Aunt May, the Reluctant Face
Brendon hadn't expected Aunt May to become the face of Nirvana's humanitarian side, but that's how it turned out.
She was everywhere—standing at soup kitchens in Hell's Kitchen, checking blood pressure at FEAST pop-ups, organizing mobile tutoring squads into Queens public schools. Cameras found her because she was disarmingly normal. Not a genius teen or a millionaire or an engineer. Just a woman who cared.
"Don't look at me," she muttered the first time a reporter shoved a mic under her chin. "I'm just here to help."
But Brendon stood behind her, a steady hand at her shoulder. "Exactly. That's what they need to see."
And it worked. Nirvana wasn't some faceless tech venture. It was human.
Peter's Pride
Peter Parker watched from the sidelines, pride swelling in his chest. His aunt was making a difference. Brendon was making a difference. For once, Peter wasn't just scrambling to survive high school—he was standing at the beginning of something bigger.
One evening, after a volunteer shift at a Queens community shelter, Peter cornered Brendon near the tool depot.
"Can I pitch you something?"
Brendon glanced up from the holo-display on his wrist. "Go ahead."
Peter swallowed, nervous but determined. "Water purification. There are already designs out there, but I think we can do better. Maybe combine it with new composite materials for construction—lightweight, durable, cheap. Sort of like…" He hesitated, thinking of his secret experiments. "…like a polymer blend. Elastic, adhesive, but stable in water."
Brendon's eyes sharpened. "You've been thinking about this for a while."
"Yeah," Peter admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ned and MJ too. We could…make it a project. For Nirvana."
Brendon smiled faintly. "Write it up. I'll give you lab space."
Peter blinked. "Wait—you mean it?"
"Of course." Brendon's tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes softened. "You've got the spark, Peter. Don't waste it."
For the first time in months, Peter felt seen—not as May's boy or Midtown's awkward nerd, but as someone who could build.
Gwen and the Polymath
Meanwhile, Gwen Stacy found herself orbiting closer to Brendon each day.
She'd been assigned to help Alicia run lab schedules and manage grant requests, but curiosity got the better of her. One afternoon, she lingered near the biochemistry section, watching Brendon recalibrate a centrifuge.
"You know, that's not standard protocol," she said, tilting her head.
Brendon didn't look up. "Standard protocol wastes energy cycles. If you alter the feed rhythm, you cut degradation by twelve percent."
Gwen blinked. "How the hell do you know that?"
He finally glanced at her, expression calm. "Patterns. Once you see them, you can't unsee them."
What followed was an hour-long discussion spanning genetic therapy, alien protein chains (though Brendon couched his terms carefully), and the ethical implications of cross-species trials. Gwen kept testing him, pushing into obscure niches of her coursework.
Every time, he had an answer. Not a guess. Not arrogance. Just knowledge.
By the end, she was staring at him like he was a riddle she couldn't solve.
"You talk like…" she hesitated. "…like someone twice your age."
Brendon gave a small, secretive smile. "Maybe I just read too much."
Gwen didn't buy it, but she didn't press. Not yet.
Ripples of Hope
Within weeks, Nirvana's outreach programs were drawing praise across the city:
Homeless shelters reported record relief support.
Public schools received tutoring teams and upgraded supplies.
Hospitals leaned on Nirvana's volunteers for auxiliary care.
And always, Aunt May was there—reluctant, overwhelmed, but quietly proud.
One evening, as she walked past the courtyard filled with students sketching blueprints, she overheard Peter laughing with Ned and MJ, already deep into their purification project.
She smiled softly.
For all his mystery, Brendon King had given her nephew something no one else had: a place to belong.