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***
It would be the understatement of the century if Peter said he wasn't lost after his fight against the Green Goblin. And, being honest with himself, it hadn't started that night. It had been going on for months, since the moment he became Spider-Man.
Damn it, he had lost Eddie. Eddie Brock. His brother in everything but blood, the guy who had stood by him in his worst moments, sharing dreams of a better future. Eddie, who knew Peter better than almost anyone in the world. Eddie, who was now locked up in Ravencroft, in a cold cell, paying for choices that weren't entirely his.
Peter still hadn't gone to visit him. Not even once.
The guilt weighed like lead every time he thought about it. Yes, Eddie had crossed the line. Yes, Eddie had put his identity at risk and threatened Aunt May and Gwen. But that had been the symbiote — that disgusting alien goo that fed on his anger, twisting his thoughts and amplifying every hurt until it turned into a destructive obsession.
And Eddie's anger… it was justified. He had legitimate reasons to be furious. After all, it was because of Peter's actions that Eddie lost his job at ESU and, by extension, college, stripping away the prospects and the future he had fought so hard to build.
What a great "bro" Peter was, huh?...
There was also Liz Allan, his first girlfriend. Peter had always been impulsive, but breaking up with her in the middle of the cafeteria? In front of everyone? Right after she had seen her brother get arrested again, reliving a trauma?
He had outdone himself.
There was no other word for it. He had outdone himself in the art of being insensitive, of choosing the worst possible moment, of turning an already painful situation into something completely devastating. Peter obviously wanted to be with Gwen as soon as possible, but couldn't he at least have waited until Liz was in a better place? The way Gwen herself was doing now with Harry?
Liz didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve anything he did — or failed to do. She didn't deserve the late dates (when they happened). She didn't deserve the last-minute cancellations (when he simply didn't show up). She didn't deserve spending Valentine's Day alone while he was too busy drooling over Gwen right in front of her, as if Liz were invisible.
If there were a "Worst Boyfriend in the Country" contest — or in the world, since it was good to think big — the prize would undoubtedly be his. Complete with sash, trophy, and speech.
Those were just two examples of people he loved and deeply hurt. But the list was longer. Much longer. Like the Connors, who had now been forced to leave the city after several crises in the lab they ran, many of them directly caused by Peter.
And why?
Because he was trying to balance two lives. Because he wanted to keep being a normal teenager. Because he wanted to go to parties, have a girlfriend, build friendships, live the "best years of his life" like everyone said, in the best way possible.
Peter told himself he could keep things separate, that he just needed to organize his time better, lie a little more, improvise a better excuse. But there was only one truth: there couldn't be two lives. There was one, chaotic, hastily stitched together, where every thread pulled on one side tore the other.
And by trying to be just a normal teenager, he brought the people he loved closer to the eye of a hurricane. Dating Peter Parker meant being pushed aside because the city spoke louder. Being friends with Peter Parker meant being one step away from being used as bait by psychopaths. Trusting Peter Parker was accepting that, at some point, you would be disappointed.
Maybe that had been one of his biggest mistakes from the beginning: believing he could keep being Peter the same way. That he could maintain bonds, keep promises, nurture romances, and still run across rooftops as if the world wouldn't collapse on whoever stood beside him.
Because it always did.
And in the end, it didn't matter how much he fought, how much he got beaten, how much he saved — the people he loved were the ones who paid the price.
But now, after hearing Sister Anne's advice, Peter believed he had found an answer to this whole dilemma.
***
[8 days later]
Peter swung between the buildings at high speed, turning the city into a blur of lights while the night wind crashed hard against his suit. The sensation was liberating, even comforting — the rhythm, the swing, the freedom of moving between skyscrapers as if the air were his natural element. He knew every angle, every push, the exact moment to release the web to gain more speed or shift direction abruptly.
But unlike the last few times — when swinging brought only a temporary relief to his almost constant anxiety, serving as an escape from the thoughts that tormented him during the day — now there was something different in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.
Excitement.
He was excited. Truly excited, in the kind of way that made his heart beat faster and a genuine smile form beneath the mask.
It was the excitement of someone who had discovered something extraordinary about himself.
All thanks to the fight he had just had with Kraven. Well, it wasn't exactly a fight.
The word "fight" implied some kind of equivalence, a minimal level of exchange, a moment when both sides truly faced each other under even remotely equal conditions.
What happened on that rooftop was none of that. There was no battle, no real confrontation, not even a flicker of uncertainty about the outcome. It was a pure, simple, and absolute demonstration of superiority.
Peter had been completely in control throughout the entire "encounter" — from the first seconds to the final minute — displaying such an absurd difference in strength that it all lasted less than two minutes.
Less than two minutes.
Kraven, the great hunter, the man who crossed oceans and faced the most dangerous beasts on the planet to prove his superiority — reduced to just another man in under one hundred and twenty seconds.
And with the ease with which he dominated one of his most persistent supervillains, Peter understood a fundamental truth about himself: he had no idea how strong he truly was.
Funny, isn't it? But it was true. He had never tested himself—No, he had never allowed himself to test his limits. Peter had always fought holding back, restraining every punch and kick. Throughout all those months facing villains, taking hits, being thrown against walls — he always struck back with the same controlled, measured, safe force. As if there were an invisible ceiling he could never surpass. A self-imposed limit he had never thought to question.
Why? Simple, fear.
Peter was afraid. Very afraid, in fact. I mean, how easy would it be for him to break a bone? Crush a skull? Punch straight through a chest? The answer was: extremely easy. Terrifyingly easy. As macabre as the thought was, he needed to acknowledge his own capacity for destruction.
So the best way to prevent a catastrophic mistake like that from happening was to limit himself as much as possible. To create invisible reins for himself, always fighting with clenched fists, but never truly unleashing them.
But now things had changed.
Not completely, of course. He wasn't going to go around throwing full-force punches at ordinary muggers. But against biologically modified humans, as he had told Kraven, the situation was different. Those people were different. They had enhanced endurance, superhuman strength, regenerative abilities, or at least durability far beyond normal.
Rhino was literally a war tank. Electro was pure electricity. Hammerhead had a head harder than steel. Even Norman Osborn himself was more resilient than any normal human being.
So why did Peter keep fighting them while holding back? What if he stopped?
The implication of that was immense. All those fights that lasted for hours, all those moments when he was on the brink of death, all those times the Sinister Six almost defeated him — everything could have been different.
But to reach that point, Peter knew brute force alone wouldn't be enough. He needed training. Technique. An understanding of his own body.
Because of that, he delayed the return of Spider-Man, focusing his attention over the past few days entirely on finding a dojo he could afford the lessons and on reading fighting manuals he borrowed from the library. Boxing manuals, Muay Thai guides, jiu-jitsu handbooks. Articles about impact angles, force distribution, and pressure points.
For the first time in his life, Peter was learning how to fight. Obviously, that wouldn't turn him into the next incarnation of Bruce Lee. But knowing the basics of how those techniques worked and having even a minimal sense of how to move his body was a thousand times better than just relying on his powers.
Dodge, web, punch, repeat. It had worked so far, but it was primitive. And stopping to think about it now, Peter understood that what he had been doing was like being given a supercar and driving it only in first gear because he had never learned how to shift.
Now he was learning how to shift, and the fight with Kraven had been the first practical test of that new knowledge.
Needless to say, the result had been more than satisfactory.
'If I had done this from the beginning, how many fights would have been easier?' Peter thought, swinging in a wide arc over a building. 'How many people would have gotten hurt less? How many times would I have made it home in time not to scare May?'
He knew the answer to all those questions.
CRASH!
The sound of shattering glass made Peter adjust his trajectory in one fluid motion, firing a web in the opposite direction to make the turn and gain speed.
Seconds later, he was in front of a small electronics store on the ground floor of a building. The display window was destroyed, shards of glass scattered across the sidewalk. Inside, three figures moved quickly, stuffing tablets, smartphones, and laptops into large backpacks.
Peter moved closer to get a better look, landing silently outside. They were three men. One was dark-haired and big, clearly the designated muscle — he must have weighed around two hundred pounds of pure fat. The second was skinny, jittery, with eyes that never stopped darting around. The third, apparently the leader, was older, gray-haired, with a scar on his eyebrow that gave him an air of experience.
Three normal criminals.
Peter smiled beneath the mask. It seemed like the perfect moment to test his new web-shooters.
***
Disclaimer: This story and its characters belong to Sony Pictures and Marvel Comics (Disney). This is merely a fanfiction written by a fan, with no intention of infringement.