls and texts from Ned and arranged to meet his friend outside his house after school. Ned took one look at him and declared they needed food and warm drinks. Three churros and two cups of hot cider later, Peter finished telling his tale.

"What an absolute fucking dick." Peter choked on his cider. "Excuse my language."

"Dude, what the hell?"

Ned shook his head. His face was a mixture of disbelief and anger. "No, Peter. What Stark did was a dick move. He didn't even give you a chance to explain. He's in the wrong here."

Peter couldn't help the little voice inside of him trying to stick up for the older hero. "But I messed up too. If I hadn't been there-"

"If you hadn't been there the ferry could have broken apart before Iron Man even arrived. And the point is moot anyway, he should have told you what was happening."

"It's not my job to know."

Ned rolled his eyes. "That sounds like Stark talking." Peter shrugged his shoulders taking another sip of cider. The winds blew past him. They nipped at his face, making his eyes water. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I mean I still have my original suit. And now I have a ton of cool ideas on how to improve it that will never happen because I'm not a billionaire." The words hung in the air for a second, and the two teens looked at each other. "I'm not saying any-"

"I wasn't going to. If he can't see you’re a real hero - that you tried to do your best without all the information which he should have shared - I guess you were right. He doesn't deserve to know who you were." Peter didn't agree entirely with Ned, Peter didn't think the Starks weren't deserving of him, but that he was undeserving of them. But Ned would yell at him if he said that, so he didn't. 

They both sat there for another minute listening to the afternoon traffic passing by.

"So… what are you going to do now?" repeated Ned.

"I have a duty to myself, to Queens, to anyone who needs help. I'm not gonna stop. I'm still-" he lowered his voice until it was a whisper. "Spider-Man. But… I am really tired. I can't remember the last time I took a night off." Peter looked at Ned. "Do you think that makes me selfish? For wanting a break?"

Ned shook his head. "No way Peter. Any other kid would have dropped dead ages ago from the schedule you keep. Taking a break is good. Get your head on straight after what's happened the past couple of days. You've almost died, like, what? Four times?"

"Yeah, I guess so. It's just- I don't know. The world feels weird. Like the colors have faded and sounds are muffled."

Ned placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I think that's the adrenaline drop off. And lack of sleep. Dude your eye bags have bags."

Peter let out a choked laugh. He was tired. "Enough about me and my problems. Are you coming back to school tomorrow? It was lonely today without you." Peter didn't want to come off as needy, but… no, he was okay with coming off as needy. He wanted his friend back at school.

"Yeah, my parents said I can head back. Which is great cause I still need to find a date to the dance." Ned snarled his nose and curled deeper into his jacket when a harsh wind blew past them. "Not that anyone would want to go with me."

Peter shoved his friend. "I'd go out with you."

Ned laughed. "Yeah, no Peter. But thanks for trying. Plus, you don't have to settle for me, you could have your pick-" Ned's eyes widened. And his mouth snapped shut. Peter gazed at him in confusion.

"Pick of who? Nobody wants to go to the dance with me." Well, Liz had been flirting with him in D.C. But that didn't mean she wanted to go with him to the dance. Ned kept his mouth shut. "Ned?"

"I swore a vow of silence."

"Dude!"

"Sorry, Peter. But if you're this oblivious, even after all this time, it's not my job to tell you."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "This is treason, Ned. You're my best friend; you have to tell me." Ned shook his head. Peter geared up to hound him some more, but his phone vibrated. Dragging it out of his pocket there was a text from MJ.

The Dance Queen: prct tn @ 7 dnt b l8

Glancing at his clock, Peter saw it was a quarter past five. He still had a little time before he needed to head off.

"Who's it from?" asked Ned innocently.

Peter scoffed, "MJ. We're still on for dance practice tonight."

"You do know she's gonna kill you for missing the competition."

Peter groaned, and slumped back on the bench, letting his head hit the wood. "Yeah, yeah I know. I still have to figure out what to tell her. She did pull off the winning question though, maybe she won't be too mad." Ned shrugged.

"Eh, if you want to take it lightly, it's your funeral after all." Peter didn't know what he found funny, but he laughed at Ned's comment. Ned was right. He did need a break. Maybe then he wouldn't be empty and tired all the time.

Hollanday Studio – October 11, 2016

Dance practice was a silent affair.

Peter arrived a few minutes before MJ. At this point, they had a pretty seamless routine. In the first hour, they would warm up, do barre work, or learn whatever new step for ballet. The second hour would be spent going over their dance routines for the competition.

Normally they chatted back and forth, but Peter could tell a tension was in the air. He hadn't seen MJ since late Sunday night, and he didn't know how to break the ice. It was distracting, and every time he tried to focus, he would slip up and fall or stumble.

After about forty-five minutes, the frustration had built until Peter couldn't take it anymore.

He stumbled on a pirouette, and he couldn't keep going. Giving up any pretense of trying; Peter stumbled over to his bag to grab his water bottle. He drank half of it and sunk to the ground in the corner with his eyes closed. The music turned off. He could hear MJ's footsteps approaching him.

"I think it's time we had a talk," she said. Her voice was level and all but emotionless. Peter knew it was her default mode whenever she had to deal with difficult conversations.

"Yeah, it is."

"Where the hell were you on Sunday?"

Peter sighed. There were a thousand different things he could say. When it came to lying, he could do it with ease now. But MJ had told him before she hated lying. He didn't know what else to do.

"I was busy, I was caught up in-" A hand rested on his shoulder. Peter's eyes flew open. MJ stood in front of him, her hair pulled back and her eyes intense.

"Peter Parker, I want you to think very hard before lying to me."

Peter froze. He couldn't tell her about Spider-Man. He couldn't handle another person knowing, not now.

"I- I- I can't tell you where I was. Or what I was doing. I just- I just can't." Peter knew how lame of an excuse it was. But he couldn't come up with anything better that didn't involve any lying. MJ walked over and sat next to him, their shoulders brushing each other.

"Was it important?"

Had it really been more important to track the weapon's dealers than be present for a competition they had worked on for months? The clatter of the elevator as it crashed to the ground rang through his mind. If he hadn't already been in his suit and ready to save the day, his whole team could have died.

"Yeah, it was." He thought of the ferry and Mr. Stark's angered and disappointed face. "Or at least I thought it was. I thought I was doing something good. That I was helping. But I don't know anymore." He told her far more than she'd asked for. "Sorry, my head isn't in the right place for dancing today."

MJ sighed, leaning back against the wall of the dance studio. "You make absolutely no sense somedays Peter. One day I'm gonna figure you out."

Peter was torn between wanting her to know the truth and wanting to keep her away from everything. On one hand, it would be a huge relief to have another person on his side, for her to know about Spider-Man. On the other, what if she hated him? What if she thought he was a freak? What if, when he pulled back the layers, she hated what she saw beneath?

For some reason, Peter couldn't stand the idea of MJ hating him.

"You never know, maybe you will," said Peter cautiously. MJ rose to her feet and extended a hand to him.

"I don't hate you for missing Nationals. I'm not happy about it, but I answered the winning question, so I can't complain." Peter huffed out a laugh. Taking her offered hand, he dragged himself onto his feet.

"Now, you ready to get back to work?" Peter nodded. "Good, now go do that move perfectly, or I'll make you do barre work for an extra fifteen minutes."

0o0o0o0o0o0

An hour later they both stood outside the studio. The wind from earlier had only picked up strength, making Peter shudder despite both the sweater and jacket he had on.

"I guess I don't have to say we aren't having practice on Friday."

"Yeah, I figured. Do you- do you have a date for the dance on Friday?" Peter asked, his stomach flopping.

"No. Nobody asked me. But I won't let societal norms dictate where I can and can not go." She sighed, burying herself deeper into her coat. "What about you?"

Peter's cheeks reddened. "Yeah no, I don't have a date. I'm- I'm not even sure if I'll go or not." Peter hadn't been too concerned about anything beyond Decathlon, Spider-Man, or dancing the past couple of months. Trying to be normal and go to a high-school dance, had not been high on his priority list.

"You should come, it'll be more fun if you're there."

"Thanks, MJ." Peter was glad he'd found another friend to rely on. She didn't have to know everything about his life to be there for him. MJ was particularly good at that. Her sarcasm and dry wit made him laugh, and she was a fantastic dancer.  What would the kids at school think if they saw him and her swing dancing in the middle of the gym come Friday night?

Not that MJ would want to dance with him at Homecoming.

Would she?

He glanced over at her cautiously. She'd already said she was going, that she didn't need someone to take her. But… maybe it would be nice, to go, together.

As friends.

"Um… MJ?"

"Yeah, Peter?"

"I was wondering- not that it's super important... But you know, just uh- just maybe, would you-"

A black car pulled up along the sidewalk. MJ's parents.

"Oh, um… you uh- you should go."

MJ waved him off. "Nah they can wait a minute. What were you going to ask?" Peter's face was beet red. Why it was hard asking her to go to the dance with him? It wasn't like he was afraid she'd say no. It's not like he liked her.

Well, wait, no he did. He did like her. He didn't like, like her. But he liked her as a friend.

Right?

"I was wondering if-"

"Michelle, we need to go," called a woman's voice from the car.

Michelle sighed. "Sorry, Peter."

Peter shook his head. "No, no it's okay you should get going. It's no big deal. I'll see you tomorrow at school?"

MJ gazed at him for another minute, before letting out a tiny sigh. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but before Peter could call it out it was gone.

"Yeah, Peter. I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched her trudge over to her car and open and slam the door. The car drove away, and Peter headed to the bus stop. His breath fogged in the air, as he pulled his jacket tighter around him. 

Peter ignored the heaviness in his chest. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't. Nobody would ever want him. He didn't even want him.

Midtown School Of Science And Technology – October 14, 2016

The rest of the week at school was better than Tuesday had been. Peter took an official break from Spider-Man, at least for a little while. Midterms were in a week, so he needed more time to study. If his grades were even slightly lackluster before, the work turned in that week had fixed it.

He attended classes with Ned and MJ, hung out in the library, and studied. He headed to Ned's house after school and played with video games and Legos. He pretended to be a normal kid, for a few days. He tried to rid himself of the lingering doubt and guilt over what happened over the weekend.

MJ acted a little weird. Their conversations stilted, with an underlying sense of unfinishedness. Peter spent hours kicking himself for wanting to ask MJ to the dance. And hours more wondering why he hadn't been able to get the words out. He decided not to say anything else to her. It wasn't as if she was going with anyone, maybe he'd get a chance to dance with her at least once on Friday night.

The only other problem causing him to worry was Decathlon.

He was punished for disappearing off the radar on Sunday. Thankfully it was only a week of detention and a stern talking-to from the principal. The man lectured on the importance of sticking with the group, and how his status at Midtown was predicated on his good performance. It rang too close to what Flash implied; Peter was only at the school to provide trophies and good scores. Another reason to add on top of the pile of why he sucked as a human being.

Okay, maybe Peter was being a little dramatic.

As for the Decathlon members, he apologized to them; except for Liz and Flash. The rest of the team decided not to kick him off but said they’d put him on reserve forever if he ever pulled a stunt like that again. He hadn't apologized to Flash, because the bully didn't deserve it. And he hadn't apologized to Liz because he couldn't find her.

Not for lack of trying. She was super busy with the last-minute Homecoming prep that needed to happen. It wasn't until Friday, hours before the dance, Peter finally managed to catch up with her.

On his way to the bathroom, he saw her staring at a banner above the trophy case. The hallway was empty, and Peter figured it was a good time to talk to her before an apology seemed meaningless.

"Hey," he called.

She turned and a look of confusion crossed her face. "Oh, hey Peter. Shouldn't you be in class?"

Peter awkwardly held up the large hall pass.

"Shouldn't you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I needed to finish the last bit of homecoming prep. Are you coming tonight?" her voice pitched higher. And Peter's Spidey-Sense kicked in, sending a low hum across his spine. Something was about to happen.

"Um… uh- Well, well I don't know. I don't have a date or anything, but MJ-"

"So, you could come with me?" Liz asked quickly. Peter's mouth dropped open, as he watched Liz close her eyes in what looked like… embarrassment?

"I'm sorry, that was forward of me wasn't it?" Peter was still in shock Liz would even want to go with a sophomore like him.

"Um, I guess. But- but, why would want to go with me? I'm a sophomore, and on the bottom of the social ladder, and I flaked on you guys for Nationals. Which I am really, really sorry for by the way, and-"

Peter stopped talking when Liz rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, you do know you're handsome, right?" The tips of Peter's ears burned in embarrassment. "And you're insanely smart. You're kind and nice and witty, at least, whenever you aren't trying to hold back. And yeah, sure, you flaked on us at Nationals. But we won, so I can't hold anything against you. Last week Decathlon was the most important thing I could think of. After I almost died, it made me realize life is short, and we need to use the time we have to take chances." Liz's eyes were set and determined, and Peter could see how she'd been elected class president two years running.

"Plus, I think everybody else is paired off at this point. I spent so much time organizing the dance, I forgot I needed to get a date. So, what do you say, want to go together?" Peter looked at her, and his mind was blank. He couldn't believe this awesome person was asking him to a dance. It seemed unreal.

And at the same time, it felt wrong.

"I mean- um… well," Peter couldn't bring himself to give her an answer.

"I know it's a bit weird me being three years older than you. So, it doesn't have to mean anything, we can go as friends. I'd like to be better friends with you Peter." At that, Peter's Spidey-Sense finally dimmed. The weight that had lodged itself in his throat faded away.

Just friends.

Peter could get behind that.

"I'd like that Liz."

She smiled, which turned into a mischievous grin. "Great. This is going to be so much fun. Trust me, you'll thank me for it later. It might give them the little push they need." Petr tilted his head in confusion.

"Them?"

Liz laughed. "Oh, Peter if you don't know already, it's not my place to tell you."

Peter wrinkled his nose in displeasure. It seemed a lot of people had been saying that to him. "Yeah, that's what Ned said too."

"Ned's pretty smart, he knows what he's talking about. But for tonight, you're going out with me. You have my address?" Peter nodded his head, still having the text MJ had sent him over a week ago. "Cool, be there around six, my dad wants to be the one to drive us here."

"I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight. By the way, my dress is red." Peter nodded, and headed off, with a smile on his face. He was happy, of course, he was. He was going to Homecoming with one of the prettiest girls in school. Months ago, he would have been thrilled. But he wasn't. Instead, it was tinged with guilt and disappointment, and he didn't know why.

Hopefully, he would be able to get through the night without letting it bother him too much.

But first…

How did you tie a tie?

October 14, 2016 (The night of Homecoming)

Liz's dad was a supervillain.

That summed up Peter's luck right there.

Fuck.

0o0o0o0o0o0

His blood was pounding in his ears.

He spouted off some lame excuse to the girl (the nice, stable, predictable girl.)

And he ran.

He didn't notice MJ watching him the whole way out.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Being shocked, thrown through a bus, and kicked around as a rag doll sucked.

Don't let anyone say differently.

He grabbed the guy's phone off of him.

Ned was behind him.

"Ned, go call Happy. We gotta catch these guys before they leave town."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Driving was terrifying.

But the look on Flash's face was worth it.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Monologue, monologue, blah, blah, blah-

Let's get to the action.

No, wait, what is he saying?

LOOK OUT!!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Weight.

Pressure.

Dripping.

PAIN.

He's choking.

He can't breathe.

He's trapped.

He's trapped.

HE'S TRAPPED!!!

"Hello! Hello! Please."

"Hey, hey, please. I'm down here."

"I'm down here. I'm stuck."

"I'm stuck."

"I can't move."

"I can't..."

'Step aside and let the real heroes clean up the mess you left behind.'

No.

No.

No!

NO!

He was a real hero.

He was Spider-Man.

And he was going to fix this by himself.

No fancy tech.

No adults.

Just him. Just Peter Parker.

Just a loser genius from Queens who'd been bitten by a radioactive spider.

"Come on, Peter."

"Come on, Spider-Man."

"Come on, Spider-Man."

"Come on, Spider-Man."

"Come on, Spider-Man!"

Blood pounding.

Muscles straining.

God, this would suck in the morning.

It's too much.

It's too much!

IT'S TOO MUCH!

His arms quaked.

Dust and grit filled his lungs, and he nearly choked.

Peter didn't have time for that.

He climbed over the broken pieces of concrete.

He's out.

He searched for the villain who trapped him there.

Toomes perched on a billboard, ready to intercept the plane.

Peter couldn't let that happen.

This time he'll clean up his own messes.

He ignores the pain as he swings after the villain.

0o0o0o0o0o0

In his months of Spider-Manning, there was one fact Peter tried to push out of his mind every chance he could.

He was fucking terrified of heights.

Normally the push and pull of his swings, and the constant calculations he ran in his head so he didn't face plant into the side of a building, kept him pretty occupied. But dangling thousands of feet up in the air, by a thin web and some hope, drilled the point home.

The constant chanting in his head switched back and forth between:

I have to save the plane.

And…

Don't look down. Don't look down. Don'tlookdowndon'tlookdowndon'tlookdowndon'tlo-

Needless to say, this was not how Peter envisioned his night going.

Crashing the plane was even less fun than dangling from it.

When the plane hit the ground, he finally lost his grip. Peter flew through the air and skidded into the sand. At least it wasn't concrete.

His ears rung from the fall, and the grinding of metal. Peter might have cracked a tooth on the impact.

Coming to a halt on the sand he flopped down in exhaustion. He wanted to lie down and take a nap.

No. Wait.

There was a supervillain after him. He needed to deal with that first.

The proceeding fight was awful.

Toomes grabbed him and pinned him like he was a piece of meat. Raining down punch after punch after punch. Until Peter finally moved his hand to stop it. He lifted Peter into the air with his metallic talons. The metal pierced his skin.

He screamed.

He was slammed into the ground again and again and again. His brain rattled around his skull.

This was it.

He was dead.

Lifted up by the fabric of his hoodie, he's ready for a final blow.

And then he's dropped to the ground.

He watched Toomes go after the cargo in distress. He had promised he would take care of this himself, and now the man would get away.

Then the villain's suit malfunctioned.

Shit.

After he rescued Toomes from the flames, events became a little blurred in Peter's brain.

He had enough energy to round up the boxes that weren't on fire. He pushed them through the sand or stacked them. Despite the shaking of his hands and arms.

He kept an eye on Toomes, but the man didn't raise from his spot in the sand. When Peter found what he could, he wrapped the man to the boxes with a lot of web fluid. He scratched out a note on the back of a carnival flyer, with a piece of charcoal; apologizing for crashing the plane.

Peter swung away as the sirens grew louder.

Time to make his escape.

0o0o0o0o0o0

After making sure the plane was found by the authorities, and when he could move without his limbs burning in protest, Peter snuck back to the warehouse. Swinging was difficult – the strain on his arms made Peter whimper in agony.

The pain he'd been in pain after the ferry was tiny when compared to this.

Peter's ears still rang, and he knew he had a laundry list of injuries.

He was pretty sure without the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he would have collapsed long ago. He must have at least a rib or two broken from Toomes slamming him against the ground. His shoulder felt funny, and his arms felt as if they'd been torn to shreds. His legs shook and ached but carried him where he needed to go. The dirt, grit, and sand covered his body. His face was bloody, and the blood seeped out of the wounds on his chest and back sticking his homemade suit to his skin.

For once his mind was silent.

When he sees the remnants of the warehouse, and the blinking red and blue lights around it, he groans. How the hell was he supposed to get his phone back?

Sneakily he inched his way closer to the police line, Toomes's car was parked off to the side. He crouched low, ignoring the spasms in his back, and snuck over to the car. Peter kept his ears tuned to the sounds of the police officers nearby. Thankfully the back door was unlocked, and he was able to reach in and grab his phone.

He sprinted for a minute, which exhausted the rest of the meager energy he'd been able to build up, and he was home free.

Well, almost.

Turning on his phone there were several missed calls and texts from Ned. A few from MJ, and a text from May from several hours ago telling him to have a good night.

Peter collapsed in the shadow of a building, groaning in relief as his legs no longer had to hold him up. His injuries had to be taken care of, his healing factor was not going to be able to take care of them in a night.

He needed help.

Should he call Mr. Stark? No. The man was clear he wanted nothing to do with Peter. These injuries were the result of Peter proving he was a real hero. He could take care of the aftermath himself too.

For a moment he entertained the idea of making his way home. Trying to fool May into believing he was fine, but patching up his wounds by himself seemed impossible.

Which left him with Ned.

He didn't want to ruin his friend's night any more than he already had, but he didn't see any other choice.

Peter took a deep breath and centered himself.

First, to deal with May.

Checking the time, he knew the dance would have officially ended already, as it was a little past nine. But he mentioned to May there were plans to go out to Waffle House, so she wouldn't be waiting for him.

He clicked on her number.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Voicemail.

Huh… that was weird. She'd told him she had a night off. She wouldn't be at work.

He tried again.

It rang.

And rang.

And ran-

"Heeey Petey." Her voice sounded slow and slurred. Damn, she'd been drinking again. Peter cleared his voice.

"H-hey May. Having a good night?" His voice shook, but it didn't sound too bad considering the amount of pain he was in.

"Yep, yep, yep. Do ya, do-do ya need me to ppickk you uuupp?"

"No, no, no May. Stay where you are. I'm fine, remember. I'm going to Waffle House. I wanted to ask if I could stay over at Ned's tonight?" His phone buzzed with another call coming up on the line. It was from Ned. He let it ring.

"Neddd'd house? Suurre sweetie."

Peter sighed in relief. "Thanks, May. Do you… uh, do you have a shift tomorrow?" He hoped she did. 'Please say yes, please say yes.'

"Uuuuugh, yeah I doooo, but not Sun- uh, Sun… the next day." Peter nodded to himself, at least he had a little time to get himself together. Maybe he could convince her he'd mugged.

"Alright, I'll see you on Sunday, May. I larb you," his voice cracked from the unshed tears and pain. Peter hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Larb ya, too Petey." The call clicked off, and Peter dropped the phone, the weight too much to hold in his hands.

He’d never heard May that drunk before. But she was an adult and allowed to do whatever she liked. Either way, it worked to Peter’s advantage for now. Scrolling through his contact list he clicked on Ned's name.

It rang once.

"Peter, ohmygosh, is that you?"  Ned's panicked voice came through the phone's speaker, and Peter smiled weakly.

"Yeah dude, it's me." This time he didn't try to make his voice sound normal.

"Oh my gosh, I was watching the news. Was the plane crash you?"

"Yeah, that was me. Listen, Ned, where are you right now?"

"I'm still at school, I lied a bit when I was caught in the computer lab. So now they're talking to my dad." There was a pang of guilt at his friend's words. Peter never wanted Ned to get in trouble because of his problems.

"Sor-"

"And don't you fucking dare say you're sorry. I'm a part of this too, okay dude. Worry about yourself. Are you okay?" Peter contemplated lying for a moment and making his way home instead, but his better judgment won out even against his guilt.

"Nah, Ned, I'm all kinds of fucked up right now. I might have broken a bone or two. And I’m bleeding." That was just the shortlist of Peter’s problems.

"Shit, Peter. Okay, okay… uh, where are you?"

"Hiding in some alleyway right now." Peter shifted but winced when a stab of pain coursed through him. No, okay, he could stay still a while.

"Okay, you're safe, oh wait- shit my dad is coming back. I'll call you in a minute." The call clicked off and left Peter alone in the silence of the alley. Peter closed his eyes in frustration but snapped them open a minute later. He couldn't risk falling asleep.

Now that he wasn't fighting for his life, or rescuing madmen out of fires, he was cold.

Really cold.

Peter checked his web shooter, it was out of fluid. He reached into the hidden pocket in his suit, knowing he kept at least two backups.

One vial was cracked, the unpressurized fluid spilled everywhere,  but it had saved the other from cracking. Pulling the second out of the sticky mess, he inserted it into his surprisingly undamaged web-shooter.

Maybe his luck wasn't all bad.

Peter pushed himself off the ground, groaning in pain as his body protested.

"Hey, is anyone over here?" called a gruff voice. Peter nearly screamed in frustration. Nope, his luck was the fucking worst.

He attached himself to the wall, and scurried up, despite the protest of his arms and legs. Just in time, a familiar silhouette of a police officer could be seen in the alley below.

Peter scurried to the top of the building and faceplanted on the roof. He could hear the officer searching below, but for now, he was safe. A few minutes later the officer left, and Peter was alone. The little burst of adrenaline was enough to get Peter up and going again. Soon he was moving across rooftops making his way back to Queens.

He made his way to a train and shot a web out to hitch a ride on top. It would take him straight from the border of Brooklyn back over to Astoria. The cold wind slipped under his loose and tattered suit, chilling him to the bone.

But he was alive.

That's what mattered.

His phone rang.

"Hey, dude, what's up."

"Hey Peter," said Ned in a whisper. "Dude, where is the noise coming from?"

"Sorry, I'm on the top of a train." Ned was silent for a few moments.

"I'm sorry that is so cool to think about."

"Ned, focus."

"Oh, okay, sorry. I'm home. I'm not grounded. Though I am on thin ice. My mom's already asleep, and Dad headed to bed. How far away are you?"

Peter looked off into the distance. He'd be on the train for at least fifteen more minutes.  He'd have to swing to Ned's house without irritating his injuries any more than he already had.

"Another twenty-five minutes or so. Enough time for your dad to fall asleep?"

"Yep, he'll be out cold in ten. What do you need me to get prepped?"

Tears prickle at Peter's eyes. He smiled underneath his mask. Ned was the absolute best.

"My left shoulder isn't working right. I can't swing on it; it might be dislocated. So, look up how to fix that. Figure out what to do with broken or bruised ribs, he slammed me pretty hard. Strained muscles. And smoke inhalation." He was fucking lucky to be alive after what he'd been through in the past few hours. 

"Dear god Peter," Ned murmured.

"I know dude. Bandages, and peroxide. Tweezers because there is glass and splinters everywhere. And a warm bath if we can manage it. I don't know if I can stand long enough for a shower."

"Yeah, we can manage that. Are you going to want whiskey again?"

The whiskey's effects helped last time, even though it tasted awful. But Peter hated seeing May drink, and didn't Tony Stark have a history with alcohol? Peter knew he shouldn't.

But he was in so much pain... 

"Yeah, but only if your parents won't notice it gone. And food too. I'm starving, and my healing needs it to function."

"What about May, won't she notice you're not home?"

Peter shook his head even though Ned couldn't see him. "Nah, I asked if I could spend the night at your house. She okayed it. She's working tomorrow. I'll have at least until Sunday afternoon to hide the most visible injuries." Peter relaxed a bit knowing they had a plan in place.

It wasn't perfect, by any means.

In fact, it was downright stupid.

Peter knew he should be going to a hospital. But he couldn't trust anybody. He had no one to turn to but his friend, who was as out of his depth as Peter was. 

But it was a plan.

They needed to take the problems one step at a time.

"Leeds Medical will be open for business by the time you get here."

"Thanks, Ned," Peter choked out. They said goodbye, leaving Peter to sit alone on top of the train watching the speeding lights go by. He'd be okay.

He was Spider-Man after all.

Chapter Text

The Parker's Apartment – October 16, 2016

"Peter are you sure you don't want me to stay? I feel bad you'll be here all alone in pain. I can't believe you didn't tell me about getting beat up Friday night," said May, packing her things into her bag.

"May I'll be fine. Stop being a worry wort. And I didn't get "beat up". It was a little… misunderstanding with a couple of kids from school. After we left the dance." Despite having a day and a half to heal up, the bruises and cuts on Peter's face hadn't disappeared. Peter would be concerned, but his arms, shoulder, and ribs felt better; maybe his healing factor worked slower because of the injuries?

This resulted in lying to May about why he looked beat up.

"Well whatever it was, you tell your counselor at school tomorrow, or I swear I'll call the school. Do you understand me?" Peter nodded, crossing his fingers. He hadn't talked to the school guidance counselor in months. Not that May was aware of that.

Sending fake emails from a dummy account kept his home life and school life separate. 

"May, go out, have fun. Spend time with your friends. I'm gonna hang out here. Do schoolwork. Watch TV. All that fun stuff."

May sighed, approaching Peter, and brushed the edge of his bruise with soft fingers.

"Are you sure?" she asked, with a worried look.

Peter rolled his eyes, he loved his aunt, but she fretted too much. "Yes, May I'm sure. When was the last time you had a night off and you weren't exhausted? I'll be fine here."

"Thanks, sweetie. I left you twenty to buy a pizza, alright? And I'll be back later tonight. If I'm not back before eleven, you go to bed anyways. It's a school night." Peter nodded assuringly and pushed May towards the door. She dug her heels in and Peter pretended not to be able to move her. May hung onto the door frame while they laughed.

"Yeesh, Peter, so eager. If I didn't know any better, I would say you have a crazy party planned this evening."

Peter laughed. "Nope, only boring old me, doing boring things. No party to see here. Nah uh, nope. Definitely do not have a DJ hiding in the closet or college kids ready to descend with kegs."

May opened the door and gave one last kiss on Peter's forehead. "Larb you Peter."

Peter stuck his tongue out and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Larb you too May." Peter waved goodbye to May who walked down the hallway and disappeared out of sight.

He closed the door.

Once alone the smile dropped from his face. He limped his way to the couch; his pain no longer needed disguising now that May was gone. He inched himself onto the cushions below.

Getting injured sucked.

Friday night was awful. He'd been scared, terrified, in pain, and exhausted. Once he arrived at Ned's, it was the start of an entirely new set of problems.

Peter's shoulder was dislocated. He ripped another one of Ned's towels when his friend popped it back into place. Ned referenced several YouTube videos while pointing out that the videos said it shouldn't be tried at home.

They did it anyway.

Besides the shoulder, gaping wounds littered his chest and back. His arms and legs were killing him – he didn't know if they were sprained or what, but they hurt like hell. His ribs were bruised or maybe broken. Additional cuts and bruises covered his body like sick finishes on top of a broken and painful painting. 

Covered in sand, dirt, alley grime, sweat, and blood, it took three bathtubs full of water before Ned declared Peter clean. Ned sutured the wounds on Peter's front and bandaged everything else. Once done Peter looked more mummy than a human.

Waking up on Saturday morning had been hell.

Ned and Peter snuck out early. Peter limped on an old pair of crutches Ned found in their hall closet. Leftover from when Ned broke his ankle last fall after he tripped at school. This was so people wouldn't question Peter looking like he'd had a fight with a plane and lost.

Which he had.

Their official cover story – if anybody asked – was Peter survived a car crash. It seemed reasonable for the number of injuries he had. They hopped on a bus and headed to the nearest Golden Corral.

All-you-can-eat breakfast on Saturdays. 

There wasn't much Peter could do for the pain. Except for drowning himself in a bottle of alcohol, which he didn't want to do any more than necessary, but he could help his healing factor out. Which meant eating. Lots of eating.

By the time Peter declared himself full, he devoured five plates loaded with eggs, steak, bacon, pancakes, and hash browns. Six bowls full of fruit, and as many rolls as he could scarf down. When they left Peter still hurt like hell, but at least he wasn't hungry.

Afterward, Peter and Ned split up. Ned to his home and Peter to his. Peter walked through the door of the apartment, stumbled to his bedroom, and passed out on his bed. Clothes and all.

He woke up to frantic calls from Ned several hours later. Peter assured him he was fine. But it didn't stop Ned from coming over and helping Peter change his bandages. Peter couldn't reach without whimpering to reapply the ones on his back. After getting permission from both Ned's parents and May, Ned stayed the night. They played video games and watched television, and generally tried not to move.

Peter fell asleep long before May ever came home.

The next morning Peter and Ned attempted to make breakfast. It ended up a total disaster and they woke May; who proceeded to freak out over Peter. He told her his injuries were facial with only a few bruises on his arms. And just barely avoided her demanding he take his sweatshirt off which would have blown their cover immediately. Ned and Peter discussed their cover story the night before. They told May the altered course of events, listened to her rant, and ate the charred-at-the-edge pancakes.

It was nice.

Peter missed this. When Ned visiting meant vegging on the sofa and videogame marathons. Instead of monitoring a police scanner or patching up battle wounds. Where hanging out with May meant laughing, and years-old jokes. Not sullen silence and grief.

It was normal.

Normal was what Peter lacked lately.

Ned left at noon, which meant Peter was alone with May. They watched TV and played games. She asked how the dance went. Peter made up what sounded like the ideal night with a whole bunch of friends, minus the minor beating up. It was what Peter wished his night had been. Instead of what it was.

But Peter saved the day.

He proved, whether Mr. Stark ever wanted to admit it or not, he was a hero. A real hero, who could take care of both small problems and big ones. Yeah, Peter ended banged up on the other side, but he was alive. Toomes was stopped, and the plane was, if not saved, kept from falling into the wrong hands.

A win in Peter's book.

Closer to dinner, May asked if Peter was okay with spending the evening by himself. A couple of friends asked her out to dinner and a show. May didn't have work until three the next day, it was a great time to relax and have fun. Peter, of course, said 'go, have fun, I'll be fine here.'.

He plucked his phone from off the table, dialing the Little Cesare's number by heart. After ordering pizza, Peter sighed in the silence of the empty apartment.

He didn't know what to do now.

The immediate goal was healing quickly as possible. Peter figured the injuries might clear up in a week or so. The excuse for school would be the same one they used for May, with the only alteration being a mugging and not a fight. He'd continue with decathlon practice, dance, bullies, teachers, and being bored out of his mind at school. Peter knew he'd make a new suit, with both his old ones being unusable, he'd have to. And after, patrol as Spider-Man.

It would be back to the routine before Tony Stark entered his life. Turning it upside down with shiny, beautiful, tech, and point guys and weapons dealers with grudge matches. No interaction from the man he still saw as his hero, no big-league stuff, no monsters in metal suits, or airport battles against superhumans in Germany. Back to a guy trying to do his best, looking out for the little guy.

Peter ignored the heavy pit sitting in his stomach. 

After all, this is what he wanted.

Just being normal boring Peter Parker.

Who happened to moonlight as a superhero.

It was all the excitement he needed.

Midtown School of Science and Technology – October 17, 2016

School on Monday was weird. There were, of course, concerned glances from the teachers. And the pointed stares and secret whispers – which weren't secret, even without super hearing, – from the students.

Moving around the school was… well, a pain. Sitting in chairs, climbing the stairwells four times a day, sitting at lunch with no back support. Every action hurt. Peter wished for a pain medication that worked on him, but it was whiskey or nothing. And he didn't want to show up to class drunk.

Seeing Liz leave that morning was hard. Peter shuffled over and apologized to her for the dance, but in his head, he was apologizing about her dad. It was because of him Toomes was in jail, but he couldn't leave the criminal alone, too much was at stake. It was sad watching her go knowing her life would be much harder from here on out. He would have liked to be her friend.

He wished he could have done more, but he wasn't sure what else he could have done.

Peter drifted from class to class – teachers droned; students chattered. Lunch was loud and obnoxious.

MJ stared at him for a full two minutes before asking, "Is your cover story a lie?" Face devoid of emotions, MJ's sharp eyes watched his every move. 

Peter shared a quick glance with Ned but nodded. He wasn't going to lie to her, he knew she hated that. 

MJ sighed and scooped a bite of food onto her spork. "And would the actual truth be one of those things that's important but I can't know?" 

Hesitating, because Peter doesn't want MJ to feel bad about his secrets, it's just he can't have more people find out. But before he can work himself up into a spiral of guilt anymore, MJ shook her head and said, "No, don't bother, I already know it is. Will you be better in time for practice next week?" 

Peter was pretty sure he'd be fine by the end of the weekend, but he nodded anyway. 

MJ dipped her head. "Alright, next week then. Next time, whatever you're doing, do it without bodily harm. Okay?" 

Gosh, MJ was the best. 

Later, during the Decathlon meeting, Mr. Harrington announced MJ would be the new team captain. Peter clapped the loudest. He knew she was the right choice. She was hard-working, driven, and goal-oriented. She'd push them into winning World's this year if it meant studying till hell froze over. It would also please her parents, which in turn made MJ's life easier.

His phone buzzed. 

Peter glanced at it and saw it was from Happy.

Happy: Go to the bathroom.

Peter frowned – he hadn't heard from Happy since before the ferry. The man hung up on Ned when everything with the Vulture happened. And he wanted to talk to Peter now? In the middle of the school day?

Yeah, no. Not happening.

Peter slipped his phone into the side pocket of his backpack and continued to ignore the buzzing from it. When MJ set everybody to drill each other, she took it upon herself to be Peter's partner.

"Why's your phone buzzing?"

Peter looked at her and wondered how he could stretch this so it wouldn't be a lie. "Someone I don't want to talk to."

"Problem?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah, being petty."

MJ smirked, "Mood."

Peter smiled and let out a small laugh. Of course, MJ would love simple acts of pettiness, even if she didn't understand the context. And that's what ignoring Happy was; petty. But Peter didn't care. He was hurt, still kinda tired, and in the middle of school.

Happy, and Mr. Stark could wait.

Ned thought differently. Peter filled him in when they left Algebra.

"Dude, don't you think he was trying to contact you for a reason?"

"Well if he wanted to talk to me, he could try… I don't know, not doing it when I'm in the middle of school."

Ned rolled his eyes. "Peter, you would drop school in a heartbeat if you could. You weren't avoiding him because of school. You were avoiding him because you're petty."

"It's annoying you know me this well."

"No, it's not. You enjoy it." Peter admitted if only in his head, this was true. "Are you going to text him back?"

Peter shook his head. "I want to go home and pass out on my bed. I never realized how much we have to move around the school each day. At least Coach Wilson took pity on me when I said I'd "forgotten" to bring my doctor's note."

They were at the doors when Mr. Milliman, the school's secretary, gestured for him to come over.

"Mr. Parker, how are you today?"

"Good, Mr. Milliman. Watch'a need?"

The older man looked uncomfortable. "Were you supposed to be picked up today?"

Peter shook his head. "No, not that I was aware of." The man's frown deepened. "Did someone try to pull me out of class?"

"Yes, an older man, rather large, in a suit, said his name was Harold Hogan. Sound familiar?" Happy. So, he tried pulling Peter out of class once the texting didn't work. There was a burning in his chest. Peter didn't know whether he wanted to run, scream, or break down. He didn't know why he felt anything at all.

So, he shoved everything deep down and plastered a confused smile on his face.

"No, I don't know a Harold," lied Peter. 

Ned pursed his lips at the lie but stayed silent.

"Are you walking home today?" 

"Yeah, but I'm headed with Ned to his house, and we catch the train right outside of school."

"Are you sure you can't have someone pick you up?"

Peter shook his head. "Sorry, my Aunt works until this evening. But I'll be careful." Without much more the man could do he let Peter and Ned continue on their way. It wasn't until both boys were out of the school, that Ned questioned Peter.

"Why'd you say you didn't know him?"

"It leads to more questions than answers," Peter lied. His Spidey-Sense dinged, sending Peter to look around. Behind the pickup lane, in the parking lot, he saw a black SUV; the same one Happy drove.

Damn it.

The burning feeling remerged, this time backed by pettiness. Peter knew Happy wasn't the one wanting to interact with him. The grumpy driver made his feelings clear from their first interaction. No, it was Stark who wanted Peter's attention, and he would have to try harder than this.

He was the one who kept Peter ignorant about the FBI at the weapons deal.

He was the one who said Peter wasn't a real hero.

He was the one who took Peter's suit.

He was the one who left Peter on the side of the road in nothing but pajamas.

Peter had every right to be mad at him.

But yet…

…

...

Aren't you tired?

The fight and swirling emotions drained out of Peter.

"Come on dude, I want to get home." They raced up the steps to the train. Peter saw Happy getting out of the car and making his way toward the station. Peter tapped his foot. The train horn blew off in the distance, but he didn't know if it would make it before Happy reached them.

A minute later, when the man was halfway across the parking lot, Ned noticed Peter glancing back.

"Dude, what's the matter?"

"Happy's coming over here."

"Uh, maybe we should wait, and-"

"No, Ned I don't want to talk to him. Mr. Stark made it clear he didn't want to associate with me anymore."

"Yeah, that was before you crashed his plane into Coney Island."

"Next to Coney Island."

"Semantics, Peter."

At this point, the train had docked and kids were piling on. Peter glanced back and saw Happy struggling to catch them before the train left.

"Well, I'm going home." Peter stepped onto the train. The speakers rang out their last warning before departure. Ned grumbled but leaped on too. The doors slid shut as Happy made it onto the platform. Peter saw him through the windows of the door and couldn't help but give a wave as the train slid out of the station.

The Parker's Apartment – October 17, 2016

Peter, after walking three miles from the bus station to the apartment, was frozen. He shucked out of his jeans and sweater to look at the bandages underneath. Only one had a patch of red seeping through, which Peter considered progress. He unwrapped the bandages and jumped into the shower to warm himself up. He applied Vick's salve and rewrapped the wounds with gauze pads and bandages.

Changing into the comfiest set of pajamas he owned - fleece galaxy pants and a hoodie - he gathered as many pillows and blankets as he could find and made himself comfortable on the sofa. He swallowed five Tylenol pills and hoped it would dull the pain.

A while later, his old computer perched on his lap, typing away at an essay for English. He finished his other homework, and it was only six-fifteen. May wouldn't be home until three in the morning. Which meant Peter needed to find something to keep him busy for several hours.

His stomach growled. Peter sighed. No matter how much he ate he was constantly hungry. His healing factor was hard at work, he supposed. 

Typing out the last few words of his essay. He saved the document and shut down the computer.

He shrugged the blankets off him and dragged himself into the kitchen. He already missed the cocoon of warmth he'd left behind. Maybe he'd eat and go to bed. He was tired.

Peter glanced through the cupboards and found two cans of ravioli. He sighed, canned ravioli was fine, but it had nothing on Ben's fresh ones.

Peter's favorite days were Sundays when Ben was off. They would take over the kitchen and spend the whole day making fresh pasta. May would smile and thank them even though the kitchen ended up a disaster. It reminded May of her adoptive parents who had immigrated from Italy.

Ben always made her dishes from her parent's old cookbook. Peter glanced at the hutch over by the kitchen table. The cookbook hadn't been pulled out since last Valentine's when Ben had made her Lamb Ragu. May's favorite.

May and Peter hadn't had fresh pasta since Ben died.

Peter glanced back at the cans, and, pushing away the feelings which rose with the old memories, grabbed a can opener.

Twenty minutes later, the food was gone. Peter, snuggled back into the blankets on the couch, and turned on the TV. He watched with lidded eyes as the adventures of the USS Enterprise played out on screen. As big a Star Wars fan as he was, it paled in comparison to his love for Star Trek.

With the pain dulled, warm in the blankets, and engrossed in the episode he didn't notice the warning signs of his Spidey Sense until it was too late.

A knock pounded at the door.

Peter glanced over; weird. May wouldn't be home until late this evening, and no one else ever came over. Again, the knock sounded out against the wood. Peter sighed; he had a feeling he knew who was on the other side of the door.

If he ignored Happy, would the man go away?

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Knock knock.

Knock kn-

Peter groaned in frustration and flipped the blankets off him. Limping over to the door he unlocked it.

"What do you want Hap- py…" Peter trailed off when he saw the person standing in the hallway.

It was not Happy.

It was Tony Stark.

"You, Mr. Parker, are a difficult man to get in touch with. Whew! Look at the size of that shiner. Got into a bit of a tangle, did you?" Peter stared; he hadn't expected Stark to come here himself. All the feelings Peter had; anger, fear, guilt, despair, and excitement swirled around inside of him. And in the depths, a tiny feeling shaped a bit like hope.

"Uh- um… Mr.- Mr. Stark. What are- What are you doing here?"

Stark shrugged a shoulder. "Well after Happy failed to collect you from school today, I decided to come down and have a go at it myself. May I come in?" Peter stepped aside and let the other man enter the room.

"Is your… unusually attractive aunt here?"

Peter crossed his arms. "No, she's at work," he said through gritted teeth.

Stark shrugged. "Hmm… Well, no matter, I came here to talk to you." Peter shifted on his feet; he couldn't get a read on the man. Was he angry? Was he mad? Was he disappointed?

"I wanted to thank you."

What?

"M-M-Mr. Stark?"

"I took your suit. I mean, you had it coming, but you still did the right thing. Takes guts, kid." Stark removed his sunglasses.

"And I admit you have a bigger sense of grandeur than even me. Ferry wasn't enough, no you have to crash a plane too. And wrapping up the bad guy with a note and a Spider-y bow. Nice touch." Peter felt the heat from his injuries radiating off of him when Stark mentioned the plane crash.

"Crashing the plane wasn't the plan."

"Kid, in this line of work, nothing ever is." Stark moved over to the couch and leaned against the side. He wasn't so much staring at Peter as off into the distance. "You know when I started this, years ago, I made a promise I wouldn't let my weapons fall into the hands of people who would use them to hurt others." Stark's voice held a weight to it, unlike his normal joking tone. "If you hadn't done what you did, the vulture guy would have gotten away with my tech. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," said Peter. Despite himself, a small smile formed at the man's words, and a glow of pride radiated in his chest.

"Now my real question is, why did you ignore Happy?"

Peter glanced away, desperate for an answer not consisting of anger or pettiness. "I was uh- I was in school."

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, let's pretend I believe you for a second. Were you still in school when he texted you to meet him in the parking lot? Or when you hopped on a train and headed home?"

Peter pursed his lips, knowing he didn't have a good answer for that. "I didn't want to talk to him."

"You mean you didn't want to talk to me." Peter stayed silent. "You know Mr. Parker, despite claims to the contrary, I am very observant. You have every right to be mad at me. I said some pretty awful things. And I was wrong."

Peter.exe has stopped working.

"Y-you were wrong?"

"Ugh, don't let my wife know I admitted to that. She'd have a field day. But yes, I was wrong. I was… Well, my problems are not your concern, but it doesn't give me the right to take out my frustration on you." Peter stared at Mr. Stark, wondering if he'd heard the man right.

"Well, uh… Thank- thank you, Mr. Stark. That means a lot to me. Sorry for avoiding Happy. I wanted to come home. Uh… school was long, and uh you know people were talking a lot. I had a lot of homework, and May doesn't like me out and about with her knowing and uh-"

"Apology accepted Mr. Parker." The man drew closer to Peter. "Although your refusal messed with my plans a bit. Fifty inconvenienced reporters are not fun to deal with. Good thing I had someone more skilled than myself to handle that."

"Uh, fifty reporters?" Peter asked.

"Yes, well you have reporters when you announce large things such when welcoming-" Stark slung an arm around Peter's shoulder and patted his back.

Hard.

Peter winced and drew back.

The man had hit right where the puncture wound was. Peter closed his eyes in pain and bit his lip hoping not to cry out.

"-Parker? Peter? Peter, are you okay?" Through the wave of pain, Peter heard Stark's concerned voice.

"Heh… y-yeah Mr. Stark. S-sorry about that. Still uh- still a little sore from everything." Stark drew closer but didn't touch Peter again.

"Didn't look like "a little sore" you acted as if I yanked a broken bone." Peter saw Stark's eyes widen. "Nothing's broken, right?" Peter thought back to his ribs, his wrist, and his dislocated shoulder. He smiled the best he could.

"I'm fine Mr. Stark. Really." He couldn't help the raised pitch of his voice.

Stark shook his head. "I am the King of "Being fine", you are not fine. Take off your hoodie." Peter's heart dropped into his stomach. He couldn't let Stark see his injuries. The man had told him he had done well and was a hero. If he saw how Peter had gotten hurt, he'd know Peter screwed up.

"No, no, no, no, no that's not necessary Mr. Stark. Thank you for coming here and everything, but I'm-"

"Parker, take off your hoodie or so help me, I will call your aunt and tell her everything."

Peter froze. "You wouldn't," he said with a glare.

"You wanna try me?" The man's face was set. Peter knew Stark would if he didn't give in to the man’s request.

"Fine." Peter trudged over to the sofa and sat taking off his hoodie.

Despite its softness, Peter heard Stark's sharp intake of breath.

"It's not as bad as it looks," defended Peter.

"For the love of Thor kid, you're a freaking mummy. And you've been like this since Friday?"

Peter tried to think of something that wouldn't make Stark freakout. "It's better now," he said, trying to reassure the man. 

Stark's hand fluttered in distress. "It was worse before?" he asked in alarm. Okay, maybe not the most reassuring thing Peter could have said.

"Uh, well…"

"Why didn't you call Happy? We could have gotten you help." Stark was looking at him in shock and despair and Peter didn't know how to feel about that.

"We did, he hung up."

The man rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes, yes, he did, didn't he?" Stark's eyes closed as if he was trying to figure out what to do. "And that's on him, and I will be talking with him about it. But good lord kid, you should have said something as soon as I arrived."

Peter held himself back from rolling his eyes. He took care of the injuries by himself, okay, well with Ned. He was fine, he didn't need Stark's concern.

But you want it anyway.

Shut up, Peter thought.

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. We took care of it."

Stark's eyes shifted from Peter's injuries to his face. "Who's we?"

Fuck.

"Uh, no-no one. I meant- I meant me."

"No, no, no you mentioned we several times. Who's in on this whole thing?"

Peter sighed knowing the man wouldn't let this go. "My friend Ned. He helped me out."

"Ah yes, a friend. I assume this friend is also in high school?" Peter nodded his head. "Perfect! Two high school teens, thinking they have the same skills as trained medical doctors."

"Mr. Stark, I-"

"It better be an apology coming out of your mouth Mr. Parker. Kids these days I swear. Alright, hop to it, get your hoodie back on we're going for a ride." Peter did a double-take.

"A ride?"

"Yeah, we're going to the Compound. Where I have a staff of trained personnel, who will look you over and see if you are "fine"." Mr. Stark was frantic in his movements, pulling out his phone and sending a text. Peter was still confused.

"But why?"

"But why? Kid, you look like you've gone six rounds with Ali, and skydived off a cliff without a parachute. Your eyes watered when I patted your back." The man stretched to look at Peter's back, and his eyes widened even further.

"Peter you're still bleeding."

Peter twisted around, wincing when his ribs twinged in pain, and saw a bandage was red.

"Damn it that one was fine when I changed these earlier."

Stark looked up from his phone. "When did you change the bandages?"

"When I came home from school, three hours ago."

"Okay, we need to go. Chop, chop grab your shoes."

Peter frowned, protesting,  "I- I don't need to go to the Compound, I'm-"

He stopped moving when Stark's hand touched his shoulder.

His bare shoulder.

Inches away from Peter's birthmark.

Samuel's birthmark.

Shit. 

And Peter had done a good job of not thinking about that little problem.

"Peter, this is as much for your sake as for mine. Please, let me make sure you're okay." Peter had alarm bells going off in his head. He needed his shoulder covered now.

He grabbed the hoodie and zipped it up. His birthmark was no longer on display, and the sense of panic died a bit.

"We took care of everything on Friday."

Stark rolled his eyes. "Does your friend Ted have an x-ray hidden in his bedroom?"

Peter sighed. "No. And his name is Ned."

"Kid just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there."

"Wouldn't my healing factor have taken care of it by now?"

"It depends on what it was. The fact you're not unconscious or doubled over in pain is a good sign, but we should get you checked out. Now stop dawdling and put on your shoes." Peter rolled his eyes and rose from the couch; stumbling to the front door to grab his shoes.

"What about May?"

"What about her?" the man asked.

"She'll be home at three tonight. I need to be here when she does."

Stark looked at him in concern. "You think you're injured enough to stay overnight?"

Peter shook his head. "No, no, no I… When do you think I'll be back?"

"It's a two-hour drive, hour and forty-five if we have Happy floor it. We should be able to get you there, get you looked over, and back before your aunt ever notices you're missing. Now, any more questions, comments, or concerns?" Peter shook his head. He wasn't happy he was being dragged upstate when he knew he was fine. But if Stark insisted he could at least play along.

He grabbed his phone and earphones, and they headed out the door.

In the car on the way to the Compound – October 17, 2016

The awkward silence in the car made Peter want to curl into a ball.

Stark tapped away on his phone, and Happy had long ago pulled up the divider between the front and the back. Peter shifted in his seat. Sitting for hours on end was a killer on his injuries. He wanted to fall asleep, but between the pain and the nerves, he wasn’t sure he'd be able to.

Peter rubbed his shoulder and remembered the feeling of Stark's hand there.

Peter had been close to his months of silence being washed down the drain. He had to be more careful.

Peter was startled when Mr. Stark's phone rang, and the man answered it.

"Darling," he drawled in a sarcastic tone. "How did the reporters take the news?"

"You leave me to deal with that again, and I swear Tony-" Peter heard the sharp voice of a woman on the other side. He made himself look busy with his phone so Mr. Stark didn't know he was eavesdropping.

"Wasn't it dandy you were on the East Coast and could handle the situation for me?"

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing, nothing Pepper dear." Peter froze. Pepper. Otherwise known as Virginia Potts-Stark. His mom. "But it was coincidental after eight months you decided to fly in from California."

"I've been to New York in eight months. I just haven't seen you." The words were cold and sharp. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Mr. Stark stiffen, and his eyes narrowed.

"Was there a point to this call?"

"I wanted to ask when you'll be back. Unless you've decided to sleep elsewhere tonight?"

"No, I'll be there in less than half an hour. I have a guest with me right now. I need to take them to medical, but afterward, they'll be on their way." He gave a glance and a quick smile to Peter.

"Tony who-"

"I'll talk to you later. Bye." He shut off his phone and placed it into his pocket. Ignoring it when it buzzed again. He turned his attention to Peter, who didn't know what to feel after the terse conversation.

"Sorry about that. So… how did you know the Vulture was going after my plane? The man's been in custody for three days and not a word out of his mouth. The only reason we know of your involvement was because of the note you left."

"I met Toomes earlier in the night. I was going to Homecoming, trying to, uh, do something normal. And um, my date, her name was Liz, well… I came to her house to pick her up and, Toomes opened the door."

"He was waiting for you?"

"No, no h-he was Liz's dad. He figured out I was Spider-man before he dropped us at the dance." Stark's face whipped up from his phone, his eyes wide.

"Wait, he saw you without your mask?" Peter nodded. "He knows your name?" Peter nodded again, this time remembering the threat Toomes gave him before he left the man's car. "Shit kid, you need to tell me this stuff." Stark pulled out his phone again and started typing rapidly. The billionaire's usual casual air was replaced with an aura of grim concentration. 

"Mr. Stark?"

"Peter, if Toomes knows who you are, what do you think will happen once he gets in front of a judge? Or once he gets sent to jail? It's a good thing I know now. We can work out a deal for his silence." A weight dropped in Peter’s stomach. He never thought about it in those terms.

"Yeah kid, that's why I'm around." Oh, had Peter said that out loud? He watched Stark continue to type away on his phone. "Is there anything else I need to know? Anyone who might know your identity?"

"Um, there was the shocker guy outside of school. I don't know if Toomes told him who I was, or to wait until I came outside, but I had on a mask when I fought him. And, uh, I kinda stole Flash's car and drove around in it. And I don't have a permit, I've only ever driven in parking lots, there might have been a few accidents." He thought about telling the man about the warehouse, but he figured he didn't need to. It was a whole warehouse that had gone down – Mr. Stark probably already knew about it. And he didn't really need to know Peter had been there (been in there) when it fell. 

"Great, thanks for letting me know." After, the car fell into silence, and Peter turned his attention back to his cracked phone. He shifted again in his seat hoping they would get to the compound soon.

Avenger's Compound – October 17, 2016

It was dark by the time they made it upstate. The shining light from the Compound lit up the grounds, but Peter had never seen so many stars in the sky before. New York was beautiful at night, but stars were not one of its features.

Happy dropped him and Mr. Stark off at a side entrance. Mr. Stark led Peter through a series of endless hallways. They made it to an elevator and descended farther into the building.

The doors dinged open and they walked into a mini-hospital.

"Here we are," said Stark. "I already called ahead; the good doctor should be in." A woman popped her head out of a room. Peter didn't feel a single twinge of his Spidey-Sense when he saw her.

"Dr. Stark, good to see you."

"You too Dr. Cho, how are the new facilities treating you?"

The woman smiled. "Wonderful. The best money can buy, as you well know. And who is this?"

Stark turned to Peter. "Helen, this is Peter Parker. Kid this Dr. Helen Cho a world-renowned-"

"Geneticist. Your articles in the Journal of Molecular Biology last month were fascinating. Your take on the ethics of CRISPER usage is something I'd love to debate. And I read your theoretical framework on your work for the Cradle. Do you have it here?" Peter rambled as soon as he knew who the woman was.

"Well, well seems I have a fan. Thank you, Mr. Parker. Yes, we do have the Cradle here, you can take a look at it later if you'd like."

Peter glanced back at Mr. Stark who had a weird look on his face. "Can I?"

"Sure, if we have the time. But first, Helen would you mind looking over Mr. Parker here? He got into a bit of a scuffle Friday night, and hasn't seen a qualified medical professional yet." She nodded and led them into a room you would find in a clinic. Peter glanced at the table. He hadn't seen a doctor since he'd gotten bitten by the spider. Despite Dr. Cho setting off no alarm bells, he was nervous.

"Come now, Mr. Parker I don't bite," said Dr. Cho. Peter nodded his head and sat on the table.

"If you could remove your hoodie, I'll take a look at what we have." Peter looked over at Mr. Stark.

"Could you ah, could you leave the room, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked. "You already saw it once." Peter bit his lips and looked down as if in embarrassment. Hoping the man would think he was shy, instead of getting rid of him so he didn't see Peter's birthmark.

"Alright, alright kid. I have things to take care of. I'll be back in a while. But remember I pay her; she tells me everything anyway." The man stepped out of the room, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He reached for the zipper of his hoodie and removed the jacket so Cho could see his bandages.

"How are you doing this evening Mr. Parker?" She unwrapped the wounds.

"Pretty good, in a bit of pain. Normal medication doesn't work on me." Peter gasped and shut his mouth. Shit, he wasn't supposed to say that. For all the doctor knew, he was a normal person.

"Don't worry Mr. Parker, I've signed enough NDA's it would be suicide to ever mention the things I learn here. I've been taking care of heroes for a long time. It's okay, I won't tell anyone." Peter's Spidey-Sense still hadn't pinged, so he figured he could trust her.

"Thanks, Dr. Cho." She smiled. Once unwrapped, she looked the wounds over. The ones on his front he and Ned had stitched, while the ones on his back hadn't.

"This is pretty good for what you had to work with. YouTube?" Peter nodded sheepishly. "Well, it doesn't look like anything's infected. We'll do a general run-through; take your weight, height, sight and sound measurements, your blood pressure, and a blood sample. Did you hit your head at any point?" Peter nodded. "Did you feel dizzy or nauseous over the past several days?"

"No."

"I don't think you have a concussion. We'll run you through an MRI and X-ray to look at the rest of your body. Anything else I should know?" Peter shifted.

"I dislocated my shoulder, my friend set it back in place and it doesn't hurt anymore. My wrist still hurts, and my weight goes there when I'm swinging or fighting. Uh, my ribs hurt, like all of them. And my healing factor works best when I sleep and have lots of food." Peter's stomach growled to say it agreed. Dr. Cho smiled.

"Someone's always in the kitchen, I'll send a request for food. I'll suture up the wounds on your back and give you a salve that will help take care of any infection. Then we'll rewrap everything. You did well at taking care of yourself."

"Thanks, but my friend Ned did most of the work."

"He's a good friend. Let's get this done and if we have the time, I can show you the next article I'm working on." Peter nodded in excitement.

Forty-five minutes later, after Dr. Cho poked and prodded and sent him through a few machines, she deemed Peter on the mend. He had a sling for his arm because his wrist was broken but since healed enough to be called a sprain.

Peter looked over her new article for the Journal of Theoretical and Applied Genetics. Peter was amazed he wasn't dreaming. Sitting here in the Avengers compound, with a world-renowned geneticist looking at his blood. He took a bite of the BLT sandwich.

"Mr. Parker your abilities are extraordinary. I'd love to do a full workup on you sometime. How did you get your powers?" Peter panicked, trying to figure out something to say. He could always tell her he'd been bitten by a spider, but normal people didn't gain powers after a spider bite. Something had happened to him while in HYDRA's care. But he couldn't tell anybody that. It would lead to too many questions.

Peter opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the sound of two voices cut him off. The door to the room opened and in walked Mr. Stark and Pepper Potts-Stark.

Beautiful, was the first thought that came to mind for Peter. Mrs. Potts-Stark was dressed to impress even at this late hour. The woman held herself like she was in charge, and she knew it. Her gaze focused on her husband, looking more than a bit peeved.

Whatever conversation the two of them were having stopped as soon as they entered the room.

"What's up doc?" asked Mr. Stark. Helen looked up from her work at the microscope.

"The boy's blood is nothing I've ever seen before. I'd love to do a full study-"

"I meant his injuries, Helen."

"Oh, sorry. He's mending at a rapid pace. Any signs of dislocation at the shoulder have healed. His ribs are nothing more than bruised. Although one or two show signs of recent fracturing, by tomorrow it should clear up. His wrist was broken but has since progressed to a sprain. I have it in a sling, but he shouldn't need it past tomorrow. The wounds on his chest and back show no signs of infection and at the rate of healing should be gone in a week. As long as he keeps himself fed, well-rested, and no crazy stunts he should be fine by the weekend." Stark breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I'd love a full breakdown later Helen. You can send it to FRIDAY. Could you give us a moment here?" Helen nodded collecting the materials from the microscope.

"I'll go and grab the salve I want you to use for those wounds, Peter. Dr. Stark, have FRIDAY call me whenever I can return." The doctor left the room, and Peter was alone with the Starks.

With his biological parents.

Shit.

"Tony, good god how old is he?" That was not what Peter was expecting.

"I'm fifteen Mrs. Potts-Stark," said Peter.

The woman turned from looking at her husband to Peter. "Call me Pepper, everyone else does."

"Okay, Mrs. Pepper. I'm Peter, Peter Parker. It's nice to meet you," he offered the hand that wasn't in the sling. She shook it.

"This one has manners at least. It's nice to meet you too Peter. I'm sorry my husband dragged you up here on a school night."

Peter smiled nervously. "It's alright."

Pepper turned back to her husband, who had stayed quiet through the whole interaction "Tony, he's fifteen, what were you thinking of calling a press conference out of the blue? He couldn't have signed anything." Peter was confused.

"Um, press conference?"

If it was possible Pepper's eyes seemed to grow even larger. "And you didn't even tell him. Tony, honestly."

"It's not a big deal," the man countered. "They were already gone by the time the boy got here."

"Were you going to tell him before you sprung it on him?" Peter couldn't believe it when he saw Mr. Stark flustered at her questions.

"Well, uh… surprises and all that."

"I'm still confused," said Peter.

Pepper turned back to him. "My husband was planning to offer you a spot on the active Avengers roster. As well as giving you a permanent residence at the Compound after you signed the Accords." Pepper glared at the other man.

"The Accords are not that bad Pepper, they're grounds for accountability and-"

"Superhero registration? DNA monitoring? Imprisonment without Trial?" Peter's eyes widened. Should he have been fighting on Stark's side?

"Oh, come on Pep, you knew most of that would never make it through. They've been amended since Ross was put on probation. Everything of legal questionability was taken out after half the countries in Eastern Europe, a quarter of Africa, and forty states here threw a fit. The Supreme Court did something for once with political pressure and declared most of the original document unconstitutional for American citizens. Plus, once it came back from the representatives of the mutant community the pile of papers was a red-penned mess. It's been reworked until it no more resembles the original than the UN resembled the League of Nations. What do you think I've been doing the past two months?" Stark's rant made Peter feel better, but maybe he should still take a look at the document.

"Doesn't matter, he's still under the age of eighteen. And what are you thinking about allowing a child to run around being a superhero? I mean, thank you, Peter, for saving the plane, but Tony – dragging a child into this?" The more she talked the more incredulous the woman grew. Peter felt the need to defend Mr. Stark a bit.

"Mrs. Pepper, I was doing this long before Mr. Stark ever got me involved. Even when he took my suit I still went after Toomes. Whether you want me to do this or not, I am. I have these powers and I'm going to use them to protect people." He straightened his shoulders and stared at both adults who were taken aback at his statement.

Pepper sighed. "It seems I'm outnumbered here. I've said my piece. Tony, please don't do anything else questionably legal before checking it with me, or at least our lawyers. Have a good night Mr. Parker, have a safe trip back to Queens." She turned on her heel and left, the door clicking shut behind her. Peter felt like he'd been slung around an amusement park ride. Of all the ways he thought this first interaction with his mother would go, none of them ended up like this. He turned to Mr. Stark, who was rubbing his hand across his face

"Sorry, she's in a bit of a mood today. Normally she's much more… uh, never mind. How did- How did everything go with the good doctor?"

Peter shrugged. "It was fine, she's nice." There was silence for a few seconds neither knowing what to say. Peter had no clue what he was supposed to do next. His… real mom didn't like him being a superhero. And his real dad, who Peter thought hated him, wanted to give him a place on the Avengers team.

Him, Peter Parker, Spider-Man, an Avenger!

"Were you… going to ask me to be an Avenger?" asked Peter.

Stark sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, kiddo I was. But, you know, my wife is right – she normally is – you wouldn't have been able to sign. I should have talked it over with her, and the committee, and you, for that matter."

Peter nodded. "It was nice of you, but I want to stay in Queens. Do the whole friendly neighborhood Spider-Man gig. I wouldn't have been able to move up here I have school." No matter how much he's bored by it. "And decathlon, and my friends, and dance practice, and May would not want me living two hours away, and-"

"Yeah, yeah kid I know. I jumped the gun on this one." Peter watched the man hesitate. Peter had never seen Stark acting this way before. "I suppose I was looking forward to having someone new to train. But… Listen, I'm gonna give you back the suit, the one I took. I fixed the hack you did but I left the suit's AI active."

Peter smiled. "I can have the suit back? With Karen?"

Stark chuckled. "You would name an advanced learning AI Karen. Of course, you can have the suit back. It was wrong of me to take it. But I do want accountability from you, which means no more hacking. Okay?"

"Yes, sir." Peter beamed in excitement. Only a few days ago he thought everything was going to turn out awful. That he'd never be a hero worthy of his father's attention.

"Dr. Cho will want to do a full workup on you, and I'm inclined to agree. If anything happens like the Vulture or even something like a bullet wound, and we don't have pain medication or anesthesia to use it would be bad." Peter's mind brought him back to the night when he sat on Ned's floor while his friend dug a bullet out of his leg. Peter downing whiskey all the while. Yeah, proper medication would probably be a good idea.

"That's fine."

"I know I can't make you an official Avenger or anything, but kid you're the future. So, you need to be prepared for what comes next, for the larger things you will take on when, or if you ever sign."

"Thanks, Mr. Stark. It's too bad you sold the tower, we could have done training there," joked Peter. The man had apologized to Peter, but it didn't mean the teen hero wanted to hang around Stark any more than necessary. He still had his secrets to keep after all.

"Yeah you're right," a lightbulb flickered on over Stark's head. "But you could come to the Compound every weekend." Peter's eyes widened. What? "I could teach you a thing or two about handling the suit, we could work out what's up with your biology, and you could learn how to fight against real enemies." The offer sounded enticing.

But it was dangerous.

"I uh- I don't think I could come every weekend. I have a ton to do, and homework, and decathlon practice, and I only get so much time with May and everything."

Stark was nodding along. "Of course, of course. How bout, every other weekend? When's your decathlon practice?"

"Saturday morning," muttered Peter. Why was he saying things?

"Okay, how's every other weekend, with Happy picking you up after decathlon practice?"

"Yeah, I think I can swing that past May." Mouth. What. Are. You. Doing?

"Fantastic! But you know, you need more hands-on supervision. I know, you've been doing fine so far, but you're moving up in the world. Stark Tower was sold, but it doesn't mean I'm not in New York anymore."

"Really?" Peter questioned, his voice going higher. He had a feeling if the man wanted something, he was going to get his way.

"Yep, Stark Industries Headquarters moved to the Financial District. I have a lab there, not as nice as the one I have here. But not too shabby either if I do say so myself. How about you come for actual internship days? I can show you how to code your AI and a bunch of other things. To make up for any lost activities at school. A check-in, if you will, between being at the Compound every other weekend."

"I don't need to be monitored; I'm not a kid Mr. Stark. I'm almost sixteen."

The man smiled and wrinkled his nose. "Kid, saying 'almost' only makes it worse. FRIDAY how's my schedule during the week?"

"You have Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon available Boss. Pending any appointments made," said an Irish voice from nowhere.

"Who's that?" asked Peter.

"My AI FRIDAY. Baby girl, introduce yourself if you would."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parker, I'm FRIDAY. If you need anything, please let me know."

"Oh, well thank you Ms. FRIDAY," said Peter. Stark chuckled, and the lights in the room seemed to grow brighter for a second.

"You're welcome, Mr. Parker."

"So kid, do those days sound good to you?" Peter thought for a second. This was not how he thought this night was going to go. He didn't know if he wanted to be going to the Compound regularly, much less going to Stark Industries every week for multiple days.

But then he thought of the tech. All the amazing opportunities to learn. He thought of understanding his biology instead of staring at Richard's notes and wanting to scratch his eyes out. He thought of learning how to hold his own in a fight instead of only relying on instinct.

A tinnier part of him thought of spending time with his father, learning from him, following in his steps.

Peter pushed it aside.

Whether or not Stark was his father it didn't matter. Tony Stark had been Peter's hero for as long as he could remember. Peter would be a fool to pass up what sounded like a dream.

He was standing on a wire and he didn't know what side he was going to fall on.

"I can't do Thursday I have dance practice. But everything else sounds good, those are the days my aunt thinks I do the internship anyway." Peter said the words making his choice.

"Wonderful, FRIDAY schedule standing appointments with Mr. Parker every Monday and Wednesday from… Kid, what time do you get out of school?"

"Three-fifty." Peter couldn't believe he was doing this. After the effort he'd put in ignoring the Starks and ignoring his past, he was going to throw it away so he could… what?

Learn from one of the brightest minds in the world?

Train in a state-of-the-art facility with a suit better than anything he could dream of building?

Receive proper medical checks instead of winging it on the floor of his friend's bathroom?

Yeah, he'd be a fool to pass this up.

"Takes forty-five… yep. Okay, FRIDAY standing appointment with Mr. Parker from four-thirty-five to eight-thirty. Sound good to you kid?"

"Sure thing Mr. Stark. Thank you, a lot. Thank you, so, so much."

Stark smiled. "Mr. Parker it'll be my pleasure. Now, we should get you on the road. It's already eleven. FRIDAY dear, let Dr. Cho know we need her." He turned to Peter. "I'm going to run to my lab and pick up the suit. I'll entrust it in your capable hands." Peter smiled and nodded. Stark left and a moment later Dr. Cho reappeared carrying the salve.

"Everything good?" she asked.

"Yep, I'll be going soon," said Peter.

"Alright, apply this to your wounds and bruises, and wrap them like you've been doing. The sutures I applied should dissolve in a couple of days, but I'll need to take out the ones your friend did."

"I think I'll be around on Saturday." Cho nodded.

"Sounds good to me, if not, I'll have to come to New York so we can get your injuries settled. No strenuous activity until I've cleared you, okay? But you should be fully healed by the weekend." Peter smiled.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Cho."

"No need Peter, it's my job. I look forward to working with you on your unique abilities." They shook hands, and the woman left, leaving Peter alone in the room. He finished up the last of his sandwich, and speed-read the last few pages of the doctor's article.

"Mr. Parker?" called FRIDAY.

"Yes, Ms. FRIDAY?"

"If you wouldn't mind Mr. Stark wants you to meet him at the entrance. I can direct you to where you need to go."

"Sure thing," Peter hopped off the bed and left the room. He walked through the hallways of the darkened Compound alone, Friday speaking every so often to lead him. He had no clue this was how his day was going to turn out.

He didn't know how he felt.

He was scared and nervous of course. One wrong word, one unintentional comment, Peter not being careful and taking off a jacket or shirt, and it would come crumbling down.

Would it really be that bad?

Mr. Stark did apologize of course. But he still didn't know if the man would be okay with Peter being his son. And Pepper didn't seem happy with a child being a superhero. What about a child with powers, a child with blood on their hands, and too many problems to count? In a random person that was fine, everyone had problems.

But their own son?

One whom they thought was dead?

Peter… didn't know. And he couldn't take any chances until he knew for certain.

He was also excited, beyond excited. He was being trained as a superhero; a potential Avenger. He was being taken seriously. He was going to learn from one of the brightest minds in the world. Just thinking about interning for Mr. Stark for real felt like a dream. A giddiness bubbled up inside him, making Peter skip with joy.

Ouch, his legs and ribs weren't ready for that.

Slowing his pace, he arrived at the doors where Happy dropped him and Mr. Stark off earlier. Both men were already there. Their conversation slowed to a halt as soon as they saw Peter.

"Ah, there you are Peter," said Mr. Stark. He held a silver case in hand like the one Peter's first suit came in. "This is for you, please no patrolling until Helen checks you out this weekend. I'm trusting you." The words were said with a weight Peter could not miss.

"Yes, sir. I promise."

Stark nodded. "Till Wednesday, spiderling. Happy will pick you up after school." 

Peter gave a wave and made his way over to the car. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Stark. See you soon." 

"Have a good night kid." Peter ducked inside the car. Soon enough the Compound was a spot in the distance. Peter leaned against the window, a smile on his face, exhausted.

"Hey kid," called Happy from the front.

"Yes, Happy." Peter could see the driver in the rear-view mirror.

"I uh… I wanted to say I'm sorry. You know, for hanging up on your friend. I shouldn't have, you might not have gotten so hurt."

"It's okay Happy, it's not your fault." Peter didn't blame the man; Peter was blacklisted by Stark at the time. And who knows what Ned might have said in his over-eagerness.

"No, no it is. It was my job to be your point guy, and when you needed me, I wasn't there. I owe you one, you saved the plane. It was supposed to be my job, and I screwed it up. I wouldn't know what I'd do without this job. Before I met Tony, I was a nobody. And I…"

Happy's eyes connected with Peter through the mirror.

"I won't let you down again, okay Peter?"

Peter smiled. Maybe everything would turn out fine.

'Unless everyone realizes what a screwed up, cowardly pathetic, nobody you-' No. Peter didn't have to entertain those thoughts.

At least not tonight.

"Thanks, Happy."

The man grunted in acknowledgment and turned his eyes back towards the road. Peter leaned against the window again, watching the dark scenery pass by him.

Yeah, everything was going to turn out just fine.

Peter fell asleep before they even hit the highway.