Another fake Spider-Man patrol. It wasn't exactly a great morning for the web-slinger, but Peter Parker had a conflicting schedule: he had to walk to school with Gwen. It was actually the perfect opportunity to give the Chameleon a break. The Russian assassin was probably pacing a rooftop, waiting for Peter to show up and trigger whatever trap the Kingpin had set. Instead, Peter was leaving him on read. He planned to track down the Punisher that afternoon, which meant he was perfectly content to let the Chameleon run around Hell's Kitchen doing actual, pro-bono hero work all day.
Gwen hadn't worn her Supergirl cosplay onto the subway. She refused to endure the morning commute in spandex, opting to stuff the cape into her backpack to deal with later. Peter, on the other hand, had it easy. The Tenth Doctor didn't wear a tactical uniform. He just wore a thrifted pinstripe suit and a long coat, allowing Peter to walk out his front door looking like he just had eccentric taste in vintage menswear. It was infinitely more convenient than Harry's motorized wheelchair base.
"So, Peter?" Gwen asked, grabbing a subway pole as the train rattled over the tracks. "How many actual classmates have you met since we started? Aside from Harry, Amadeus, and Jessica from the Detective Club... who else do you know?"
Peter blinked, racking his brain. There was Eugene Thompson, the guy who practically worshipped Spider-Man, but considering Eugene had zero idea who Peter Parker was, he didn't count. After a long, awkward silence, Peter answered honestly. "Nobody."
"It is the second week of school," Gwen said, staring at him in genuine disbelief. "And you're telling me you've made a grand total of three friends? You broke your middle school record, bro. How did you manage to meet only three people?"
Because I spend half my time dodging alien tech and the other half trying not to bleed out in alleyways, Peter thought. He couldn't exactly say that out loud. He offered a helpless shrug. "I'm just not great at networking. I run out of small talk after the weather."
"What about your new friends, then?" Gwen pressed. "Harry and Amadeus? Did they introduce you to anyone?"
"Amadeus is worse off than me," Peter said, thinking about the quiet, brilliant kid. "He's an international student staying with a host family , and Carl targeted him on day one." Peter's thoughts drifted to Harry. He was ninety-five percent sure his friend was Harry Osborn. Harry compulsively watched Spider-Man footage , had an incredibly tense relationship with his father, and actively avoided bringing people to his house. The real variable was Norman Osborn. Had the CEO become the Green Goblin yet? What exactly was his angle regarding Spider-Man?.
"Harry... doesn't get along with his dad," Peter explained, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "He says his father hates any friends he brings around. So, he doesn't socialize much either."
Gwen opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. "What kind of friend group is this?"
"A psychological support group for traumatized freshmen," Peter deadpanned. "I run the therapy sessions, they vent. It's a solid system."
They stepped off the train, blending into the Manhattan sidewalk traffic. Peter pulled out his phone, tapping open a video-sharing app. A clip of Spider-Man played on the screen. Gwen leaned over his shoulder, her eyes tracking the footage. "Are you suddenly super interested in Spider-Man?"
"Not really. Harry treats these videos like mandatory homework, so I'm just trying to keep up," Peter lied smoothly. He casually tossed out bait. "Do you think Harry's family is connected to Spider-Man somehow?"
Gwen frowned in thought but didn't take the bait. Peter swiped to the next video. "Yesterday afternoon. Two o'clock. Spider-Man stepped in and saved two addicts from getting beaten to death by their dealers in Hell's Kitchen."
"You don't sound very happy about it," Gwen observed, catching the slight tension in his jaw.
"I just think... Spider-Man saving them today doesn't fix their lives tomorrow," Peter covered quickly. "Sometimes intervening doesn't actually solve the root problem."
As the school building came into view, Gwen shifted her backpack. "I'm heading to the precinct to see my dad after school today," she said, referencing Captain George Stacy. "Do you want to come?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind. Just a random thought," Gwen said, smiling as she tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear. "The desk sergeants don't know you. They probably won't let you wander around the bullpen anyway."
A few minutes later, Peter stood in front of his locker. He braced himself, expecting Carl King to have rigged a bucket of paint or shoved a dead rat through the vents. The low hum of his spider-sense remained completely silent. No danger. He spun the dial, popped the latch, and pulled the door open. Empty. He shoved his messenger bag inside and grabbed his binders.
One minor benefit of a five-day theme week was the ability to iterate on a costume. Harry had completely ditched the bulky, restrictive Dalek shell. When Peter walked into homeroom, Harry was rolling his wheelchair base wrapped in sleek silver plating.
"Hello, Doctor," Harry said, grinning.
"Hello, Cyberman," Peter replied.
Amadeus sat in the row behind them, staring blankly at the chalkboard. "Hey, Amadeus," Peter said, taking his seat. "You actually went with Dr. Banner? I thought you were doing the Hulk."
"I have the foam Hulk headgear in my bag, and the green shirt underneath," Amadeus explained, holding up the oversized green mask. He set it down on his desk.
"How are you feeling?" Peter asked.
"It was just a cold," Amadeus said, coughing quietly into his fist. "I rested yesterday, took some medicine. I'm almost one hundred percent."
"Where are you staying, anyway?" Peter pressed gently. "If you get sick again, we could drop off notes or soup or something."
Amadeus stiffened. His eyes darted to his desk surface. "Well... like I said, I'm with a host family. I don't know if they're comfortable with me bringing people over. I'd have to clear it with my landlady first."
Before Peter could push further, Amadeus neatly pivoted the attention. "Besides, we don't know where Harry lives either, right?"
"My dad and I have issues," Harry said flatly. "He doesn't want my friends in the house. I'm sorry."
By default, the Parker residence was the only neutral territory left on the board.
"Since we don't have anything going on, do you want to play D&D at your place?" Harry asked cautiously. "Would your aunt and uncle get mad about the noise?"
"They're out of town for a few days. I've got the house to myself," Peter said. "You guys can come over. When were you thinking?"
"Next couple of days?" Harry suggested.
"Just text me before you head over," Peter agreed. He didn't have any major patrols planned, assuming the Chameleon kept pulling his weight. "If I'm out running errands, I'll let you know."
The bell rang, dragging them into the standard academic grind. When the period ended, Peter stepped out into the hallway and stopped. A kid was hovering near Peter's locker. Peter recognized him immediately—it was the same guy who had helped Carl King try to pick his combination lock the day before.
The kid didn't run. He didn't try to pick the lock. He just stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking absolutely terrified.
Peter frowned, closing the distance. "What's wrong?"
"I... I don't know," the kid stammered, his eyes darting up and down the hallway. "I wanted to ask if you knew what happened to Carl. He didn't show up today."
"Did you try calling him?" Peter asked, leaning against the metal lockers.
"I did. His mom picked up. She said he was sick and couldn't come in." The kid swallowed hard, refusing to make direct eye contact with Peter. "But... I mean, he's been acting really weird around you lately. Like he's terrified of you. So I was just thinking..."
Peter let out a long, exhausted sigh. He knew exactly what the kid was implying.
"I didn't do anything to him," Peter said, keeping his voice calm and entirely devoid of threat. "I'm not Carl. I don't bully people. If you're worried I'm going to jump you in the parking lot, you can relax. Tell Carl to just be a decent guy, and he won't have anything to be afraid of."