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***
'Haaa… if regret could kill…' Peter let his head fall back for a second, the palm of his hand covering his eyes as he mentally went over every brilliant choice and decision that had brought him to that exact moment.
That whole thing about him not being even a little bit sorry for defending himself against Flash and Kenny? Yeah. He was rethinking that.
What was going on? Simple. After the bell rang, marking the end of first period and the start of the short break between classes, Peter casually went back to his locker as if nothing had happened… only to come face to face with the door dented inward, the metal bent, the lock misaligned, and a very clear imprint in the shape of a certain football player stamped right there.
Apparently, it had been a terrible idea to throw Kenny there.
Why the hell hadn't he thought of that at the time?
Peter stood in absolute silence for a few seconds, staring at the damage as if, by sheer willpower, the locker would unbend itself and go back to normal… It didn't work. 'Well, as long as it's functional, I guess I can live with it. It's not that ugly.' A lie. It was horrible. But admitting that meant admitting he had caused it out of sheer stupidity, and he was still in the denial phase.
He nodded to himself, convinced for about half a second that it wasn't a big problem before sighing and taking a step forward. Peter then dialed in combination into the lock, praying it still worked.
Click!
'Oh, I liked that sound.' He perked up at the click, but any trace of happiness vanished the moment he pulled the door and all he got in return was a dry creak of metal scraping against metal, a long, grating, painful sound to hear. 'Aaand, I did not like that sound at all.'
Peter tried to open it again, but the door didn't move.
He frowned, tilting his head to get a better look at the fit. The dent had misaligned the structure, probably jamming the door against the frame. Nothing a little force wouldn't fix.
Peter pulled the door harder.
CLANK!
"Oh..." He lowered his gaze to his hand.
The door simply came off… entirely.
He stood still for a moment, processing what had just happened. 'Honestly, I'm not even going to let this get to me,' Peter thought, staring flatly at the object that had once been his locker door.
"Wow, Peter!"
A familiar male voice exclaimed at his side, cutting through his thoughts. Peter slowly turned his head and came face to face with Harry, Mary Jane… and Gwen.
Great.
Perfect.
Exactly what was missing from that day.
"It's not what it looks like, you know." Peter commented, turning back and fitting the door back into place as best as he could. The result was a disaster: the door sat crooked, tilted, with one side sticking several inches out of alignment. "I'm just trying to—" He grimaced. "Improve the ventilation. It was really stuffy in there."
Harry laughed. "Putting Kenny against the locker wasn't such a good idea, huh?" he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked at the damage. For some reason, he seemed very entertained by the situation.
"It was the best idea I had all day," Peter replied, giving the door a pat. "The consequences just weren't very well thought out."
"Don't let that discourage you after that performance." MJ stepped closer with a smile that looked more like a predator who had just found interesting prey than anything else. "I didn't know you had all that in you, Tiger." She tilted her head, studying him. "Actually… I already suspected those pecs weren't there just to be admired." MJ added, poking his chest without any ceremony.
Peter let out a nervous chuckle. "You're going to make me blush like that— Ow!" He groaned and pulled his arm away when MJ suddenly pinched him. "Why did you do that?"
"That," she said, pointing at him with a serious look, "is for disappearing off the map. Do you know how many messages Gwen and I sent you? Because I do. It was a lot, and you didn't reply to a single one. We were worried, Peter," MJ explained before looking at Gwen, who hadn't said anything until then. "Right, Gwen?"
Peter followed her gaze and found Gwen staring intensely at him.
"Huh? Ah— y-yeah." Gwen seemed to snap out of a trance, her eyes darting sharply to the side. "I-if you were busy, you could've at least sent a 'hi'," she added in a low voice.
"Sorry," Peter said, bringing a hand to the back of his neck in an automatic gesture, his fingers tangling in his hair. "I've been… dealing with some important things." The excuse came out deliberately vague. "Speaking of that, how are you, Harry?"
"Getting better, little by little," Harry replied, lowering his gaze and losing his smile. "It's still... hard to think he's gone." He let out a heavy sigh. "But Gwen's been helping me a lot."
Peter felt his face freeze for a second. Just one second. Long enough for him to process the information, reorganize his thoughts, and push whatever was forming in his chest to the back of his mind, where it couldn't get in the way.
He was getting really good at doing that.
"Good for you," Peter said, a small smile appearing on his lips—not that nervous, awkward smile he used to wear when he didn't know what to say, but a controlled one. The kind of smile that didn't show anything behind it.
An awkward silence followed, which was quickly broken, thankfully, by MJ. "Look, we need to go, our next class is about to start. How about you grab your stuff from your locker and explain this whole change in your look on the way?" she said to Peter. "Because seriously, you just show up out of nowhere with a look like that and take down Flash and Kenny in the hallway? I think there's a lot of story there to tell."
"It's a long story," Peter said, pulling his locker door off and placing it on the floor so he could grab his book for the next class. "And kind of boring, to be honest. Maybe it's better to leave it for another time."
"Nothing you do is boring, Parker," MJ replied, and there was something in her tone that made Peter smile for real. "You can start telling us."
"Well, it all happened when I went to this dojo—"
***
[A few hours later]
The rest of the morning had been, to be completely honest, an exercise in endurance.
The classes went by in a blur of sideways glances and whispers that died the moment he turned his head—some students tried to play it off, pretending to look at the board or their phones, while others simply didn't bother hiding their curiosity.
It was as if he had grown a second pair of arms or something like that.
It was hard dealing with all that attention without his mask, and a bit embarrassing, but Peter managed to get through it and even thought he had gotten used to it. At least that's what he thought until he reached the cafeteria.
He sat in their usual corner, with MJ by his side and Harry and Gwen across from him. They had sat in that same arrangement many times before, the difference was that this time, it felt like the entire cafeteria was orbiting around their table. Half of the comments revolved around the fact that he had humiliated Flash and Kenny earlier, and the other half about... well, his appearance in general.
But Peter wasn't the only focus at their table.
There were conversations about Harry too. Yes, Harry, and the subject wasn't pleasant at all. From what little Peter managed to catch, the comments revolved mainly around Norman Osborn, and how Harry was to blame for the school losing the football championship trophy after playing the games under the influence of performance-enhancing drugs.
Fortunately, MJ completely took control of the table before any of them had to deal with it directly. Peter was genuinely grateful for that. She didn't leave him, Harry, or Gwen to fend for themselves in the minefield the cafeteria had become.
MJ kept talking nonstop, bringing up random topics, shifting subjects naturally, making jokes, teasing Harry, commenting on absurdly specific things she saw happening at other tables. Anything worked, as long as it kept the silence away for more than three seconds at a time.
And, to be fair, it worked — most of the time.
But even she couldn't completely stop the tension from settling between them. Because, between one sentence and another, there were always those small gaps, brief moments where no one said anything. And in those moments, the atmosphere grew heavy.
Peter and Gwen, for example, barely exchanged words. In fact, "barely" would still be generous.
They were short answers, monosyllables, comments thrown into the air without any clear direction. Nothing that could really be called a conversation. And even so, without speaking, her presence was impossible for him to ignore.
He could clearly feel, from time to time, her eyes settling on him, as if she were waiting for something or trying to say something.
And in some of those moments, she really looked like she was about to speak. Her lips parted slightly and she drew in a breath, but then she froze, looked away, and everything died right there, before it could truly exist.
Peter didn't make things any easier either, making no effort to start a conversation with her.
On top of that, at several moments throughout the classes and in the hallways between classes, he ran into Liz. And every single time, she turned her face away. Not in anger, nor with the contempt he might have deserved, but with a quickness that suggested she had very deliberately decided that what had happened in the janitor's closet hadn't happened. Or at least that it wouldn't be acknowledged in public.
Peter respected that. It hurt a little, but he respected it.
And there was the "jerk group" — as Peter liked to call Flash, Kenny, and the others athletes who made up the usual entourage.
He saw them in the hallway after the third class, gathered near the stairs. Peter prepared his automatic response for whatever might come. But nothing came. Flash looked at him with a strange expression — it wasn't anger or shame, it was something in between that Peter couldn't quite interpret — and looked away first. Kenny, who still had frosting stains on his ears, glared at Peter angrily, his mouth half open to say something, but Flash grabbed him by the arm, cutting him off.
That was… unexpected.
Peter didn't know whether he should feel relieved or on alert. In the end, he decided to be grateful. Apparently, Liz had kept her word and stopped any plans of revenge.
Even so, in the middle of all that confusion, looks, and strange silences, Peter managed to do something that truly mattered: he spoke to Professor Warren.
The conversation took place at the end of classes, when Peter found the teacher leaving the biology room with a stack of papers in his hands. Peter asked to speak with him for a minute, and Warren, still somewhat distracted, agreed with a quick nod before leading him a few steps to the side, moving them away from the constant flow of students crossing the hallway.
"Mr. Warren, I need to talk to you about the internship at ESU," Peter began, and immediately saw the man's expression shift from distracted to attentive.
Warren, unlike the other teachers, was a very sociable man outside the classroom. He made jokes during breaks, asked about weekends, remembered everyone's name. But when the subject was biology and academic potential, he turned into a different person — more intense and demanding, almost obsessive. Peter had already heard the man talk for twenty straight minutes about the importance of foundational research without repeating a single argument, all because someone had asked a simple yes-or-no question.
"What happened, Mister Parker?" Warren asked, slightly adjusting the stack of papers in his arms. "Your performance hasn't dropped, if that's what you're worried about. Your grades are still excellent."
"Thank you, Mr. Warren." Peter looked away for a moment, weighing his words. "But it's not about grades. It's about the internship. I... I want to leave."
A heavy silence followed.
"Sorry," Warren said after a moment. "I don't think I heard that correctly."
"I said I want to leave the internship, Mr. Warren."
Warren blinked a few times. "Leave," he repeated in a low voice. "You want to leave the internship that gives you access to one of the most important laboratories in the country? The same laboratory that undergraduate students dream of setting foot in?"
Put that way… it really did sound like a great loss for Peter Parker. But there were more important things to be done. "Yes, Mr. Warren."
"Do you have any idea what you're giving up, Mister Parker?" Warren's voice gained urgency. "Your future is in science! You have talent and a brilliant mind! Abandoning this internship could mean closing doors that may never open again."
"I know," Peter said firmly. "I know exactly what I'm leaving behind. But I have... other responsibilities right now. Things that require all of my attention."
Warren stared at him for a long moment, his eyes scanning Peter's face, searching for any doubt or uncertainty—any sign that this decision was a foolish teenage impulse. But all he saw was certainty. "Your aunt?" he asked, his voice softer now.
Peter deliberately hesitated for a second. "Yes. She needs my help at home." It was horrible to use May for that. But in his defense, it wasn't completely a lie. Leaving the internship would not only give him more time for the job—which meant more people being saved—but also give him more time to help May with whatever she needed.
To be there when she needed it.
Warren sighed, a sound that carried both disappointment and sadness. "I understand. Sometimes we are forced to give up important things to help those we love." He paused, his eyes still fixed on Peter. "But I hope you understand, Mister Parker, that this decision is wasting your potential."
"It isn't, Mr. Warren. I'm just postponing things. I'll be back. And when I come back, it won't be as an intern."
That drew a smile from Warren. "I hope so, Mister Parker. I'll let my brother know about your decision. He'll be quite disappointed, you know. He liked you. Said you had 'a scientist's hands.'"
'That strange man liked me? Creepy.' Peter didn't let anything show on his face — neither the relief that the conversation had gone much better than he had imagined, nor the chill that the memory of Warren's brother provoked. "I liked him too, Mr. Warren. He seemed like a very determined man."
"Oh, you can be sure he is," Warren said, his hand already in the pocket of his lab coat, probably reaching for his phone. "Well, I'll get going. I have an uncomfortable call ahead of me. Be careful on your way home, Mister Parker, this city has been very strange lately."
"Will do, Mr. Warren. See you tomorrow," Peter said as he turned and began to walk toward the exit.
"Ah, Mister Parker."
He had taken three steps when Warren's voice called out to him.
"Yes?" Peter turned back to him.
"Don't let this get to you. If I were in your place, I would have made the same choice."
***
'Okay, one less item on the list.'
Peter didn't waste any time.
As soon as he left school, making sure not to be seen by any of his friends who were probably still around, he turned the corner and slipped into the first alley he came across. His quick steps echoed against the brick walls as he shrugged off his backpack, his fingers already pulling his pullover up.
It was time to ditch the disguise and go back to being Spider-Man.
***
The first occurrence came quickly: a cat stuck in a tree
Classic.
A gray-haired lady stood on the sidewalk with her hands on her head, her eyes fixed high up in a tree where an obese orange cat clung desperately to a branch far too thin to support its weight.
Peter landed behind her without making a sound, bending his knees on impact, not wanting to scare her. "Good afternoon, ma'am. Can I help you?"
"Oh, yes please—" The lady said, relieved, but then she saw who was talking to her. The relief on her face evaporated as quickly as water on a hot pan. Her eyes widened, and with a reflex that certainly wasn't common for someone her age, she swung her purse toward Peter's head with a force that would make any mugger think twice before trying to rob her.
He dodged without difficulty, leaning his torso back. "Whoa there, ma'am, what's with all the violence? That's no way to treat someone who came to help."
"You're that criminal everyone's been talking about!" the lady exclaimed, taking two steps back and pointing her purse at him like it was a weapon. "I read the horrible things you've done!"
'I can only imagine what was written,' Peter thought, raising his hands to shoulder height in a calming gesture, fingers spread, palms visible — the universal stance of "I'm not a threat" that he was realizing he'd have to use a lot from now on. "Calm down, ma'am. I swear I just want to help. In less than a minute your cat will be back in your hands—"
"HELP! HELP! POLICE! HE WANTS TO KILL ME!" she started screaming in a shrill tone that could be heard from at least three blocks away, drawing the attention of the entire street.
'…are you serious?' Peter stared at the woman in silence, his head slightly tilted, wondering if he should laugh or cry at the scene she was making. A few onlookers were already starting to gather, drawn by the noise, and Peter spotted at least three cameras being raised in his direction.
He sighed. "You know, me asking if you needed help was just out of politeness. I would've saved the cat anyway." Without waiting for a response, he jumped into the tree.
Reaching the cat was as easy as taking a simple walk. The real problem was that the animal seemed to have read the same newspaper as its owner. The cat hissed, baring its teeth as soon as Peter got close, and tried to sink its claws into him every time he reached for it.
"Come on, Garfield's cousin," Peter murmured, trying to reach the back of the animal's neck. "Work with me. Don't you want to come down? Your owner's down there, waiting for you. I mean, I get it if you don't like her, but it's better than staying up here."
"HE'S TRYING TO STEAL MY CAT!"
'I should sue her,' he thought as his hand finally found the scruff of the cat's neck. The animal resisted for a moment, its paws flailing helplessly in the air, but as soon as Peter secured his grip without hurting it, the feline relaxed, letting out a low, resigned meow.
"See? That wasn't so hard," Peter whispered, jumping down from the tree. He landed in front of the lady, and before she could make a scene again, he was already extending the animal toward her.
The lady snatched the cat from his hands with a sharp motion, clutching it to her chest. "YOU—"
"Listen here, you irresponsible woman, I have two things to tell you." Peter cut her off, raising two fingers. "First: stop feeding this cat so much and put it on a diet. Can't you see how big it is? You're going to kill it like this! Obesity is no joke, ma'am. It's not cute or charming, it's a disease. It can cause diabetes, heart problems, joint issues, and it'll cut your cat's life in half." One finger went down. "Second: have a good day."
Peter didn't wait for her response again, firing a web at a lamppost and pulling himself away.
***
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.