Chapter Text
When Peter Parker is 7 years old, Iron Man saves his life at the Stark Expo.
It’s the most important moment of the young boy's life so far, mostly because, of the small handful of superheroes that exist in the world at that moment, Iron Man is his favourite. Maybe it’s because he’s an MIT man, and Peter has wanted to attend there since his Dad first put a screwdriver in his hand at three years old. Maybe it’s because, like Peter, Tony Stark lost his parents in a freak accident, yet was proof that you can become more than just the label of ‘orphan’. Maybe it’s just because he seems really funny and cool, and Peter’s always liked the colour red.
Whatever the reason, Tony Stark is on the poster that adorns his bedroom wall beside the last photo taken of his parents, two nights before the accident. It is the spot he looks at every time he struggles with an equation, or he thinks of ignoring his homework in favour of playing video games with his next-door neighbour, or he’s so sad that it feels like a tangible, physical entity existing inside of him.
That night, torn from his uncle in the panic of escaping killer robots—a sentence that even now sounds completely ridiculous—Peter learns the feeling of true courage.
He has been brave before, had gone through the crash course at too young an age, but in that moment, as he faced down certain death with the purest belief he could defeat evil through sheer force of will, Peter knows this is different.
And it’s this moment, more than any other, that triggers in him a desire to help. After all, what more could you hope to achieve in life than saving lives and defeating bad guys?
But—
When Peter Parker is 14 years old, one field trip triggers a series of events that bring it all to a screeching halt.
Standing over his Uncle’s grave, Peter finally understands.
It is not a desire. It is not a want. It is a responsibility.
He makes Uncle Ben a promise; that’s for however long he has these new abilities, he will always choose to save the lives of the innocent, no matter the cost to himself. He owes Ben at least that.
For eight years, it is the vow he lives his life by. Day after day, night after night, Peter patrols the streets in service of New York. He is alone in his plight, dodging the lure of those he once idolised; working outside of the system. He doesn’t need their gratuitous levels of money, not unless it’s to aid those he is responsible for. He doesn’t need their help or their publicity or his face plastered across every news or gossip site on the web; he just needs himself, his instincts, and his determination.
When Peter Parker is 22 years old, things have settled into a comfortable rhythm. By day, he goes to college, works his freelance photography job, and fights crime. By night, he goes to college, works his freelance photography job, and fights… Well. It’s less a rhythm, more a steady yet chaotic churn of events. There’s not a lot of time for a personal life, but Peter learned a long time ago that the closer people get, the more likely they are to die.
He may not have found the balance between the secret life of being Spider-Man and the personal life of Peter Parker, but he’s working on it. He’s young. He’s got time.
But then Nick Fury knocks at his door.
He’d thought it was a miracle, how he’d evaded the grips of the man whose job it is to know Everything. He thought he was smart. Look at the clever young man, doing what everyone else can’t possibly manage.
He got cocky. Was smug when the letter arrived.
He should have known that what Fury really wanted was another powered person in his pocket.
“Have you got your toothbrush?” The crease between May’s eyebrows deepens. “Did you remember to pick up the cookies I baked for you? They’re very important, Peter. It’s the perfect ice-breaker for you to—”
“‘—take the first step in building life-long friendships,’ yes, I remember the speech—from grad school, and college, and high school and elementary school and pre-k and… Every place I’ve ever been. I’m not a kid anymore, Aunt May. I know how to make friends.”
May tuts, brushing invisible lint from her nephew’s shoulders to hide the wetness welling in her brown eyes. “I know that, silly. But you’re still my little boy, and this is the first time you’ve lived out of arm's reach, and in this place of all places; I just—forgive me if I’m a little worried.”
Peter sighs, his own sadness at leaving the only family he has left an ever-present burning in his chest. He pulls her into their ninth hug of the hour, pressing his nose into her hair in the hopes he can trap the comforting scent there forever, a constant reminder of how he is loved unconditionally somewhere in the world.
He wants to tell her that everything will be okay. He wants to tell her that he’ll be safe here; safer than he’s been in his entire life. He wants to tell her that this is temporary, a necessary step away from everything he’s ever known to learn all the things he needs to know, to keep her safe and happy and looked after, the way she’s always done for him.
But there are no promises here. No certainties.
And he can’t lie to her.
“I’m going to do everything I can, as fast as I can, to get back to our Thai and trashy TV tradition, okay?” He kisses her temple, and when he pulls away he sees her swiping quickly at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “I love you, Aunt May.”
“I love you too, Petey. So much.” Her hand is warm against his jaw. “Please, just be safe, okay?”
Peter smiles, then looks to the domineering exterior of his new place of residence, every one its thousand windows glinting suspiciously back at him. “I better get in there.”
It takes ten more minutes of goodbyes before May drives away, leaving Peter to collect the last of his bags and head up the path that leads to the freshman dormitories. The sun is a degree too hot, but he tries to relish it nonetheless, knowing his new room is lacking in any real natural light. The bags are an easy carry, so easy he almost forgets to pretend they are not. When you’ve spent the bulk of your teenage years bench-pressing abandoned cars for fun, a few dozen engineering journals and enough toiletries to last until he’s old and grey isn’t that big of a deal.
There’s a fancy elevator that takes him up the six floors to reach his dorm, a blue-lit touchpad that accepts his thumbprint and takes him automatically to where he’s supposed to be. The doors open on a bustling corridor, students in various stages of moving in taking up the bulk of the space. Peter has to squeeze through the spaces in between, lifting the suitcase full of books over the heads of two women before remembering himself.
Finally, he finds the door he’s passed through twice already in the midst of moving, except it’s open instead of closed and locked the way he’d left it.
Panic claws at his throat, his senses dialling up in the imminent threat of danger.
His grip tightens on the case, a worthy weapon to take down whoever lies in wait on the other side.
With the toe of his sneaker, he nudges the door open and braces.
Peter’s bag falls to the ground.
“Hi!” The man in the chair twists around from his complex set-up on the shared desk. “You must be Peter. I’m Ned.”
This is a mistake.
A giant, huge, every-word-in-existence-that-means-enormous mistake.
“Peter.” He shakes his head in time with their handshake. “You knew that. Nevermind.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you!”
It’s a mildly alarming sentence, since Peter knows absolutely nothing about Ned (and the other thing; the thing Fury definitely promised would remain a secret, and the reason he wasn’t exactly expecting to have a roommate in his room) but he fights to keep the almost friendly smile on his face.
Ned is not quite as successful, perhaps because of the clammy nature of Peter’s hand, or maybe that it’s been a beat too long for the sentiment to be returned.
Peter nods towards the rather impressive amount of electronics. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Ned scratches his neck, nudging his hat slightly to the left. “I’m still in the process of streamlining it. There’ll be space for you soon.”
“It’s cool. I, uh, don’t have much to bring in terms of… That.” Peter takes three clunky steps into the room, the door clicking closed behind him. “More of a tinkerer than a typer.”
Jaw-dropping, Ned leans forward to take the bag left behind, a dazzling excitement filling the dark shades of his eyes. “Really? Dude, that’s awesome! We’re like, a perfect pair!”
Peter clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”
Dropping his uncle’s suitcase at the foot of the empty bed, the weight of the day drags his body down into the surprisingly comfortable depths of the mattress. It’s only 11 am, but he already feels like he’s lived an entire day; from finishing the last of his reluctant packing, to the extended goodbye just outside, there can’t possibly be so much time left to experience without a solid eight hours of sleep.
“Hey, just curious,” Ned says from the other side of the room, fishing a poster roll out of a cardboard box. “What’s your opinion of Star Wars?”
Peter’s eyes spring open. “Uh…”
“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a fan,” Ned continues, “I’ve just got the new Death Star Lego set if you ever need a break from Academy stuff.”
Memories of countless hours spent lying on the living room floor with his Uncle Ben fill his mind, hundreds of tiny plastic bricks beginning their lives as chaotically spread before them before morphing into anything their imaginations could fathom. He can see Ben’s smile so clearly, like he’s right there in front of him, that Peter has to swallow down the fiery lump on grief suddenly choking him.
“That sounds… That actually sounds pretty cool.”
Ned perks up, turning so abruptly that the corner he’d just fastened to the wall succumbs to the weight of gravity. “Maybe after lunch?”
Peter sits up on his elbows, giving his new roommate a genuine smile. “We could start after we unpack? ...or now? I’ve got something in my bag that my Aunt would definitely not call lunch.”
Two days into his tenure at the Academy, and Peter is ready to pack it in.
How is it possible for the secret he's bore for nearly a decade to feel so much heavier here?
As far as he's aware, he's one of only a handful of enhanced students, and definitely the only one not to break out of a husk—something he’s tired of explaining, over and over, to the very few who’ve learnt of his alternate identity—which only makes him all the more interesting to Nick Fury. He's already late to begin the semester, his first week spent not settling into his new life, but instead being poked and prodded and tested to the extreme to discover what he’s truly capable of.
It was by no means the level of experimentation May had fretted over, but he walks across the Sci-Tech campus for his first full day of classes with aching muscles and enough caffeine in his thermos to give a regular human a heart attack.
The first lecture of the day is biochemistry, taking up most of the morning and all of his caffeine, so he stumbles into the cafeteria in search of sustenance. He piles his tray high and looks out across the sea of circular tables, suddenly feeling exactly like the new kid in high school. He's missed the initial bonding period, everyone already finding someone to befriend. Now he’s stuck, lurking by the register like a weirdo, suddenly feeling less like a twenty two year old and more like he’s eleven again.
Just as his thoughts begin to spiral over how awful a decision this all was, he spots an empty table tucked away in the corner and makes his way over, desperation hurrying him along.
When he gets there, he realises it wasn't as empty as he'd first assumed.
There's a girl, head in a book, feet on the table, bitten apple in her hand.
For lack of any other options, Peter sits directly opposite in the furthest away spot, putting his tray down quietly so as to not disturb her.
The cafeteria is alive with the sound of chatter and laughter, the scraping of chairs and the clink of cutlery. He finds it oddly peaceful, more relaxed here than in the little dorm rooms he's lived out his college years in, missing the sounds of New York City. He rolls some of the tension out of his shoulders and settles into his lunch, pulling up the assigned reading for his next class on the little tablet he'd been given during orientation.
Twenty minutes later, he realises he's being watched.
When he lifts his head, the girl is looking at him in utter contempt over the top of her book. Her eyes are dark and sharp, curls falling over one side of her face like a curtain.
"Your chewing is very loud."
Peter looks down at his half-eaten mango yogurt. "Sorry?"
Her eyes narrow. Her book rises to hide her face once more.
He pulls out his schedule and studies the map built into his tablet, trying to work out the best route to his next class through the sea of unnecessarily complex pathways. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to be able to find the room, and with time getting on until he definitely needs to go, he's only got one option.
"Hey, uh, could you tell me where B62 is?"
Her reluctant voice floats out from behind the book. "It's in the basement of Erskine."
"Great, thanks."
Peter puts the route in mind and finishes the last of his lunch in two bites, clearing up his mess and heading across campus. It's a pleasant day, the sun warm on his face, and he lets himself enjoy it for a moment as he heads over to his next class with a little spring in his step.
Fifteen minutes and three wrong turns later, Peter walks in to the professor finishing his open remarks. He grimaces and mouths a quick apology, heading to the back of the lab so he can die of embarrassment without being disturbed.
Peter slips into his seat and searches his bag for his things, doing a double take when he sees a familiar head of curls next to him.
He hasn't seen the bottom half of her face, and he realises she's prettier than he'd expected, the fluorescent lights accentuating the contours of her cheek and jaw. She's slouched over her notebook, hand flying over the page as she writes, but she pauses to glare at him when he stares for a moment too long.
"Can I help you?" she snarks. Peter sighs, disappointed in himself for somehow already annoying the only person he's spoken to so far.
"We could have walked here together, you know," he whispers, irritation flaring to life in his gut.
"We could, but I didn't want to." She turns back to her work with a roll of her eyes.
Peter grinds his teeth and glances at the front of the room, where the professor is laying out the requirements for their projects. It looks time-consuming and complicated—definitely something he should be paying attention to—but he can’t help swallowing his pride and trying to correct the situation more immediately before him.
He leans a little closer, even though her shoulders tense. "Hey, look, I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot here, okay? Can we start again?"
She ignores him, so he extends a hand towards her. "I'm—“
“—not paying attention? The professor is looking at you.”
Peter glances forward to indeed see the narrowed gaze of the professor directed directly at him, even as he continues talking. It makes him uneasy, being perceived; affecting him just long enough for the girl to up and move before he can come up with a reply.
He decides after that lecture that he hates her.
It takes a lot for a non-criminal to reach that level in him, and it’s basically unheard of to happen so very quickly, but the girl presses on a nerve he didn’t even know he had until that very moment.
He spends two weeks glaring at her across the hall, his fury building with every one of her deliberate actions to ignore his presence. It’s just rude to make such a snap judgement about him—he’s a delight! May tells him all the time! Who wouldn’t want to know Peter Parker?!
So he chooses to hate her. Because she hates him.
Still, there’s plenty to keep him otherwise occupied. He falls in love with learning again, finally finds the challenge he’s so desperately craved for his entire life. He spends a lot of his time in the labs, running a whole host of experiments with like-minded people. Ned usually meets him outside after to walk home, and one day he convinces Peter to get milkshakes and share fries and exchange lively debate on whatever topic springs to mind. It’s nice. Maybe this is what people like so much about having friends.
Fury’s requirement for letting him into the program is this: weekdays are for being smart, weekends are for being tough. He spends a lot of time training in ways he never even considered, and despite his initial intentions to keep the finer details of his alter ego close to his chest, he finds little things slipping through the cracks as he’s pushed harder and further than ever before.
After all, he hasn’t spent eight years perfecting his craft to be shown up by a bunch of Operations trainees.
Ned gasps, jolting Peter from his thoughts. “They’re back! Peter, they’re back!”
“Who’s back?” Peter scratches his forehead, scrambling for an answer. “Oh. The internet thief?”
The internet thief—the hottest headline in the Nerd Pad (a nickname he absolutely hates and definitely shouldn't be using, but Ned seems to be conditioning him into calling their shared room)—has been working their way around Ned's multiple impressive firewalls to leech off their service, and it has become such a scandal in his dormmate's mind this past month that they can barely spend a hour together without it coming up somehow. It's clear that Ned is equal parts horrified and impressed. Peter couldn't care less.
“The internet thief! I’m tracking the IP address right now.” Ned taps away as his keys, the steam coming from his ears almost visible. Peter wipes a hand down his face, glancing down to his tablet only to find the screen asleep. He’s barely got it unlocked again when Ned sniggers from his side of the desk. “Oh, I got you now…”
“Ned, you’re doing the Lex Luthor thing again.”
“Done!” Ned jumps out of his seat, rushing straight to the dorm door, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Peter, come on. They’re next door! Let’s confront them.”
Peter just sighs. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s one person jumping on a crappy Macgyvered signal—”
But Ned’s already gone, his fist meeting their neighbour's door echoing down the hallway. Peter hops out of his chair, intent on reigning in his roommate, when he hears a voice.
“Do you mind ? It’s after eleven!”
Peter pauses, one foot out the door. Ned’s arms are crossed, a crease between his eyebrows. ““Did you hack our wifi?”
“Yes,” the voice—a girl’s, strangely familiar—replies in deadpan. “Who doesn’t have a password for their internet these days?”
“We do .”
“NerdLyf69 is not an adequate password.”
Ned scoffs, but he’s biting his lip and ducking his gaze. It’s a single moment, one that ends as soon as it began when he puffs out his chest, full of intent. “That still doesn’t mean you have any right to—wait, are you watching Lord of the Rings?”
A cough. “No.”
“Our TV is broken—roommate’s fault, thought he could redo the circuit board—” Peter frowns at the mother of all eyerolls that Ned releases “—can we join you?”
“Who’s 'we'?” the girl asks as Peter finally steps around the corner, affronted by the way he’s being depicted to the thief he now very much cares about. He opens his mouth, defensive words at the ready, only to stop dead in his tracks.
It’s her.
“Oh.” She looks him up and down, her curls bobbing around her face with the action. “This is your roommate?”
It’s imperceptible to anyone else, but every muscle in Ned’s body constricts with restrained excitement. “You guys have met?”
Peter chuckles weakly. “I wouldn’t say met—”
“I’m not surprised he broke your TV. I’ve seen his handwriting.” She sighs, overdramatic and with an impressive slumping of her shoulders, her Academy issued sweatshirt slipping down to flash her collarbone. “Fine. But you gotta go get all the snacks I know you two are hoarding in your room. And none of the generic, boring crap either—I want name-brand excellence only.”
He can see the grin spread across his roommate’s face in the shine of her eyes, and Peter feels the moment that any residual annoyance towards their first encounter slips away, somewhere between the glance she casts his way and the way she tucks her hair behind her ear.
The two depart for just a minute, their instructions clear. Arms laden down with all the junk they can manage, they embark on the five second commute to see the girls’ door left open, pillows from her bed thrown hastily onto the floor with a smattering of extra blankets. He’s weirdly touched by the effort she’s put in, even more so when he sees the movie returned to its beginning frames. It’s a strange juxtaposition with the girl he’d clashed with just a few weeks ago, but then again, who can resist the natural charms of Ned Leeds?
“I’m Ned, by the way. This is Peter.”
“Michelle, but my friends call me MJ.”
“Wait, wait, hold it right there.” Fury scratches the space above his eye patch. “Are you trying to waste my time, Parker?”
Peter blinks twice. “I’m telling you how I met Ned and MJ.”
“And what does this have to do with my damn tech building being blown up?”
“I’m getting there. This is just the backstory. It all really begins the day MJ tells Flash and Gwen about her precognition.”
“Who the hell are Flash and Gwen?”
“Flash is Gwen’s lab partner, and Gwen’s the girl who blew up the building.”