Chapter Text
He was falling.
He was falling.
He was falling.
…and it was entirely on purpose.
Peter Parker was sixteen, dressed in a red and blue onesie and a mask, and was descending from the top of a New York City skyscraper at a rapid speed with absolutely nothing to grab onto to secure himself, and he was having the time of his life. Timing his descents had gotten a lot easier over the past six months with time and practice, and now saw him pulling off stunts like this regularly.His feet dropped onto the roof of the passing SUV, alerting those within it that something was indeed amiss. Peter ducked his head down, peeking in through the open passenger side window.“Well, hi there!” Peter said cheerfully, reflexively ducking back just as the man in the passenger side raised his gun and released a volley of semi-automatic bullets. Hopping over the roof again, Peter poked his head into the driver side window. “Well, someone didn’t pass their driver’s ed in New York! There’s a whole section on not shooting vigilantes!”
“Get out of the car, you creep!” The driver spat, firing off two shots from a handgun that Peter dodged without issue just as he had the semi. Peter flicked his wrist, his curled fingers activating the pressure trigger of his web shooter and sending out two globs that secured the driver’s hands to the wheel.
“Didn’t they tell you you’d shoot your eye out?” Peter quipped as he twisted the wheel in an attempt to move the SUV harmlessly to the side of the street. “Oh, wait, I’m backwards. It’s the other way.” He muttered, realizing his mistake just in time to dodge another blast of semi-automatic gunfire.
“Dumbass! You almost hit me!” The driver shouted at his partner. Peter, however, had managed to dodge unscathed and dipped back in the second he heard the man’s magazine popped out. Before the man could reach for another, he was secured by two more strands of webbing to the passenger side door and the roof of the vehicle. “Hey! What the-?”
“Seriously, don’t do that. Haven’t had a lot of practice with this…” Peter said, taking the wheel once again and glancing up in time to see a very angry man yelling as the SUV got dangerously close to his cart of fresh fruit. “Ah! No no no no no!” Peter said, quickly steering the SUV out of the way, sending it to the left of it and toward the side of the street. The SUV hit the curb and jerked upward a bit as it made its way onto the sidewalk, though did not get far as Peter had leaped away and quickly shot webbing from both wrists. Within record time, several strands of the webbing formed a makeshift crash net. Peter knew the seconds after the vehicle hit them would be crucial, so he held onto the strands with all his might as they absorbed the momentum of the then rapidly decelerating vehicle. The grill cover at the front of the car lightly contacted the building it had been hurling toward before it stopped entirely.
Only once he saw that it had settled did Peter allow himself to breathe again. Reaching into his utility belt, Peter produced a rolled up note that he slipped into the window of the car as though he were leaving his insurance information for someone he’d hit. When the boys in blue arrived to the scene, as he was sure they would by the sound of the rapidly-approaching sirens in the distance growing closer, they would find the same note that they had at many such places for the last six months. A simply, white sheet with printed words on it and a small smiley face that read:
“Courtesy of your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man”
******
“Well, Ben, I definitely don’t agree with that. Not at all.”
“Mr. Jameson, you-”
“No, trust me, I’ve heard all the harumph and I don’t believe a word of it. Vigilantes aren’t the solution in New York, they’re the problem! The NYPD are the ones who are supposed to be out there catching criminals, not some jumped up hobo in spandex!”
“Well, what if a situation comes up that the NYPD can’t handle?”
“Are you suggesting that the NYPD aren’t competent, Ben? Is that what this is?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all, I just -”
“Spider-Man is a menace!”
“For God’s sake, Deb. Please shut that off.” Gwen Stacy asked politely as she thumbed through the book she had been reading. Mere minutes separated her from the interior of Midtown High and her first period class and the last thing she wanted to do was to bring the funk that came from J.J. Jameson’s "Point-Counterpoint" show in with her. Debra Whitman, one of her best friends since childhood, frowned a bit as she lowered the volume on her cell phone, but didn’t shut it entirely off.
“It’s important to stay up to date on current events, Gwen.” Debra reminded her.
“That’s not current events,” Gwen countered, “it’s a morning zoo with a bigger budget and a cheap suit.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Debra said, turning down the cell phone a bit more just as Jameson began to discuss with (more like shout at) Ben Urich about current goings on in Hell’s Kitchen, “you don’t find the news about this vigilante interesting?”
“Of course I do,” Gwen said, setting her bookmark back into her book and closing it, looking at Debra for the first time since their conversation had begun, “that doesn’t mean I want to hear it from some loud-mouthed jerk with a journalism degree. The man just seems intolerable in print or when he’s speaking out loud.”
“I mean, he’s pretty rough, sure.” Debra nodded. “Still, he does make some good points.”
“He certainly has a lot to say, that I will say.” Gwen said.
“Who has a lot to say about what?” Peter had walked up just as Gwen said that.
“Wait! Gwen! Do you see this?” Debra asked her friend with a grin.
“Why yes, Deb, I think I do!” Gwen mirrored her grin, playing along. “I never thought I’d see the day!”
“What? What happened?” Peter asked, his face colored heavily with concern as though he’d missed something.
“Peter Parker, and on time!” Debra gave a melodramatic gasp, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead like some Golden Age movie actress.
“Why, I never thought I’d see the day!” Gwen played along, both girls breaking down in laughter as Peter’s face reddened and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, lighten up, Peter! If anything, this will make for an auspicious start to our junior year!”
“Yeah, yeah, first time for everything, I know.” Peter said, though he admittedly had a good reason to be late on that particular morning and only providence had seen him arrive a few minutes early to school as opposed to a few minutes late. “Traffic was just awful.”
“Well, you’re here now and we’ll be getting in soon enough.” Deb said, pulling out a piece of paper from her backpack and looking over it. “Did you guys get first period Biology? I hear that Dr. Warren is a real slave driver.”
“Nope, I got British Literature.” Gwen said, lifting her book that she’d been reading - a well-worn copy of The Jungle Book. “400 years of colonialism, forced societal politeness, admittedly good tea, and stealing everyone’s spices while doing nothing with them for all that time.”
“Also stealing artifacts for funsies. Don’t forget that.” Debra pointed out.
“Yeah, that, too.” Gwen nodded, then turned to Peter, “What’d you get for your classes?”
“Oh! Uh…” Peter said, patting his pockets, then pulling his backpack off his back and digging through looking for his class schedule.
“You left it in your other binder, didn’t you?” Debra asked, remembering well their freshman year where Peter had done just that.
“N-No!” Peter denied for a moment longer as he frantically searched, and then resigned himself to the reality he had found himself in. “...yes.” He muttered as low as he dared to. Debra and Gwen both giggled, but Debra was there to provide a solution, namely a copy of her own that she’d printed. “Thanks, Deb!”
“Don’t mention it, Peter.” Debra said, smiling and warmly patronizing him with a tap on the nose. The bell rang and the doors opened, students beginning to head into the building. “Ah, that’s our cue! Let’s do it!”
“Hey, Parker!” A voice that made Peter audibly groan broke through the chaos. Peter took a deep breath and then turned on the spot to see Flash Thompson himself no more than thirty feet away from him, approaching at a regular pace. At the very least he wouldn’t have to dodge a strike to the back of his head… again. The star player on Midtown’s own football team, Eugene “Flash” Thompson looked like a grown man with his six foot three form and his body made of around three hundred pounds of muscle. Six months ago, Peter was heavily intimidated by his peer. Nowadays, less so, though he still had to go through the motions of being so.
“Hi, Flash!” Peter said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I don’t suppose this is you starting a ‘new year, new me’ thing, is it?”
“I still owe you for stuffing my locker with baking soda just before summer break, you creep!” Flash snapped at him. Peter resisted the urge to grin as he thought of that, getting into a taxi just as Flash came out of Midtown, covered in suds upon suds of the stuff that he’d set up to mix with vinegar the second it had left his locker. To hear Gwen and Debra tell it, it had flooded up most of the hallway and had taken all summer to clean out.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Flash.” Peter said. Of course, no one could prove that he had done anything, not that they would have at any rate. Flash was popular, but his popularity only went so far. Not a few people in Midtown, rather like himself, weren’t exactly hot on Flash.
“Yeah, well, you don’t have your buddy here this year, and tweedle-dee and tweedle-doe here aren’t gonna be helping you out.” Flash said, gesturing to Gwen and Debra, both of whom he easily towered over.
“Well, it’s nice that he acknowledged us this time.” Gwen remarked dryly.
“I guess that counts as ‘new year, new me’ for him?” Debra asked rhetorically.
“I’m sorry, my buddy?” Peter asked, as if he didn’t know the answer to the question.
“Yeah, your buddy. He got kicked out. So he’s-”
“Right here, actually, Eugene.” Peter had only baited Flash into that because he had seen who was coming up behind the football player. Many students at Midtown didn’t like Flash, and he shared that sentiment.
However, there was only one student that he feared and that was Eddie Brock.
Eddie was one inch taller than Flash and was likewise heavily muscled. He was three years older as well, having been held back in eighth and then tenth grade. At nineteen, it seemed that Eddie was indeed still here and was giving the most delighted grin Flash’s way, like the cat who had just captured the canary in its paws.
“B-But… but you… you’re supposed to-!” Flash stammered through his words, immediately forgetting Peter after turning around to find Eddie behind him.
“Be gone? Yeah, I know.” Eddie said. “Funny thing, though. I apparently was missing two credits, and they’re both for two semester classes. Guess you have me for another year!” His grin widened. “Now, what were you saying about ol’ Pete here not having his buddy?” The gathered crowd of students that had been entering the building had stopped doing so by now, eager to watch what they were sure was to be the first fight of the year. Some of those that had already entered doubled back to watch the festivities.
“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” A low, even voice broke through the tension in the small quad. The man who it belonged to didn’t look like much at first. He was several inches shorter than either Flash or Eddie, dressed in a simple gray suit jacket and slacks. His balding head was home to a pair of eyes that seemed to be meticulously cataloging everything around him as his face seemed forever twisted in mild disapproval - not so much angry as it was disappointed in advance.
“No, Principal Coulson.” Flash and Eddie both said in unison, which got a few groans and moans from the students. A look from the principal was more than they needed to send them on their way to get on with the day’s activities. Coulson looked to the two boys that had been looking like they were ready to scrape.
“Then I suggest the pair of you get to class. The day has just started.” He said, turning his gaze to Gwen, Debra, and Peter. “Miss Stacy, Miss Whitman, Mr. Parker, I suggest you all do the same.” He glanced at Peter. “And next time, Mr. Parker, be sure to have your schedule with you. Miss Whitman is not your secretary.”
“Umm… yes, sir.” Peter said. With that, Coulson seemed satisfied and headed back into the school. Peter glanced at Gwen and Debra with a look of confusion, to which both of them responded with shrugs. Coulson, it seemed, had been watching for quite a bit longer than he had let on.
******
“So, did you guys get your internship assignments?” Debra asked as she clipped the badge with “ESU: Science Intern” printed on it under a blank square where a photo should be on the lapel of her lab coat.
“We got Doctor Connors,” Peter said, clipping his own badge in a similar manner, “cross species genetics.”
“He’s supposed to be really hardcore.” Gwen said. “Who’d you get, Deb?”
“Doctor Morbius,” Debra said proudly, “does a lot of work in hematology in the biochemistry division. I’ll be right down the hall.”
“Wait, Morbius? You mean Michael Morbius?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, you know him?”
“Do I know him? I read his latest paper on synthetic hemoglobin!” Peter said. “The guy’s a literal genius!”
“Doctor Connors isn’t exactly a slouch either, Peter.” Gwen reminded him.
“Well, no, but I think working to develop synthetic blood for disaster victims or people with blood diseases is really neat.” Peter said. “It helps a lot of people.”
“Oh, don’t give us a Doctor Harrington speech again.” Debra groaned.
“I think trying to help people regenerate limbs and digits lost in injuries or having lost them to disease is pretty admirable, too.” Gwen said.
“Good point, Gwen.” Peter said, checking his watch. “Oops! It’s almost four, we better get moving.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you guys later.” Debra said, waving as she headed down the hallway and through a door, which closed behind her.
“She does know that that’s an exterior exit, right?” Gwen asked.
“I don’t think she does, no.” Peter said.
******
“-trial batch of mutagenic retrovirus proteins are holding under simulated conditions and in preliminary amphibian tests,” Curt Connors was a man in his 40s, clean cut with his left sleeve pinned to his shoulder. His bespectacled eyes gazed down at the tape recorder in his hand that he was speaking into. “However, human compatibility modules remain… inconclusive. I am recommending that we delay human trials for at least another six months. End log.” He pressed the record button again and set the recorder down onto the table, pinching the bridge of his nose and heaving a deep sigh.
“Inspiring words, Doctor, but I’m afraid Mr. Osborn grows more impatient.” Curt sighed deeply as he turned in his chair, seeing the man dressed in a navy suit and having quite the widow’s peak. The man was a whole head shorter than Curt was, but would have walked as though he were a giant anyway. He always did walk into the room like that, save for the few times he’d actually seen him with Norman Osborn.
“Reisman,” Curt said, more as an acknowledgment of him being in the room than it being a greeting.
“You were supposed to have the preliminary human metrics last week,” Reisman, all business, continued on regardless, “so why the delay?”
“It isn’t ready,” Curt intoned. “I thought that it would be, but neural integration is ironically enough not an exact science.”
“That sounds like an excuse to me, Connors.” Reisman said.
“Will Mr. Osborn be satisfied with an inferior product?” Curt raised a brow in the man’s direction. “The gap from reptilian to human DNA isn’t exactly a stroll through the park, Reisman. If all the dominos don’t fall at the same time and the genome doesn’t stabilize, all that Norman will have on his hands is either nothing or a very expensive mineral soup.”
“He’s not asking for perfection,” Reisman replied sharply, “just results.” Curt stared at the man blankly, wondering how he could possibly be serious. The entire experiment was to create this particular formula for civilian and military application. If it weren’t perfect, then Oscorp would be facing the lawsuit to end all lawsuits over it, and even Norman wouldn’t be able to dodge that. “You have two weeks, Doctor Connors, or we will pull your funding.” He rapped his knuckles on Connors’ desk before turning and leaving the office. Once the man had left, Curt gave a huff of frustration and swung his arm wide, knocking his desk lamp to the floor with a loud crash. In that same instant, his phone rang. He picked up the receiver.
“Connors!” He said, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.
“Doctor Connors, your interns from Midtown are here.” The voice of his secretary came through the receiver.
“I… right, yes, of course.” Curt said, resting the receiver against his head and shoulder as he reached up to take off his glasses and slip them into the breast pocket of his coat. “Send them to Lab Two, I’ll meet them there.” He hung up without another word and took a deep breath. It had been a long day, and it seemed it was only going to get longer still.
******
“Um, sorry… is this the right place?” Gwen Stacy asked when the man she knew to be Curt Connors entered Lab Two, as they had been sent to.
“This is indeed the right place, yes.” Curt Connors approached the pair of Midtown students. “You must be Gwen Stacy… and Peter Parker, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Peter said, offering his hand. Connors shook it, then shook Gwen’s as well. “I just want to say, it’s an honor, Doctor Connors. I’ve read all your papers. Your work on radial regeneration with iPSCs is absolutely amazing to read about.”
“Laying it on a little thick, Peter.” Gwen muttered to him, nudging his side. Connors, on the other hand, seemed impressed.
“Most… interns haven’t even heard of me, much less read my work.” Curt said.
“I especially loved your take on epigenetic trigger theory,” Peter added in, “the stuff is like CRISPR modulation, but cranked up to eleven!”
“Sorry, Doc, this is what he does when he’s star-struck.” Gwen said. “I have also read your work, though I don’t think I’m as close to starting a religion over it as Peter seems to be.”
“Ah!” Curt said. “Well, Mr. Parker, you are right. CRISPR gave us tools, but a tool is only useful in the hands of careful scientists. It’s through our methods that we learn what boundaries there are to test, if indeed there are any boundaries at all. That’s science for you - reaching out to the universe and hoping that the hand that you pull back is still human.” That last sentence got awkward looks from both Peter and Gwen.
“Metaphorically speaking, of course.” He gestured to his pinned sleeve. “Industrial accident some years ago. Unfortunately, a limitation and admittedly a bit of motivation on my part.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked.
“Well, let me show you a little of what I’ve been working on.” Curt said, gesturing with his one hand for the pair to follow him, bringing them past several centrifuges, incubators, and other equipment to a tall glass habitat with a biometric lock holding the only door in and out of it fast. Within the enclosure, spread out near what appeared to be a heat source, was a lizard that was two feet long. Its body had an off-green sheen about it with some vestigial plates running along its spine. “What do you make of that?” He asked the two interns.
“It’s a monitor lizard, isn’t it?” Gwen asked.
“Part of it is, definitely.” Curt nodded. “That right there is Specimen Nine, the ninth in a series of a hybridized genome.”
“Wait, does that mean-?” Peter asked.
“Yes, Mr. Parker,” Curt nodded, giving the younger man a smile, “I have altered the DNA sequences of this lizard to take on some qualities of other reptiles besides just the monitor lizard.” The lizard twitched a bit, rolling so that its back was to the three humans. Peter and Gwen could see its tail properly now, but now saw that it was a few shades off from the rest of its body and a bit too thick for said body. A bit too asymmetrical to not be noticed. “He lost his tail last month during a seizure episode. I’m sure you can’t tell.” Peter and Gwen were caught off-guard at that, laughing at the Doctor’s joke.
“Wait, so what happened to the tail?” Peter asked, once the laughter had died down. “I mean, most kinds of lizards can regenerate their tails, can’t they?”
“Not the monitor lizard,” Gwen shook her head, “not that it usually has a reason to do so anyway.”
“Correct, Miss Stacy.” Curt said. “But tell me, Mr. Parker, why do you bring that up exactly?”
“Well, the tail’s too thick for its body, isn’t it?” Peter asked, moving a finger through the air as though he were moving it along the length of the lizard’s tail. “Like the regeneration was a little overzealous.”
“Very good, Mr. Parker, yes.” Curt nodded. “The regeneration is much faster than that of even the lizards that can regenerate their lost tails, but it’s very unstable. This one responded a bit better than his brothers did; longer lifespan, stronger musculature all around, and increased neural-activity.”
“Like a human?” Gwen asked.
“No, no!” Curt shook his head. “Not anything so complex, at least not yet.”
“That’s still really amazing though, Doc.” Peter said, looking at the languid lizard.
“Oh, absolutely, Mr. Parker.”
“And a little scary.”
“Oh, most certainly so!” Connors said, clapping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “That’s science for you, Mr. Parker. When you start pushing beyond the boundaries, it always looks like magic.” He grinned as Peter turned to him, and he could see the brightness of wonder shining in the young man’s eyes. “Are you ready to make some magic with me?” He looked at Gwen as well. “Both of you?”
There was no way that Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy would say anything other than, “Yes!”