Peter POVThere were things you expected to happen in a day. Maybe you overslept. Maybe Midtown served meatloaf that was legally distinct from meat. Maybe Flash Thompson shoulder-checked you into a locker because that's just the circle of life.
What you didn't expect? Getting bit by something the CDC probably had on a watchlist, and then getting news that your uncle—your rock—just got put in a wheelchair forever.
Peter Parker had always imagined his life would get more complicated someday. College. Maybe a mortgage. Fending off credit card scams. Not this. Not now. And certainly not like this.
It had started so simple.
Midtown High had arranged a field trip to ESU, because nothing screams "safe educational experience" like Curtis Connor's lab. Peter had, of course, signed up instantly. Gwen had rolled her eyes and told him to try not to lick anything radioactive.
"Not a guarantee," he'd said with a smile, knowing she was grumpy because Ethan couldn't come.
He wished he'd taken her sarcasm more seriously.
The tour had gone as expected. Sterile halls, overly enthusiastic guides with that corporate glaze in their eyes, and a series of caged animals that looked equal parts sad and genetically modified. Somewhere along the line, Peter had noticed something off about the spiders.
One of the displays was missing. The guide stammered out something about "relocation for observation." Peter squinted.
And then, it happened. The bite. Quick. Barely a pinch. He thought it was a mosquito until he looked down and saw the thing crawling up his sleeve. Black with a red stripe. Sleek. Wrong.
He swatted it away, but the damage was done. A few minutes later, he was sweating through his school uniform, leaning against a wall, and trying to make sense of the nausea and heat spreading through his chest like a bad fever dream.
He didn't tell anyone. He just went home.
Ambulances weren't an option in this economy.
He got better, better than ever. He was no longer Puny Parker, the nerdy kid flash would stuff into a locker every other day, he now had powers he could barely understand.
And then, two weeks later, everything changed again.
Peter was coming back from the corner store when he heard the sirens. He picked up his pace, plastic bag bouncing against his wrist, chocolate milk and a pack of Oreos rattling inside. He saw the cop lights before he saw the crowd, and the crowd before he saw the stretcher.
Ben Parker wasn't dead.
But he looked like he wanted to be.
A carjacker had gone for their old sedan. Ben had seen it happen, stepped in without thinking.
The guy had a gun. He didn't fire it, he wasn't stupid. He hit Ben over the head and shoved him down. The old man fell hard, too hard. A sickening crack echoed off the pavement. Then, silence.
Peter didn't remember himself screaming, or crying, or anything else but the pit in his stomach.
The hospital was as sterile as Connor's lab but somehow more terrifying. Aunt May hadn't stopped crying since they arrived. Her eyes were red, puffy, like she'd been crying underwater for hours.
The doctors said it was spinal. L1 through L3. Complete paralysis from the waist down.
He'd never walk again. He'd need full-time care for the foreseeable future. Occupational therapy. Modified housing. Months of recovery just to learn how to sit in a chair without pain.
And insurance? Let's just say Blue Cross had crossed them off the moment they saw the deductible.
Peter sat beside the bed, holding Ben's hand like it was the last unbroken piece of his childhood. Ben squeezed back, even smiled through the morphine haze.
"I'll be okay, Pete," he said, voice weak but steady. "You'll see. Just... don't let this stop you. Promise me."
Peter had nodded.
He wanted to scream into a pillow. He wanted to find the guy who did this and twist him into modern art. He wanted to crawl into a hole and rot from the guilt of not having been there. And, most of all, he wanted to do something. Anything.
What was the point of having powers if he couldn't protect those cared about? He was too busy playing around, and now Uncle Ben was left like this…
He didn't get the chance. Not that night.
But the next morning, Ethan Cain showed up.
To most of Midtown High, Ethan was a bit of a weird case. Smart, intense, not exactly a social butterfly. Too fit for a nerd, too smart to be a jock.
He had that look in his eyes like he knew something you didn't, and he wasn't sure you'd survive learning it. He mostly kept to himself. But Peter knew him well enough.
They weren't best friends, not for years. But they talked. Enough to not be strangers.
Enough that when Ethan found Peter in the school's tech lab that morning, bags under his eyes, face pale, fingers trembling over a half-finished program, he didn't hesitate to speak.
"You look like someone ran you through a laundry press."
Peter didn't answer.
Ethan leaned on the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "I heard about your uncle."
"Yeah." Peter's jaw tightened.
"Sucks."
"Yeah."
A pause. Ethan was quiet for a beat too long. Then he dropped a thick envelope on the table with a solid thunk.
"What's this?" Peter blinked.
"Two grand." He said nonchalantly.
Darn.
"…For what?"
"I'm offering you a job."
"You serious?" Peter stared.
Ethan didn't blink, he just looked at him like he knew his entire life story, and a good portion of his future.
Gwen said it was cute, there was probably something wrong with her eyes.
"Dead serious. I've got a few projects I'm working on. Stuff with coding, logistics, data scraping, automation—you name it. You've got the brain, I've got the funding. Help me out, and I'll pay you well."
Peter opened the envelope. Real cash. Twenties and fifties. He could smell the ink.
"This is a lot for a high schooler."
"It's not charity," Ethan said, eyes locked on him. "I expect results. But I'm not a vulture, either. You do good work, you get paid good money."
"My aunt and uncle… they don't want me working during the school year." Peter hesitated, but the envelope felt heavy, and his wallet was very light.
"Understandable. But that was before they got dealt a US-sized hospital bill." Ethan said, subtle as a sledgehammer covered in C4.
The words cut, but not unfairly.
They needed the money.
"What kind of projects?" Peter swallowed.
"Right now? I need help organizing some machine learning tools. Automating data feeds. You'd be remote. Flexible hours. I'd send you the codebase, you'd build modules. Long-term? Who knows. Maybe we build something great. Maybe we make something big enough to shake the world."
"You sound like a tech villain." Peter half-laughed, his eyes still fixed on the stacks of green and all the things they could them for.
"Not a villain," Ethan said, smiling. "Just ambitious. You and me? We could change things. But more importantly, you need this."
Peter looked back down at the money. His fingers hovered over it, like it might burn him if he touched it wrong.
Two grand. That could cover some of the medication. Part of the therapy sessions. Groceries for a month. A new mattress for Uncle Ben's modified bed, maybe even a ramp.
And he was working for it, it was all just honest work.
Who knew when another opportunity like this would come? Never, that's when, his Parker luck would make sure of that.
"…Okay," he said finally. "I'll do it."
"Good man." Ethan nodded once.
There was a tension in the air, like Peter had just sold a small piece of his future and couldn't decide if it was worth it, it was stupid…
Ethan, for his part, just looked satisfied.
Later that night, as Peter coded through the fog of exhaustion, his fingers dancing with a strange new precision, he paused and looked at the screen.
Something had changed in him.
Not just the spider bite, though that, too, was growing louder by the day. Stronger. Stranger.
But the deal. The choice. He was now in Ethan Cain's orbit, a satellite pulled toward something powerful and distant, unsure of what waited on the other side.
For the first time, Peter Parker wasn't just a student.
He was an asset.
And assets always come with strings.
But it wouldn't stop him from doing what's right.
Because with Great Power comes Great Responsibility.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.