Chapter Text
Peter Parker sleepily opens his eyes, looking around at his fully cleaned room, and smiles, content. Curling around his blanket, he begins to flutter out of consciousness, pulling his blanket up to his neck, and then he bolts upright.
His… clean room?
Peter stares in awe at his bedroom. The floor is visible, the dishes are gone, and his clothes have all been put in the hamper. Groggy, he throws his blanket off of himself, stumbling to his feet, confused out of his mind. Half-tripping to the curtain walling off the rest of his studio, he pulls it back and looks to see that the entire place has been cleaned.
Dishes washed and put away, overflowing trash bag replaced with a fresh one, moldy food is gone, and even the hole in the wall has been plastered.
'Did Harry do this? 'is Peter’s first thought, but then he realizes that he doesn’t know how he got back to his apartment yesterday. It’s not like Harry followed him down to the bridge and carried him back.
Hopefully.
Opening his fridge, Peter sees it’s empty, save for the food that Harry brought. Whatever fairy godmother cleaned his place clearly couldn’t swing him any groceries. Well, beggars can’t be choosers.
Just as he’s closing the fridge, he catches his reflection in the window, and stops.
'Where did that shirt come from?'
It’s just a plain black muscle shirt, but, he doesn’t have anything like this in his wardrobe. 'Right?'
Three rapid knocks on the door, followed by a loud “RENT!” shakes him out of that train of thought, and he groans instinctively.
“YES, Mr. Goodwin, I know. I’ll get it to you by the end of the week,” Peter shouts through the door, “Might wanna watch your blood pressure too, haven’t heard you yell like that in a while.”
“I’m only ‘yelling like that’ because you’re ALREADY THREE WEEKS LATE ON RENT! I’ve been more than lenient, Mr. Parker! This is your last chance, or you’re out of here,” his landlord shouted through the door, followed by the sound of heavy thumping leading away from his door.
'Damn it.' Peter had been putting off walking back in the Bugle for two months, and today definitely wasn’t going to be the day that he does it. He just doesn’t have the energy.
His stomach growls, and he hesitates on checking his wallet. There’s some food in the fridge, but how long is leftover pizza really going to last him? Soda isn’t going to keep him healthy, and he should really eat a vegetable soon.
Tomorrow. He can do all of that tomorrow. Right now, Peter just crawls back into bed, and takes out his phone. The metal coating feels cold in his hand. Looking at the notifications, he sees missed texts from Harry, a reminder to head to F.E.A.S.T. next Monday for his weekly volunteer work (that he hasn’t attended for months), and… missed calls from Mary Jane.
'Double damn it.' Harry must’ve told her what happened, and she got worried. MJ is the only person who consistently checked on Peter after Gwen, until, just like with Harry, he stopped talking. He hated ignoring her, but he couldn’t drag her down. He saw how she looked at him, and he knew what he felt about her, and it disgusted him. Not the idea of a relationship with her, God no. It was the idea of moving on from Gwen so quickly, of knowingly dragging her into his life as Spider-Man, of…
Of her finding out that he doesn’t want to be a man. It would only ruin things. Gwen never said it, but he was pretty sure the only reason she stayed with him afterwards was because he never went through with it. Never made it anything more than something private. Then she wouldn’t really have to acknowledge it. She would’ve just broken up with him if he ever really changed. She had to have been planning to.
She had to.
Peter Parker turns off his phone, curls into himself, and tries to sleep. All the while, completely oblivious to the ooze that squirms across his body.
Three days later, Peter is walking into the office of the Daily Bugle. He can feel the heads turning to stare at him, as he marches straight ahead. There are whispers from his old coworkers, and Betty Brant even waves ‘Hi!’, causing him to stop and wave back. He’s determined, but she’s Betty. He doesn’t want to be rude to Betty. As he continues forward, he doesn’t even glance at the words printed on the glass door he’s heading for.
“J. JONAH JAMESON | EDITOR-IN-CHIEF”
Stepping up to his office, Jonah is already in the middle of a ‘conversation’ (if one could call it that when Jonah’s involved) with Foswell. Jonah is squeezing a chewed up cigar in his teeth, arms crossed over his chest as he listens to Foswell desperately attempt to get him interested in his new pitch.
“It’s big, Jonah! I swear, Oscorp is up to something fishy,” Foswell says, holding a notebook, and standing like he’s a kid at a debate club. “No comments from Menken for the past three months on the Osborn situation, and that’s not to mention them cancelling school and college trips to their labs. I’m telling ya, boss, it’s something.”
“Yeah? Well let me know when this ‘something’ turns into a real story, Foswell. ‘Cause right now, all I see is a libel case waiting to happen!” Jonah says, cigar still hanging from his mouth. Peter can see the ulcer forming on his head already, “You’ve been trying to pin something on Oscorp for the past six years, same as Fisk! At least with Fisk you were onto something, but Oscorp is clean as a whistle, Foswell. I’d bet your salary on it.”
“Wh— my salary?” Foswell says, confused.
“YES, YOUR SALARY! YOUR SOON-TO-BE NON-EXISTENT SALARY IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF MY OFFICE AND COME TO ME WITH SOMETHING I CAN ACTUALLY PRINT!” Jonah shouts, taking the cigar out of his mouth and pointing towards the door. Foswell hurries out, bumping into Peter during his hasty exit.
“Sorry, kid— wait, kid? Since when did you get back?” Foswell says, but Peter blows past him. He can’t let himself get distracted.
Can’t let anybody here talk him down from what he’s about to do.
But just as Peter opens his mouth to talk, Jonah does first.
“What the hell took you so long to get back here, Parker? Growing your hair out? You look like a girl,” Jonah says, and her his heart jumps for a moment.
'Is your hair really that long?'
Before he can think for more than a second, Jonah’s back to talking, “Anyway, we just lost our only half-decent photographer. Brock quit due to an apparently ‘unwelcoming’ work environment. I’M PLENTY WELCOMING!”
Peter stood there, a little stunned, mouth hanging slightly agape. Jonah, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a single reaction to his photographer returning, as if it was any other day at the office. Before he could even ask for the job back, was he already giving it to him?
“What are you gawking at, Parker? You want an official statement saying you’re re-hired? ‘CAUSE YOU’RE NOT GETTING ONE!” Jonah barked, before leaning back in his chair to straighten his tie. “Regardless, it’s not like I ever fired you. This time. So, you’re back on duty! Congrats, Parker. I’ll let you know when a story that might need pictures comes up.” As Foswell starts to walk back in the door, Jameson continues with, “A STORY I CAN USE, FOZZY!”
“Wait, hold on, you’re just ready to take me back? Just like that?” Peter says, a little worried that this is some kind of trick. Not that Jonah is known for tricks, but he’s seriously confused.
“‘Course I am! What, you think I’m some kinda monster? You were in mourning, Parker, no reason for me to expect you to be sound of mind,” Jonah says, almost getting it. “Besides, there’s some hokey new Broadway show that we’ve been asked to take official photos for, and I was pulling my hair out looking for a good photographer,” he takes a puff of his cigar, then looks at Peter with a cocked eyebrow, “Well, a passable photographer.”
Peter blinks slowly. He rubs the bridge of his nose, and stares at Jonah, bewildered.
“J. Jonah Jameson, reduced to doing tabloid articles on glitzy musicals? Am I dreaming?” Peter says with a grin on his face, and can almost see the plumes of smoke erupting from Jonah’s ears.
“Reduced to? Reduced to? THE ONLY THING I’VE BEEN REDUCED TO, PARKER, IS HAVING TO STAND FOR BACK TALK FROM A PHOTOGRAPHER WHO’S ABOUT TO FIND HIS BUTT BACK ON THE CURB! NOW GET OUT THERE AND GET ME PHOTOS OF SPIDER-M— I mean, THAT MUSICAL!” Jonah shouted, standing up from his desk and throwing his hands up in rage.
Peter walks out of his office, giggling a little.
'Giggling? Who are you Peter Parker? Four days ago you were rotting under a pile of dirty clothes, and now you’re chipper as a bird. What happened?'
“Well hello, Parker,” Robbie Robertson says, stopping Peter right as he’s about to leave and cutting through his internal monologue. “Nice to see you back here,” he pats Peter’s shoulder twice, then puts his hands in his pockets, expecting a response.
“Good to see you, too, Robbie,” Peter says, trying not to choke on his own spit. He always got a little nervous around Robbie, who he was certain knew more than he let on.
“So, how have you been doing, Peter? It’s been a while,” Robbie says, looking him up and down, “You seem better. Sleeping okay?”
“Like a baby,” Peter says, ignoring his eye bags.
“Ha! Good, that’s good,” Robbie says, turning to look out the window. “Look, I hate to jump right into business not a minute after you’ve been re-hired, but… you haven’t heard anything from Spider-Man, have you?”
Peter freezes, and Robbie looks at him from the side. A drop of sweat rolls down the side of his head. He says, “Um, why do you ask, Robbie?”
“Just curious,” Robbie says, looking back at the cityscape, “It’s been a little slower here at the Bugle without him. Jonah just can’t bring himself to scream about Daredevil the same way, you know?”
“Not to mention that the city is certifiably worse without him,” Robbie says, shocking Peter a little. 'Robbie is a Spider-Man fan?' he thinks. “The Defenders can only do so much, and it’s not like the Fantastic Four or the Avengers are all too focused on the little guy, with their worldwide galavanting and such.”
Robbie turns to Peter, and smiles a little, creasing his eyes, and says, “So, you go tell your friend Spider-Man that this city needs him back. Alright, son?”
Peter shakily raises a thumbs up, and Robbie walks past him, patting him on the shoulder as he does.
…
'He totally knows.'
It doesn’t even take two rings for Mary Jane Watson to pick up her phone.
“Peter?” and her voice makes him quiver. Vocal fry always made him shake, and he couldn’t tell if it was out of envy or attraction. Thinking that to himself, he starts to feel gross.
'We shouldn’t think about her that way.'
“Peter, is everything alright?” Mary Jane says, and Peter shakes his head.
“Yeah, sorry, MJ, it’s just, uh… it’s been a while. You know, since I’ve heard your voice,” he says, trying not to sound like a complete loser.
“It’s good to hear from you too, tiger,” she says, and he can almost hear the smile in her voice. “Is everything alright? I heard from Harry the other day that—”
“We can talk about all that some other time,” he cuts her off quickly, trying to avoid feeling anything about that, and hears her grumble.
“Peter, come on.” she says, and he can perfectly picture her tapping her foot in frustration.
“I promise I’ll tell you about it some other time, just— well, I wanted to ask you something,” he says, looking down at the tickets in his hand.
Silence for a moment, then she sighs, and says, “Alright, go ahead.”
“It’s just, I got these tickets to some Broadway show about a horse, I think? The Bugle got picked for the official photos on opening day, and, uh,” Peter stops for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase this so it doesn’t sound like a date.
“I was wondering if you’d want to go with me as my plus-one?” he says. 'Great job, Peter.'
“Are you kidding!? You got premiere tickets to Quarter Half Measure!?” Mary Jane says, peaking her mic, “Of course I’ll go! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how excited I’ve been for this!”
“You, uh, have?” Peter asks, a little confused as to why his friend is so hyped about some musical he’s never heard of. “I knew you liked Broadway and stuff, but this seems a little kitschy, at least for you.”
“Seriously? Uh-duh I’d like it! C’mon, tiger, it’s only gonna be the Broadway production of the decade,” she says incredulously. “It has, like, every big-name musical production person involved in every aspect of it. It’s a big deal in the musical community! And believe me, it is not going to be kitschy.”
Peter smiles, happy that at least one of them will probably enjoy it, “Alright, cool. Tickets are for this Sunday at nine at night. I just hope the pictures won’t be too distracting for you.”
“Please, I wouldn’t miss it even if you were singing along with them,” she says, “I might knock you out, but I still wouldn’t miss it!”
Peter laughs, not realizing how much he missed her, “I’ll hold you to that, red.”
“You better!” she responds, chuckling. She sighs, and says, “I gotta go now, tiger, mom’s calling. But don’t you dare leave me hanging this Sunday!”
“No way! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Peter says.
“How many times have I heard that before?” Mary Jane says, teasing him. “Bye bye, tiger.”
“Bye, red.”
Just as he’s about to hang up, he hears her say, “Oh, and, check on Harry for me, would you? I know you said that we would talk about it some other time, but he hasn’t been picking up my calls ever since he told me what happened.”
Peter’s heart drops, brought back to the memory of their last conversation. His mind races through what could have happened to Harry, but shakes the thoughts from his head. Those couldn’t have been their last words to each other. Not like Gwen, and not like Ben.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll hit him up soon. Promise.”
Mary Jane sighs with relief, “Thank you. See you this weekend, Pete.”
She hangs up, and Peter is sat in his room, alone. He looks down at what he’s wearing. It looks like his old costume, just wrong. It’s all black, missing the webs, and the giant white spider emblazoned on the front is much larger, spreading all the way around his body.
He has no idea where the suit came from. He just woke up in it, no explanation. Thinking back to the day at the bridge, he has a guess. Whatever was in that Oscorp vial, it’s covering him, responding to his thoughts. It’s probably the one that took him home, cleaned his apartment, and…
Moved his body on its own.
‘What the hell is this thing?’ is all Peter has been able to think for the whole day. That, along with the other, scarier thought.
'Do we even care?'
It’s a free costume that can clean his house, get him to safety while unconscious, and even make its own webbing (as he found out earlier while too far from his phone). It’s basically perfect, practically begging to see some real action.
…He should probably be a bit more responsible with this thing.
“WOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!”
Two hours later, Spider-Man is swinging over Times Square, howling out his lungs. The wind rips around him as he grips onto the web. He releases, flying through the air for a few seconds before zipping to a flagpole, propelling off of it, and landing on a rooftop. He sprints across the roof, launching himself from the edge with his foot, and gets right back into the rhythm of swinging.
“I’M BACK, NEW YORK! YEEEEHAWWW!” he shouts, grinning from ear to ear under his mask.
“AY SHUT THE HELL UP SPIDER-MAN, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!” a man shouts from his window, but nothing can kill his her sheer joy in this moment. God, she missed this.
Landing on a roof, she lets out a sigh, and breathes heavily. For the first time in months, she feels alive. Looking down at her body, her smile drops.
Are those boobs?
Spidey’s hands reach up for them, squishing a little bit. They’re small, probably no bigger than some fluffy pancakes, but they’re definitely boobs.
Did the suit do this? How did it do this?
“No, NO!” Peter shouts, and falls to the ground, scrambling backwards like he can get away from them. With his back against a rooftop AC, he starts breathing rapid, heavy breaths. Tears prick at his eyes, his hands scraping at his chest, desperately hoping he didn’t look like this when he was swinging earlier.
'Isn’t this what we want? Why are we upset?'
“It’s— it’s just not right,” he says, sniffling. “I’m,” he stares into the middle distance, watching the pigeons fly by.
“I’m just not ready.”
Spider-Man sits on the roof for a few minutes, feeling his chest start to shift and change, shrinking back into his body. He feels sad, but he knows it’s necessary. Nobody would want him like this.
'Why won’t anybody want us like this?'
“Because they’ll hate me,” he says, looking out at the New York skyline. Toomes’ voice seeping with hatred, Osborn’s dripping with malice, and Jonah’s bursting with anger. He knows what they’re like. He knows how they’d react, and he knows it would just put an even bigger target on his back. MJ would just be disappointed that he wasn’t what she wanted. Aunt May might not ever talk to him again. Harry probably takes more from his dad than either of them would like.
'We… must keep it to ourselves… '
'Nobody will… want us like this…'
“Yeah. I’ve just gotta keep it to myself,” he whispers to himself. “Maybe I’ll tell them. Someday.”
Spider-Man stands up, shooting a web at a skyscraper and yanking himself back into the air to keep swinging.
'We… must keep… her… to ourselves…'