Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

With great power must also come great responsibility. With great power comes great responsibility.

Great power. Great responsibility.

The words looped stubbornly in Peter’s mind like an echo. He exhaled sharply, “Okay.” Rolling his shoulders and shaking out his limbs. Then, like a diver plunging into the deep, he leaped off the skyscraper.

The wind howled against his body as he tucked into a flip and extended an arm to fire a web. The thwip of the shooter firing half-a-second later than expected – he still needed to work out the kinks.

He caught himself in a wide swing, the city stretching out beneath him. And below him, his camera flashed in quick succession, catching his midair acrobatics.

This was what his life had become. Taking pictures of himself that might sell to his personal slander factory, The Daily Bugle. But Aunt May needed the money. And, honestly, so did he. Web fluid wasn’t cheap, neither was suit repair, and this whole “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” thing was running up a tab. He couldn't burden her with the cost of his after-hours heroics, nor his growing appetite. That was his responsibility.

Peter took a few more swings past his camera, adding an extra flip for flair. Then with a smooth landing, he crouched by his setup and carefully peeled webbing from the shutter button. It clung on just until it came into contact with his suit- not bad. He’d have to review the shots later, but if he was going to keep doing this, he really needed a better camera. Maybe one with a better focal lens or motion sensors.

Peter only had the idea a few days ago.

He had just gotten home from school, his backpack still slung over one shoulder, when he heard hushed voices from the living room. He paused in the hallway, just out of sight.

"-I just don’t know how I’m going to cover all of this, Anna," May said. Her voice was tight with worry.

"We’ll figure something out," Mrs. Watson reassured her, but Peter could hear the uncertainty beneath her words.

His stomach tightened, he couldn’t listen any longer. When he stepped into the room they both fell silent, but Aunt May, ever quick, slid a stack of paper beneath the daily paper and smiled.

"Hey, Peter, sweetheart! How was school today? Learn anything new to excite that genius brain of yours?"

It amazed him how she could so quickly put on a cheery face for him. He hesitated for just a second before shaking his head. "Not today, May. But I do have a busload of homework to get through." He glanced toward the newspaper. "Everything okay?"

He already knew the answer. The weighted tension in May’s face, the way her fingers pressed just a little too tightly against the table’s edge—those weren’t just any papers. They were bills. Overdue ones. The kind with big red stamps and mean fonts. The kind that Aunt May had too many of.

"Of course, dear," she said, her voice light and unbothered. "Now, go on and hit the books. I was thinking about making breakfast for dinner tonight. May’s Famous Wheat Cakes?"

Peter looked down, swallowing the lump in his throat before forcing a small smile. "That sounds great, May. It was good to see you, Mrs. Watson."

And with that, he turned and headed down the hall to his room, his eyes only briefly straying to the newspaper covering the bills, the Daily Bugle.

His mind was racing as he shut the door behind him. He could ask again—offer to get a job, really insist this time—but he already knew how that conversation would go. May would smile, tell him everything was fine, and remind him that Uncle Ben wouldn’t want him worrying. It was a battle he wasn’t going to win.

But after hearing that strain in her voice, after noticing how for weeks she’d hesitated before answering the phone or opening the mail—he knew he had to do something.

He tossed his backpack onto the bed and sank into his desk chair. Through his open door, his eyes drifted back toward the kitchen table, where the newspaper had shifted slightly, just enough to reveal a bold, black headline beneath:

LARGE REWARD FOR PHOTOS OF SPIDERMAN!

Peter exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face.

They forgot the hyphen. Again.

Still, if J. Jonah Jameson would have pictures of Spider-Man, Peter Parker was going to be the one who gave them to him.

With new determination, Peter went to hunt down Uncle Ben’s old camera.

An hour later, Peter sat at his desk, sifting through the photos he’d taken. Most of them were beyond blurry—one looked like a flying potato—and several were way too incriminating. He definitely couldn’t turn in a shot of Spider-Man swinging toward the camera.

Still, after some ruthless cutting, he had ten solid photos. Good enough to print.

Good enough to sell.

Chapter Text

Peter stopped just outside the building, feet firmly planted in the middle of the sidewalk. He was too nervous to go inside, his Spidey sense a low buzz. He knew it was the right building; the giant red lettering gave it away. Plus, he swore he heard a man shouting inside all 2,000 feet up. He couldn't be more intimidating. Might as well add a few gargoyles on the building to add to the ensemble.

It wasn’t too far from Queens– Manhattan was just an hour away with two train transfers. And certainly not far at all once he gets a hang on his web-shooters. He could swing across New York City in minutes. No smashing into windows or running out of web fluid. If they took him in, he could definitely see himself making regular trips here.

He shook himself out, rolling back his shoulders and flexing his hands- a little strange now that he kept his web-shooters on, and took a step forward.

Immediately swerving out of the way of a fast-walking New Yorker. He spun, having an impromptu ballet performance while he tried to get back his footing and his photos– the envelope which flew into the air.

“Hey! Watch where you’re walking, kid! Who just stands in the middle of the sidewalk,” the guy shot him a glare, shook his fist for good measure, and kept walking.

Peter let out a breath, and walked in. He was off to a great start.

It was loud, bright, and moving. Fourteen people acted like forty- it was Saturday evening and they were rushing for the Sunday paper. Women had pens- multiple, in their hair, and the men’s hats were long discarded. He stepped over one just making his way past the desks. Everyone seemed a little too busy to ask about the advert. He took out the newspaper, skimming it with his fingers. He was certain it was the right place.

To his left, a woman, just a few years older, cleared her throat. She looked tired, or maybe just done. She motioned impatiently and he hurried along, mindful of where he placed his feet.

“I’m here for-”

“Spiderman?”

He froze. His jacket, he thought it was pulled down-

“The photos,” she said gesturing, “if they aren’t Spiderman, we aren’t interested.”

He let out a nervous laugh and felt his heart start again, he almost hadn’t noticed it stopped. “Yep- yeah, that’s, that’s what these are. Spiderman pictures. For the advertisement.”

She stared at him while he died, embarrassment red on his face. Unsympathetic. May had always told him he was charming, handsome too, but by the frown on the woman's face either May was lying or this woman just did not agree.

He put them into her open hand, a little too jerky, and prayed to any god that was listening that his new long hand hairs- setules- wouldn’t stick and make things awkward. They listened, and the pass off was normal. He was adulting so hard right now.

She opened the envelope and took out the ten pristine photos he had chosen. She turned them over and hummed. It seemed to be a good hum. She didn’t look mad. But she was squinting. Peter restrained himself from fidgeting with the cuffs on his sleeves and hoped he didn’t look as out of his depth as he felt.

“JJ! I’m sending a kid in- Spiderman!”

Peter stood dazed. He had made it past the first boss.

The woman handed him back the photos and shooed him through the door next to her. “Don’t keep him waiting. Go.”

The door closed behind him and with it, all the sound from inside left. The only noise was the furious typing of the man in front of him and the faint breeze from an open window behind him.
With the famed mustache and scowl this must be J. Jonah Jameson. He hoped that this was not the same room that the yelling he had heard took place. He might be able to take it as Spider-Man, but he doesn’t need a smack down as Peter Parker.

Jameson didn’t even look up at him when he came in, just kept typing and grunting- a cigarette perched between his lips. Peter didn’t know if he should interrupt or stay still.

Luckily that decision was made quickly. The man almost threw his mug down and looked up at him.

“Well are you going to show me what you’ve got or what?”

“Yes, sir, just let me-”

Peter fumbled and then dropped the photos. Now would have been a good time for the sticky hands.

He mumbled apologies as retrieved them, half at the man and half at the papers. Really, getting photos developed was expensive. Especially if they were getting purchased. There were three whole people who had left before him, and while he wasn’t posing for anyone else, someone could have caught something.

His mind turned back to last week at the hotdog stand where he got a little over-eager. Someone could have caught a lot.

With all of the photos collected, and most of them turned to face the same direction, he handed them over.

The man leafed through them, grimacing. He glanced back at Peter a couple of times before setting them down.

“So, you don’t got talent.”

Peter flinched. Oh boy, time for the vitriol.

“But-” he had the mug in his hand again and took a sip, a rather long and dramatic sip of coffee, “But, you’ve got photos. And that’s more than a lot of people who came in here could say. I don’t know how you did it, kid– getting photos of the menace like this. Now you don’t waste my time, I don’t waste yours. Two-hundred for the lot. And your photos will be on the front page of our next issue.” Jameson’s hand swung pointing towards the ceiling as if we could see the future now.

Two-hundred. Peter replayed the words in his head until he was sure he had heard them wrong, and then repeated them aloud, “Two-hundred?”

“You’re not going to find a better deal than that, kid. Two-hundred, final offer.”

“No- No! That’s great. Fantastic, yeah, two-hundred.”

Two-hundred dollars for rent. It would make all the ugly red papers on May’s desk disappear if he could do it again. Two-hundred dollars- frankly he was expecting twenty. He felt stupid for being stingy with the film. He would take a hundred photos- shoot, he would even change the backdrop or something, make it interesting.

“So, I’ve got the job?”

The man laughed, “Job? You’ve got a commission.”

“Oh, it’s just. Well, I was looking for something more long-term…”

“Long term.” he squinted, “What are you, twelve? Don’t you have school? I can’t be hiring a child to work for me, I don’t want the cops on my ass. I’m already making an enemy of Spider-Man.”

“I’m fourteen, not twelve."

“Tomato-potato, son. That’s way too young. Take your interest in your school paper. I’m sure they could use you.”

“But, I mean, these are photos of Spiderman.”

“Listen, kid, I’m overjoyed someone was finally able to catch a shot at the webbed menace. You were a genius to whip out that camera when you did. But it’s not likely you’ll have that chance again. And the Bugle doesn't run on luck.”

“But, I could take more for you.”

He narrowed his eyes again, his eyebrows made it so he could do that a lot more, it seemed. “And how could you do that? These weren’t by chance?”

Peter backpedaled, throwing up his hands and smiling, “Well, I can’t tell you how to take more of these, sir, then you wouldn’t need me. All I’m asking for really is… exclusivity!” An idea popped into his mind, lured by the prospect of more payments of two-hundred dollars.

“Tell you what, my boy, you bring me more pictures of Spider-Man next week and I’ll buy them again. We’ll have a standing agreement, how is that.”

“For real? That would be fantastic. Yeah, that’s just as good. No need for payroll, I just come in with the photos,” Peter shot him finger guns.

“But you actually have to bring the photos. Different photos. Remember this isn’t a job, just freelance.”

“Yes, yeah, not a problem. Thank you sir, you won’t regret this!”

He leaned over to shake the man’s hand.

And in the process, knocked his coffee all over his desk.

They stood frozen, just watching as it spread from paper to paper. The man picked the photos up from the desk gently just before they were ruined.

“I think you ought to leave my office now.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get- napkins, towels, my jacket?”

“You’ll get out of my office.”

Peter slunk away, his back still turned towards the door.

“And you’ll be back in a week with more photos.” Jameson gestured towards him, “Now give me your name, son. I gotta know who our new photographer is.”

“Peter Parker, sir.”

He ripped off a piece of paper and handed it to Peter.

“Now off you go,” he shooed, “Hand this to my secretary she’ll know what to do.”

Peter smiled and took the paper, “Thank you, uh, please have a nice day.”

He turned tail to leave, grateful he didn’t just ruin May’s one chance at salvation.

And before he could open the door, someone else did– a tall man in a suit. Why was everyone so much taller than him? He stalled only for a second before he took the chance to almost run out. The assaulting noise covered his embarrassment as he escaped.

Peter made his way over to the secretary he’d met in what feels like a million years ago. He’s a new man now. Basically has a job of his own. A working professional.

A small part– okay, maybe a large part– of himself is snickering about the irony of it all. If only they knew they were funding Spider-Man.

The brunette woman drew up her eyes, “So you made it through him. You know you’re the first to actually have something for him. You should be proud. I just hope he wasn’t too harsh on you.”

“No, he was alright, Ma'am,” Peter handed the paper over to her.

“Whoo must’ve been a little more than something,” she inspected the paper, “Peter. And stop with that Ma'am stuff. I'm not nearly old enough for that. Call me Betty, Betty Brant– New York's next biggest reporter. You should know if you start working here.”

Betty tapped away at her keyboard, the sound sharp and rhythmic in the otherwise chaotic newsroom. “Alrighty, I just imputed you into the system.”

She tore out a check from the stack and neatly wrote down the beautiful 200 d’s. Then slip it across the desk. “Here’s your check. I hope to see you back in here again and those pictures weren’t just beginner's luck.”

Peter smirked, “Don’t worry I will be. I’m no luck– all skills.”

“If you say so,” she laughed, shaking her head.

And with that mission accomplished.

He has a secure job to help out, and nobody at the Bugle suspects a thing. How could they, really? Although he will have to figure out how to give May the money without her knowing. But, that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Spider-Man landed on the roof of Midtown High– the place that for the betterment of three months he, Peter, has been spending half of his time at.

He shrugged off his costume, stuffing it into his backpack, and made his way down the service hatch on the roof.

Although Peter was what most kids would call a chronic nerd, he didn’t particularly love school. Especially not enough to sneak in on a Saturday night.

He’s never struggled academically and that’s always made it a bit of a bore. Plus the social life was no plus.

The same kids from middle school transferred over to Midtown, with few variation. And they came preloaded with the same repertoire of charming nicknames they’d been using on him for years: “Puny Parker,” “Parker Pipsqueak,” “Egghead.” The list goes on.

He’s always found himself involved with almost everything the school does. He blames May for that. She had always encouraged him to put himself out there and try new things. So before Ben died, he was in almost every club from Band to Decathlon to Science Olympiad. Well all the nerdy clubs.

He always felt like this weird constant. Like a fixture that just hangs around never really coming into the light until an award ceremony or a teacher decides to announce who had the highest score on the last test. That may be why they kids also called him a Professional Wallflower.

That’s not saying it has no saving grace. Peter’s best friend Harry has been by his side right from the first grade. If there was one thing he could count on it was Harry having his back.

He takes no nonsense from anyone. Never had. Probably gets that from his Dad, but unfortunately he didn’t get his father’s stature– at least not yet. Harry is no means short for his age, but he faces all those six feet tall kids as if he was ten feet. Harry’s confidence and fame saves them from a beating when he’s around, but not the teasing he gets being associated with Peter or the Osborn name.

Being in Midtown has been different from all his past years in school. More than the usual growing up, new era of a high school kid. He’s changed straight to his DNA and his family’s changed right through the heart.

It’s made school a more tiresome experience. Almost a useless one.

However, somehow genius professors make it a little more worth it too. They were always more than happy to indulge him in an academic discussion. And didn’t seem to mind his growing streak of tardiness either.

Peter’s favorite teacher right now was Mr. Warren, his chemistry teacher. Who’s the whole reason he’s subjecting himself to school on a Saturday. Mr. Warren practically ran a second-rate science lab out of his classroom that he always kept stocked and best of all, always leaves unlocked.

Peter made his way through the school and slipped into the lab. The familiar smell of acetone and rubber tubing hit him as he shut the door behind him. All the materials he needed were easily located onto his designated lab bench. Because, yes, even when school isn’t in session he still sits in his assigned seat.

Tonight’s project was simple in theory, but crucial in practice: finalizing the web formula and improving its storage.

There was just something slightly off about his web fluid that wouldn’t stop bothering him. He needed to make it stronger but also more easily dissolved. He couldn’t just keep criminals trapped in it for hours. He saw a grown man pee his pants while stuck last week and he’s not cruel enough to let that continue.

Funnily enough, it was his photography job that gave him the breakthrough.

While researching photo development and the chemical compounds involved, Peter stumbled upon thiosulfate. It was used to fix photographic images, halting the developing process and stabilizing the photo. But more importantly, it was incredibly reactive under heat and pressure — which gave Peter an idea. If he added thiosulfate to his web-fluid, it might help the webbing maintain structural integrity for longer while simultaneously dissolving faster when exposed to heat.

It was perfect. In theory. And he had just spent the last few days scribbling down chemical equations, perfecting the exact formula and process between classes. He just needs to test it out.
He finishes the mixture– salicylic acid, toluene, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate, ethyl acetate, and now thiosulfate– then places it into his spare webshooter and shoots at the nearby desk.

He strums it like a guitar string and hums “A lot stronger, nice.”

He waited for the web to dissolve, keeping an eye on his timer. Then, determined to make this night as productive as possible, he moved on to his next project: new storage for the web fluid.

Peter had been working on designing extra storage for his web-fluid.

He realized after falling face first into a dumpster that it’s probably a good idea to carry around extra.

So he raided the metal shop and was able to score some aluminum tubing, leather straps, and a couple of compression springs.

The plan was to build a belt. Something modular — like a utility belt, but without the full Batman aesthetic. Just enough to hold extra cartridges, some tools, and maybe even a few other gadgets down the line if he ever got time to build them.

The work was soothing. He felt right in his element. He bobbed his head to The Ramones while welding pieces together on the belt. Seriously, no one tells you how useful arts and crafts are to heroics.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of an emergency broadcast sliced through his earbuds. Peter jolted, clutching his head.

“This just in — the notorious supervillain Vulture has been spotted once again. Best known for his assault on the electronics firm Bestman and Toomes, the Vulture has now promised to strike again. In a direct taunt to authorities, he claims he’ll ‘snatch the diamond shipment from under their noses’ during next week’s Park Avenue Diamond Exchange. Stay vigilant citizens and watch from above.”

With that 53rd and 3rd resumed playing. And Peter froze.

He hadn’t yet fought a supervillain, but he knew it was up to him to stop the Vulture. New York has been lucky to have the Avengers, but they’ve proved to not take care of such small-scale crimes. He’ll be ready.

He quickly wrapped up his work — the new web fluid was perfect, stronger and quicker to dissolve under pressure. The belt had turned out just as he’d hoped. Maybe with a few more photography sales, he’d be able to add a hidden camera into it. Something discreet that would help both him, Jameson, and the police.

He threw the last piece into his backpack just as the lab door creaked open.

“Pete?”

“Harry?”

No wonder his Spider-sense didn’t go off– Harry could never be a threat to him.

“What are you doing here so late?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, “I kinda forgot my notebook here, yesterday. And I needed it to do the homework. What’re you doing here?”

“I don’t think you needed to come in at midnight to get that, Pete,” Harry laughed, “My dad wanted me to come and watch the football practice. He wants me to join so I’ve been forced to watch knuckleheads tackle each other all night.” He rolled his eyes. “So I guess I’m on the team now. That’s what you get when you get an A- on a math test. Can’t excel in one area, must in the next.”

Peter blinked. “Wait— football? That’s something new.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, sounding exasperated. “My dad…” He trailed off, forcing a laugh. “You know how he is. The whole ‘gotta toughen you up’ thing. He said it builds discipline.” He shook his head. “I think he just doesn’t want me turning out soft.”

Peter hesitated, his stomach knotting. Norman Osborn has always been intense and even when Peter was there it was obvious how he looked down at Harry. But he especially didn’t like the way Harry said it, like he was already bracing himself for the next thing his dad would throw at him.

“Well, hey,” Peter offered, “maybe you’ll actually like it. May’s always telling me it’s good to try new things.”

Harry didn’t meet his eye. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The silence lingered for a beat too long before Harry glanced at his watch. “Anyway, I’m about to head out. My driver’s waiting for me. You want a ride home?”

Peter’s first instinct was to decline — he still needed to suit up and hit the streets — but the look on Harry’s face held him. It’s been too long since they’ve just hung out.

“That’d be great,” Peter smiled. He walked over and patted Harry on the back, “It’s been forever since I rode in your limo.”

“Oh, come on, Pete. It’s not a limo and you know it.” Harry groaned, throwing up his arms.

Peter laughed and they walked off together to the front of the school.

Harry was a great friend. Peter wished he could tell him that he was Spider-Man, but he didn’t want to burden him further. Harry already has enough stuff going on with his dad and his dad’s “big plan” for him. Maybe one day he would.

If there was anyone Peter would tell it would be Harry Osborn.

They spent the duration of the car ride battling each other on two-player phone games. They always stay tied. It didn’t take long to get to Peter’s apartment. Traffic was much lighter at midnight even in the city that never sleeps.

And they said their goodbyes too soon.

“See ya Monday, Pete,” Harry smiled as he opened the car door. “Say hi to May for me.”

“Of course. You should come over for dinner soon. May misses you.”

She really did. Harry hadn’t been over since after Ben’s funeral.

Harry’s smile wavered just slightly, but he covered it with a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll talk to my dad about it.”

“Hey… tell Mr. Osborn I said hi too.”

Peter watched Harry’s car disappear into the streets of Queens, the glow of its taillights fading into the night.

He stepped in the alley way and changed into Spider-Man. The night may be over for Peter, but it’s just starting for Spider-Man. Especially with the new threat of the Vulture out there.

Spider-Man shot his new web fluid and launched into the night sky.

Shoot he forgot to tell Harry about his new job.