Some time later:
I blinked awake and looked around. I was in a room with monitoring wires attached to my chest and a heart monitor humming beside me. I shifted carefully and pain moved through my entire body in a slow, comprehensive wave.
I was wearing my pants, but my shirt and jacket had been neatly folded and placed on a side table. My mask was gone. I reached up and touched my face — bare skin. Damn.
I looked out the window. I was very high up — maybe the fortieth or fiftieth floor, judging by the view. Not a hospital, then. If I'd woken up in a hospital it would have been game over — goodbye, Spider-Man; hello, SHIELD detention facility.
The sky was darkening. Around eight in the evening, I guessed. Had I been out for over an hour?
I got off the bed and winced as my body registered its objections. I was bruised all over. I didn't think anything was actually broken — my accelerated healing had probably dealt with the cracked ribs already — but I was going to feel every inch of this tomorrow.
"All I'm saying is we should at least hear the guy's story before we throw him out on the kerb!" I heard Johnny Storm's voice approaching from the hallway, followed by Reed and Sue.
"We're not throwing him out, Johnny, it's just—" Sue stopped as she turned and saw me upright. She smiled. "Ah. You're awake."
I nodded. "Guess I am."
"Dude! I didn't think you'd be up this soon!" Johnny cheered. "But ah — maybe you shouldn't be walking just yet."
"No, I'm fine. My body heals quickly," I said, starting to remove the monitoring wires and switching off the heart monitor. "So. I'm assuming you know who I am."
Reed nodded. "We do. Hello, Peter."
I winced. "Damn. There goes the secret identity."
"Hey, don't worry about it," Johnny said quickly. "We won't tell anyone. Right, guys?"
"Of course not. You helped us with Doom — it wouldn't be right to repay that by giving you up," Sue smiled.
"I still believe we should have called his aunt and uncle. They'll be worried," Reed said.
"Please don't," I said immediately. "I can manage them. They don't need to know about this part of my life." I grabbed my shirt and pulled it on. As I did, I noticed Susan Storm watching me with a faint smile. Teenage hormones, for the love of —
"So why did you just jump in like that?" Johnny asked. "I mean — don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. But why risk your life?"
I shrugged. "People were getting hurt. Someone had to do something. Honestly, I doubt this was even on Tony Stark's radar — he's probably halfway across the world dealing with something larger." I kept the latter part of that thought to myself.
"You swung in from Queens?" Reed asked, surprised.
"My uncle has a saying — with great power comes great responsibility." I zipped up my jacket and found my web shooters and phone tucked in the pockets. "I have the ability to save lives. Why wouldn't I use it?"
"Because—" Reed began, then stopped. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I honestly can't think of a good counterargument."
"Look at that. I've stumped Reed Richards," I chuckled, turning on my phone to find two missed calls from Uncle Ben.
I called back immediately. "Hey, Uncle Ben."
"Peter? Oh, thank God. Where are you, young man? Do you have any idea how worried your aunt was?"
"I'm — I'm so sorry. Marcus called me over last minute, he needed help with a chemistry exam tomorrow. I lost track of time. I'm really sorry."
"It's alright, Peter." Ben's voice was gentle but I could hear the edge underneath it. "But when you get back, we're going to have a serious conversation about this new habit of disappearing. I'm on my way."
I blinked and looked at the clock on my phone. Nine o'clock already. I sighed. "Yeah. Ah — Marcus's mum made pasta. Tell Aunt May I'm sorry I missed dinner." I spent a few more minutes making promises to be home early before hanging up.
"You are a very convincing liar," Reed observed, narrowing his eyes.
I nodded. "Not something I'm proud of."
"How long have you been Spider-Man?"
"About a month," I shrugged.
"Wait — seriously?" Johnny stared. "I literally had no idea you existed until today."
"Did you hear about the incident in Harlem? The Hulk?" I asked.
"Obviously. But what does that have to do with—" Johnny paused.
"You were there," Susan said quietly. "You helped the Hulk bring down Abomination. I saw footage — red hoodie, blue tracksuit."
I nodded. "Yeah. I've also been working mostly behind the scenes. Nothing headline-grabbing — breaking up street operations in Queens, being a general nuisance to the drug trade."
Reed looked thoughtful. Johnny looked impressed. Susan gave me a smile that momentarily made me wish I still had an adult's emotional self-control. Stupid teenager hormones.
"Hey, Peter," Johnny said, swinging an arm around my shoulders. "You hungry? Because I'm hungry."
Reed's stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, which made him chuckle. "Yes. I think that's probably sensible. Ben should have arrived back by now anyway."
"Lead the way!"
Johnny steered us out of the medical bay and down a hallway. I found myself in a clean, white corridor — we walked past room after room filled with equipment. I identified what I could: a quantum slicer, a gene sequencer, a compact cyclotron. And in one room—
"Is that a car battery?"
"Oh, that's mine," Johnny said. "That's my lab." He pointed to the room with the battery and a 3D printer and several sketched technical diagrams spread on the bench. "It's from the first engine I ever fixed. Kind of like my lucky charm, I guess."
"The Baxter Building was our father's project," Sue explained as we walked. "He believed that gathering the brightest minds under one roof would lead to discoveries beyond anything any one of them could produce alone. Everyone who works here gets their own lab and full funding for their projects. In return, anything they invent is co-owned by them and the Baxter Foundation."
I whistled softly. "That's genuinely impressive. Though I notice you're running pretty low on lab staff. Did they all go home after the man shooting lightning at buildings rolled by?"
"His name is Victor Von Doom," Reed said, and something in his voice shifted. "He is... was... my colleague."
"He worked here with us," Sue admitted. "Over the years the Baxter Building has gradually lost people. We have the funding — but researchers find better pay at OsCorp or Stark Industries. They can't afford to say no."
"So why exactly is he so angry at you?" I asked as the corridor opened out into an enormous common living space — a full kitchen, dining area, lounge with plush furniture, and a gaming corner with bean bags in the corner.
"He's just pissed because Reed's better than him," came a rough voice from the direction of the couch. Ben Grimm was sprawled across a reinforced sofa with an extra-large newspaper, somehow making it look natural. "Always has been. Always will be."
"Peter, this is Ben Grimm," Reed said in a careful, gentle tone. "You don't need to be alarmed—"
"Yeah, I figured," I shrugged. "He tried to stop the city from being electrocuted rather than joining in. That's usually a good sign."
Ben let out a deep, rolling laugh and folded his newspaper. "I like this kid. So — I hear you're some kind of superhero?"
"Trying to be," I nodded.
"I'd say you're getting there," Johnny said, switching on the TV. "The news is already talking about you."
The screen showed the coverage from the battle. A reporter stood on Madison Avenue, cracked asphalt and scorched buildings behind her.
"Police have yet to identify the red-jacket-wearing hero, though some witnesses claim this is the same individual who intervened during the Hulk incident in Harlem a month ago. Many have begun referring to him as 'Spider-Man', after the logo painted on his jacket. His identity and motives remain unknown. We asked several New Yorkers for their thoughts."
A montage of street interviews followed.
"I don't know, but I think he's here to help. He went down pretty fast though, so I'm a little worried for him," admitted one man with a concerned expression.
"Heroes are overrated," a woman declared flatly. "We don't need them here. Every time one shows up, the villains follow."
"He's a hero," said an older man in a camouflage jacket. "I respect that he just jumped in without hesitating. Reckless — but the right instinct."
"He looks cool," said a small boy with complete confidence.
Opinion after opinion. Some praised me. Some called me an unwanted variable, a liability, a disaster waiting to happen. A few called me brave. I felt heat in my face despite myself.
Reed crossed his arms. "They have a point, you know. You are inexperienced. You were reckless — you jumped into the middle of a battle without a plan."
"He was trying to help, Reed — cut him some slack," Sue said sharply.
Reed backed down immediately. "S-sorry. Fair point."
Sue turned back to me and smiled. "Don't worry about it, Peter. These things take time. Heck — we're not even officially superheroes and people are apparently calling us a team now. What was that name they came up with?"
"The Fantastic Four, sis," Johnny grinned. "And I think it's a great name."
"Ha!" Ben snorted. "Hate to break it to you, kid — but we ain't heroes."
"Actually, Ben — you kind of are," I said. Everyone looked at me. "This was your first public appearance. From here on out, people are going to look at you and expect things. The city is going to expect you to show up. That's not something you can un-ring."
"Is that why you stayed behind the scenes so long?" Reed asked.
"Partly," I said — half a lie, but close enough. "It's easier to work in the shadows than to be publicly known and have that weight placed on you."
"That's... surprisingly sensible," Susan said, looking slightly anxious. "Well. At the very least, the Baxter Building is getting free press out of this. Maybe we can finally attract some new researchers."
I smiled. "Yeah. I don't think you'll have trouble on that front anymore."
"Perhaps people will think we're a team of five now," Reed mused with a chuckle. "I don't suppose they know we're not associated."
"Might want to clarify that with a press statement," I suggested, and then looked at the TV screen. "Hang on — why aren't there reporters surrounding this building right now?"
"After you passed out, Sue turned you invisible and brought you here," Reed explained. "Don't worry, Peter. You're perfectly safe."
I exhaled. "Thanks, Sue. I owe you one."
Susan waved it off. "Forget it."
"Can we please get something to eat?" Ben grumbled. "Long day."
"Yes — absolutely," Reed agreed, heading for the kitchen.
"Well, that's my cue to leave," I said.
"Wait," Susan said. "Didn't you just tell your uncle you'd already eaten? Are you really going home without dinner?"
I blinked. "You are terrifyingly observant."
"Yeah, she is," Johnny grumbled, though fondly. "Seriously, man — stay."
I shrugged. "Well. Only if it's no trouble."
"Trust me, kid," Ben said, "you'll probably be the most normal person in this room. Not a high bar, but there it is."
I chuckled. "Don't count on it."
"So what happened to Doom?" I asked, settling back into a chair.
Ben sighed. "We got him into the East River, right on plan. Electrocuted himself trying to maintain power output underwater. He went unconscious. And then — instead of going to holding — he walked."
I blinked. "What? Why?"
"He's technically the sovereign ruler of Latveria," Reed said, his jaw tight. "Diplomatic immunity. He walked out scot-free."
"Damn," I said quietly. "That's frustrating."
"So what's for dinner?" Johnny asked, rubbing his palms together.
"We have—" Sue opened the fridge and bent down to check the bottom shelf. I will not acknowledge the direction my eyes went in. Johnny's hand came down on the back of my head.
"Eyes front," he said flatly.
"Yeah, fine," I muttered.
"Pizza!" Sue announced, straightening up with five boxes of frozen pizza. "Johnny — would you do the honours?"
"With pleasure, sis!" Johnny took each pizza, held it flat in one hand, and passed a careful flame across the top — hissing out the frost and leaving behind a perfectly crisped, steaming pizza.
We grabbed plates and settled around the dining table. Ben sat in his reinforced chair. And as we ate, I told them my story — some of it, anyway.
"So a spider bite gave you your powers?" Johnny said, staring at me. "That's insane."
"It wasn't an ordinary spider," I shrugged. "It was genetically modified and irradiated. The resulting venom was able to rewrite portions of my DNA at a cellular level."
"How do you even know that?" Reed asked.
"You must have seen my report card when you searched me — what did it say?"
Reed nodded. "Above average. Exceptional in fields that interest you."
"So you're smart," Ben said.
"I'm no Sue Storm or Reed Richards. But I hold my own," I said. "Anyway — the spider bite gave me enhanced strength, speed, agility, and a sort of danger-sense. The web-slinging is separate." I held up my wrist and showed them the shooter. "I designed and built these myself. The web formula is a polymer compound that hardens on contact with air. Different pressure settings give different grades of webbing."
"You invented those yourself?" Reed asked, genuinely surprised. "All by yourself?"
I shrugged. "Either that or a grappling hook. And trust me — I can do about half a dozen times more with webs than I could ever do with a hook and a length of rope."
"Peter, that is seriously impressive," Johnny said. "I'm something of an inventor myself, so I know how hard it is to pull off something like that."
"Don't call me kid — we're basically the same age," I said.
"You're an inventor?" Susan raised an eyebrow at her brother. "The only thing you've invented is a hair product that doesn't combust when you go full flame."
"Hey! Don't dismiss that! Tens of thousands of firefighters across the country would kill for heat-resistant hair gel!"
"Or you could just use it to grease engine parts."
"It is not a substitute for engine lubricant!"
"It looks like one."
"Because — you little—" Johnny punched Ben's enormous arm and immediately cradled his hand. "I hate you!"
I laughed — genuinely laughed — at the three of them. This was why they worked so well together. They weren't a team. They were family.
We cleaned up the plates together after dinner. I was at the sink with Sue, and Johnny was stationed nearby doing absolutely nothing useful except monitoring where my eyes went. I was very careful where my eyes went.
When we settled back into the lounge, Susan looked at me for a long moment and then said: "Peter, how would you like a job here?"
I blinked. "I'm sorry — what?"
Susan smiled. "I'm serious. I've read your test scores, heard what you've told us about your inventions, and watched you improvise a structural solution to a plasma-powered supervillain using a ventilation duct. The Baxter Building is exactly the kind of place for someone like you." She leaned forward. "You'd have your own lab, full funding for your projects, and co-ownership of anything you develop. You make your own hours. And if you ever need an alibi while you're out as Spider-Man—"
"—You can tell people you were here working late," Reed continued. "It's entirely plausible."
"Yes! And we can team up!" Johnny beamed. "The Fantastic Four and Spider-Man, together!"
I looked around at all of them. Johnny was barely hiding his excitement. Sue looked confident, warm. Reed smiled. Ben's expression, as always, was almost impossible to read beneath the stone, but there was something in the set of his shoulders that looked like a smirk.
"I'd be honoured," I said at last. "I genuinely needed a job — both for the income and for the cover. This would solve about four problems at once."
"Excellent. Welcome to the Baxter Foundation, Peter." Sue stood up and we shook hands formally. "I'll start the paperwork. Now — you should get home. It's late and your family must be concerned."
My eyes went to the clock. Ten o'clock. "Oh hell—" I jumped over the back of the couch, pulled on my mask, and tucked my web shooters into place. "It was absolutely brilliant meeting you all. I'll be here first thing tomorrow—" I bolted for the window and was gone before anyone could respond, swinging out across the New York skyline.
In the living room, Susan smiled. "I like him."
"Yeah, you do," Johnny teased, grinning. "And judging by the effort he was putting into not looking at you — he likes you too."
"Johnny!"
"Going to bed. Night," Ben announced, and left.
"Same," Reed said, following without fanfare. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you all tomorrow."
After Reed left, Johnny turned to Sue with a knowing look. "Think he's jealous?"
Sue frowned. "What? Who? Reed? Why would he be jealous?"
Johnny stared at her. "You know, sis, for someone as smart as you are, you can be remarkably oblivious sometimes."
---
I got back home, changed into civilian clothes in record time, and came upstairs to face the music. Surprise, surprise — it was lecture o'clock. May and Ben went at it for the better part of forty-five minutes, with maybe five minutes of calm somewhere in the middle.
"So," Aunt May said at last, finally winding down, "what do you have to say for yourself, Peter?"
I looked her straight in the eyes and, without blinking, replied: "I got a job."
They both went perfectly still. They looked at each other. They looked at me.
"...What?" Uncle Ben asked.
"Okay — full honesty. The thing about Marcus was a lie. I actually went to Madison Avenue because I heard the Fantastic Four were fighting Doom and I wanted to see it." I held up a hand to forestall the inevitable second wave. "I kept a safe distance, I swear. I helped clean up after the fight was over. Johnny Storm spotted me, we got talking, then his sister came over and invited me up to the Baxter Building. I spent the evening up there trying to impress them enough to land a job. Apparently it worked."
Ben was the first to speak. "That's incredible, Peter. I'm so proud of you." He pulled me into a tight hug. I winced at my bruised ribs but clamped my mouth shut. Can't exactly explain that.
"Peter, you didn't need to do this," May said, voice soft. "We're managing. You should be focused on school and your life, not—"
"That's just it, Aunt May. This is my life. It's not just a job — I'll be inventing things for a living. I'll co-own everything I develop. I'll have my own lab. And the Fantastic Four's facilities are extraordinary."
She looked like she was going to push back, but Ben stopped her gently. "May. He's old enough to work, and he found something that fits him perfectly. Yes — the way he went about telling us wasn't ideal, and that we'll address. But his heart was in the right place. He's a good kid. We should be proud."
I smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Ben."
I knew we weren't quite finished — there would be more conversations, more arguments, more worry. One day, probably, they would ask me to stop. But at that moment, I was happy.
Spider-Man existed. I had a job, a family, and a life that was genuinely mine. I was finally starting to feel like Peter Parker was my name, not just the name on a school file.
Who knew — I might just end up being an amazing Spider-Man after all.
---
The next day at school I had a spring in my step. I had woken up early, and by the time I left for school I was already deep in planning mode — thinking through the projects I wanted to bring to the FF, the ideas I wanted to develop with their resources.
Though sadly, school came first. Despite having a real job now, Aunt May was absolutely immovable on the subject of education. Which, fine — she was right. I knew that.
So now I found myself reluctantly in first period English, restless and distracted. Harry kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I didn't know what that was about. I hoped Norman hadn't given him instructions to press the issue.
MJ and Liz were in the back gossiping with the rest of the popular crowd, same as every morning. Flash was asleep at his desk in the corner.
"Alright, class — settle down," the English teacher walked in. "Before we begin, I'd like to introduce a new student joining us today. She's coming in a little late in the term, so I'd ask you all to be welcoming. You can come in, Ms. Hardy."
My brain went completely blank and took every single thought I'd been formulating for the last twelve hours with it.
The door opened. A girl walked in with the kind of easy, unhurried grace that told you she couldn't care less what you thought of her. Her hair was silver-blonde — not platinum, not yellow, but silver — and fell to the small of her back. She wore blue jeans that fitted her like they had been specifically made for her, a loose white shirt, and a black leather jacket.
She glanced at the room with the expression of someone forced to attend something they found deeply beneath them. Then she said, very flatly: "Yo."
I blinked.
Well. I had genuinely forgotten she was enrolled here.
There we were.