May watched the door for a moment after it closed, then turned her attention back to Peter.
"She's pretty," she said simply.
Peter didn't even try to hide his smile. "…Yeah," he admitted. "Really pretty."
May gave him a knowing look, but didn't press it. Not tonight.
"Well," she said, softening, "there's leftovers in the microwave if you get hungry."
Peter nodded, already backing toward the stairs. "Thanks, Aunt May. I think I'm just gonna… go to bed."
"Alright," she replied. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Peter winced slightly. "…Yeah."
He headed upstairs, the house settling into a quiet calm behind him.
—
The car ride home was anything but calm.
Inside the vehicle, the tension was thick enough to feel.
George Stacy drove in silence, his grip tight on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. Gwen sat in the back seat, arms crossed, staring out the window. Her mother turned slightly in her seat, watching her carefully.
Finally—
"When I told you not to do something," her mother said, her voice controlled but firm, "I didn't mean go to his house and make out in his room."
Gwen's head snapped up. "We didn't mean to go there," she shot back. "We were just walking and—ended up there. And things just… happened."
Her father let out a sharp breath through his nose, but didn't speak.
Her mother frowned slightly. "That doesn't make it better, Gwen."
"It wasn't planned," Gwen insisted. "We weren't thinking like that—"
"That's exactly the problem," her mother cut in. "You weren't thinking."
Gwen slumped back against the seat, frustrated. "It's not like we were doing anything crazy…"
Her father muttered under his breath, "Door closed says otherwise."
"George," her mother warned quietly.
The car fell into another tense silence.
Then—
Gwen's phone buzzed softly in her hand.
She glanced down.
A message.
From Peter.
You okay?
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at her lips.
Her mother noticed immediately.
"…Did Peter just text you?" she asked.
Gwen froze for half a second, then tried—and failed—to hide it.
"…Maybe."
Her mother gave her a look. Not angry this time. Just… knowing.
"Gwen."
Gwen sighed, but her grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"It's not like I'm gonna ignore him," she said quietly.
Her mother studied her for a moment, then leaned back in her seat with a small exhale.
"No one said you had to," she replied. "But remember what we talked about."
Gwen didn't answer right away.
Instead, she looked back down at her phone, her thumbs hovering over the screen—
then typing.
Yeah. I'm okay.
She hesitated…
then added:
Today was… a lot.
She hit send.
Outside, the streetlights passed by one after another.
t
The next morning felt… off.
Peter shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep, but the moment he saw Aunt May already there, the memory of last night came rushing back.
Awkward didn't even begin to cover it.
"Morning," he muttered, grabbing a glass and pouring some juice.
"Good morning," May replied, her tone normal—but just a little too normal.
They moved around each other carefully, like both of them were trying not to step on something fragile. Peter kept his eyes on the counter, while May busied herself with small things that didn't really need doing.
"…Sleep okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," Peter said quickly. "You?"
"Fine."
Silence.
Peter took a sip of his juice.
May glanced at him, her expression softening just slightly. "Peter."
He looked up.
She gave him a small, warm smile. "Have fun at Gwen's today."
Peter blinked, surprised.
"…Yeah. I will."
She stepped closer, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. "I love you."
Peter smiled back, a little more genuine this time. "Love you too, Aunt May."
With that, she grabbed her things and headed out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Peter stood there for a second… then let out a long breath.
"Okay," he muttered to himself.
—
Time moved too slowly when you were waiting for something.
So Peter did what he always did when he needed to clear his head.
He suited up.
Moments later—
Spider-Man was soaring between buildings.
The rush of wind, the rhythm of swinging—it cleared everything out. The awkwardness, the nerves, even the lingering embarrassment from last night.
For a while, it was just him and the city.
He flipped over a rooftop, fired a webline, and launched himself forward—
—and then smack.
"Hey—!"
A rolled-up newspaper hit him square in the side of the head mid-swing.
Peter fumbled slightly, barely catching his next webline in time.
"Okay, rude!" he called out, twisting to land on the side of a building.
Below, someone leaned out a window, shaking their fist.
"Menace!" they shouted.
Peter peeled the newspaper off his shoulder, unrolling it mid-cling.
Right there on the front page:
"MASKED VIGILANTE A THREAT? CITY QUESTIONS 'SPIDER-MAN'"
Peter squinted at it.
"Wow," he muttered. "Tough crowd."
He skimmed a few lines, his expression shifting somewhere between annoyed and amused.
"'Reckless,' 'unregulated,' 'danger to public safety'…" he read. "Okay, I stopped a car chase yesterday, but sure—I'm the problem."
He shook his head, folding the paper and tossing it lightly back down.
"Guess I'm not winning any popularity contests."
Still—
as he pushed off the wall and swung back into motion—
there was a hint of determination in his expression.
Let them talk.
He knew what he was doing.
A flicker of movement below caught Peter's eye mid-swing.
A group of guys—hoods up, shoulders hunched—slipped into a narrow alley like they didn't want to be seen.
Peter slowed, narrowing his eyes behind the mask.
"Yeah… that's not suspicious at all," he muttered.
He adjusted his trajectory, landing silently on the wall above the alley, sticking there as he watched.
The men gathered near the back door of a small business, one of them pulling something metallic from a bag. Another kept lookout.
Peter tilted his head slightly.
"Okay, breaking and entering. Classic. Respect the vintage crime."
He dropped down behind them without a sound.
"Hey, guys," he said casually. "You know there's, like… a front door, right? Much more welcoming. Less felony."
They spun around.
One of them stepped forward. "Who the—"
Peter didn't let him finish.
Thwip.
A quick web to the face, a sharp pull—
—and bam.
The first guy hit the ground before he knew what happened.
"Alright," Peter said, rolling his shoulders. "Who's next—"
His phone rang.
Peter froze.
"…Seriously?"
The ringtone echoed slightly in the alley.
The remaining guys blinked, confused.
Peter raised a finger. "Time out—time out—hang on."
He reached into his suit, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen.
Gwen.
His posture immediately softened.
He answered.
"Hey," he said, like he wasn't standing in the middle of a fight. "How's it going?"
"Great," Gwen replied, her voice light. "What are you up to right now?"
Peter casually sidestepped as one of the guys started circling behind him.
"Oh, you know," he said, watching the guy in the reflection of a window. "Just… killing time."
Behind him, the man swung a crowbar straight at the back of his head—
Peter's spider-sense flared.
Without even looking, he leaned slightly to the side.
The crowbar whooshed past his mask.
Peter didn't miss a beat.
"What about you?" he added, like nothing happened.
The guys froze for a second—then got angrier.
"Hold still!" one of them snapped.
"Can't," Peter replied absently, ducking another swing while still on the phone. "Busy."
Gwen laughed softly on the other end. "Hey, um… would you want to stay over for dinner tonight?"
Peter grinned under the mask.
"I'd love to," he said, effortlessly stepping between two attackers, making them collide into each other. "But I'm pretty sure your dad wants to kill me for making kissy faces with his daughter."
That got a real laugh out of her.
"Don't worry," she said. "I won't let him. And if I can't—my mom will."
"Good," Peter said, grabbing one guy's arm and flipping him over his shoulder. "Because I'm very attached to being alive."
The last guy charged him.
Peter sighed.
"Hold that thought."
He stepped forward—
thwack.
One clean punch, and the guy dropped.
Silence fell over the alley.
Gwen's voice came through again. "…What was that noise?"
Peter looked around at the unconscious criminals scattered around him.
He started webbing them together, efficient and practiced.
"Uh," he said, "just taking out the trash."
He finished, yanking the webline tight and sticking them all against the wall like a very annoyed art installation.
"There," he muttered. "Recycling complete."
"So… you're coming?" Gwen asked.
Peter smiled.
"Yeah. I'm on my way."
He hesitated for a second, then added, "Hey… have you heard anything about Dr. Connors?"
There was a pause.
A softer one.
"…No," Gwen said, a little quieter now. "Nothing. I'm… kind of worried."
Peter's expression shifted slightly behind the mask.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too. We'll find him."
Another beat.
"…Okay," she said.
Peter glanced up at the skyline.
"I gotta go," he said. "I'll be there soon."
"Okay. Be safe."
He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his suit.
Peter arced between buildings, the rhythm of his swings evening out as the last stretch of his patrol wound down. The city below buzzed like always—cars, voices, distant sirens—but nothing else jumped out at him.
"No muggings, no explosions, no guys with crowbars…" he muttered. "Honestly? Pretty solid shift."
Miles away, inside the bustling newsroom of the Daily Planet, the energy was anything but calm.
"LOIS! CLARK! MY OFFICE—NOW!"
Heads turned as Perry White's voice thundered across the room.
At their desks, Lois Lane didn't even flinch—just grabbed her notepad and stood up.
"Sounds like someone's having a great day," she muttered.
Beside her, Clark Kent adjusted his glasses, already on his feet. "We should probably not keep him waiting."
"And miss the yelling? Never."
They stepped into Perry's office, where Jimmy Olsen was already standing off to the side, camera slung over his shoulder.
Perry pointed at all three of them like he was assigning a battlefield mission.
"I want you in New York," he said.
Lois raised an eyebrow. "Field trip?"
"Interview," Perry snapped. "There's a new hero making noise out there—calls himself Spider-Man."
Jimmy perked up immediately. "The guy who swings around buildings?"
"That's the one," Perry said. "Half the city thinks he's a hero, the other half thinks he's a menace. Either way—he's a story."
Clark nodded thoughtfully. "And you want us to—"
"I want a full piece," Perry cut in. "Interview, photos, background—everything. If this kid's going to be the next big thing, the Daily Planet is not getting scooped."
Lois smirked slightly. "So we're chasing a guy who doesn't even show his face."
Perry jabbed a finger toward her. "That's why I'm sending you."
Jimmy grinned. "Guess I better pack extra film."
Clark gave a small smile. "We'll head out right away."
"Good," Perry said, already turning back to his desk. "And Lane—try not to scare him off before we get the interview."
Lois smirked wider. "No promises."
Peter stood in front of the apartment building for a second, adjusting his jacket like that would somehow make this less nerve-wracking.
"Okay," he muttered. "Be normal. Don't say anything stupid. Don't—"
He stopped himself.
"…Just go in."
A few minutes later, he was at the door.
It opened to reveal Gwen's mother, who gave him a polite, knowing smile.
"Peter. Right on time."
"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly.
She stepped aside to let him in. "Gwen's just in her room. Go ahead."
Peter nodded, stepping into the apartment. It felt… different from his place. Smaller, but neat. Lived-in in a quieter way.
He sat down on the couch, hands resting awkwardly on his knees as he waited.
For a moment, it was quiet.
Then—
Arms wrapped around him from behind.
Peter jumped slightly.
"Hey," Gwen's voice came softly near his ear.
He relaxed instantly.
"Hey," he replied, tilting his head back to look up at her.
She smiled down at him—and leaned in, kissing him gently.
Peter blinked, caught off guard for half a second, before smiling.
"Hi," he said again, softer this time.
Gwen laughed quietly and moved around, dropping down beside him on the couch, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Hi," she echoed.
For a little while, they just… sat there. Talking, laughing quietly, the tension from yesterday still there—but lighter now.
"So," Gwen said, nudging him slightly, "manage to survive this morning?"
"Barely," Peter admitted. "I think I'm still grounded in three different ways I don't understand yet."
She smiled. "Worth it?"
Peter glanced at her.
"…Yeah."
—
Across the city, a train hissed as it came to a stop.
The doors slid open, and three figures stepped out into the crowded station.
Lois Lane moved first, already scanning the space like she was hunting a lead.
Behind her, Clark Kent followed, calm and observant, while Jimmy Olsen adjusted the strap of his camera, eyes wide as he took everything in.
"So," Jimmy said, looking between them, "where do we even start looking for a guy who swings around buildings?"
Clark glanced up toward the skyline, thoughtful. "We could start by asking around. People who've seen him."
Lois smirked slightly. "Witnesses, rumors, maybe a few complaints. Guys like him don't stay quiet for long."
Jimmy grinned. "Sounds like a plan."
They moved with the crowd, stepping out into New York—
Back in the apartment, Peter leaned back slightly into the couch, a little more relaxed now.
"So… your dad's not here, right?" he asked carefully.
Gwen gave him a look.
"…Relax. He's still at work."
Peter let out a breath. "Okay, good. I'd like to make it through dinner without being interrogated under a spotlight."
Gwen laughed, shaking her head.
"Don't worry," she said. "You'll be fine." ]
The moment felt calm—almost too calm.
Peter had just started to relax into the couch, Gwen leaning lightly against him, when—
Click.
The apartment door opened.
Both of them froze.
Standing in the doorway was George Stacy.
He didn't say anything at first.
He just stared.
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You two," he said flatly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, "need to be sitting a little further apart."
Peter immediately shifted, scooting a few inches away like the couch had suddenly caught fire.
Gwen, on the other hand, didn't move.
"Dad—"
"George," her mother's voice cut in from the kitchen. "Knock it off and leave them be."
George didn't look convinced, but after a second, he huffed and set his keys down.
"…Fine," he muttered, though his eyes lingered on Peter a second longer than necessary.
The moment he turned away—
Gwen leaned closer.
Peter blinked.
"…Gwen," he whispered.
She ignored him completely, resting her head lightly against his shoulder, fingers brushing against his arm like she was daring her father to say something.
Peter swallowed.
This felt like a trap.
He didn't move her away—but the more she leaned in, the more tense he got, like he could feel George Stacy's presence behind him.
"Totally fine," Peter muttered under his breath. "Everything's fine."
—
A little while later, the table was set.
Gwen's mother moved around the kitchen, placing dishes down, trying to keep things normal.
Meanwhile—
George sat at the table.
Calm.
Quiet.
Cleaning his gun.
Peter stared at it for a second too long.
"…Cool," he whispered to himself. "Very normal dinner activity."
Gwen nudged him under the table, trying not to laugh.
"That's not helping," Peter murmured.
They all sat down.
The room fell into an awkward silence almost immediately.
Gwen's mother tried to break it.
"So, Peter," she said warmly, "how's your summer been so far? No school, I imagine you've had some time to relax."
Peter nodded quickly. "Yeah—uh—yeah, it's been good. Just, you know… enjoying the break."
George didn't look up.
Gwen picked at her food.
Silence again.
Peter cleared his throat slightly, trying to think of something—anything—to say.
"…This is really good," he added quickly.
"Thank you," her mother replied, smiling faintly.
More silence.
Peter glanced at Gwen.
She gave him a tiny shrug.
He took a breath.
"Um—so, I was wondering…" he started, his voice just a little unsteady, "after dinner, could we maybe go for a walk?"
That got George's attention.
Slowly, he looked up.
Peter immediately added, "And—uh—do we need… supervision for that?"
A beat.
Gwen covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Her mother hid a smile.
George stared at him for a long second—
then leaned back slightly in his chair.
"…You'll be back before it gets dark," he said.
Peter blinked.
"…Yes, sir."
"And you stay where people can see you."
"Yes, sir."
George held his gaze a second longer—
then nodded once.
"Fine."
Peter let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Gwen nudged him again, this time with a small, satisfied smile.
Peter barely waited for a pause in the conversation before finishing the last of his food.
"—and that was really good," he said quickly, standing up. "Seriously. Thank you, Mrs. Stacy."
Gwen was already on her feet, grabbing his hand.
"Yeah, thanks, Mom," she added, clearly eager to leave.
George watched them both, unimpressed.
"Back before dark," he reminded.
"Yes, sir," Peter said immediately.
They were out the door seconds later.
—
The apartment fell quiet.
Gwen's mother—Helen—leaned back slightly in her chair, glancing at her husband.
"You're going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to scare off that boy."
George grumbled, setting his fork down. "He better not touch my baby girl."
Helen gave him a look.
"You need to face the fact," she said gently, "that our baby girl is growing up. In a couple years, she'll be off to college."
George didn't like that.
Not one bit.
He leaned back, crossing his arms. "…Still doesn't mean I have to like it."
—
Outside, the difference was night and day.
Peter and Gwen were laughing almost immediately, the tension from inside melting away like it had never been there.
"Your dad is terrifying," Peter said, half-laughing.
Gwen grinned. "You handled it pretty well."
"I thought he was going to arrest me," Peter replied.
"You're still here, so I think you're good."
They walked through the park, the evening air warm—summer settling in around them. No school, no responsibilities pressing down on them for once. Just time.
Peter slipped his arm loosely around her shoulders, pulling her in a little closer.
She leaned into him easily.
He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.
Gwen smiled—
then suddenly jumped onto his back.
Peter stumbled a step. "Whoa—!"
She laughed, arms around his shoulders.
"Carry me," she said.
Peter shook his head, smiling, but reached back to hold her legs so she wouldn't fall.
"Yeah, okay," he said. "This is happening now."
They kept moving like that, laughing, completely caught up in their own little world.
—
Up ahead, three people walked toward them.
Lois Lane glanced over as Peter passed with Gwen on his back, a small smile forming.
"Clark," she said, nudging Clark Kent slightly, "look at that. Young love. The joys of youth."
Clark followed her gaze, a faint smile of his own appearing. "What are you talking about? You're only twenty-three."
Lois scoffed lightly. "Yeah, but I can't exactly be that lovey-dovey in public."
Behind them, Jimmy Olsen glanced back too, grinning. "They look pretty happy."
Clark nodded slightly.
"They do."
For a brief moment, their worlds brushed past each other—completely unaware of how connected they were about to become.
Night settled in faster than either of them expected.
By the time they made it back to Gwen's apartment building, the streetlights were already glowing—and waiting near the entrance, arms crossed, was George Stacy.
Peter slowed.
"…Of course he's there," he muttered under his breath.
Gwen squeezed his hand once before letting go, walking ahead toward her father like nothing was wrong.
George's eyes moved immediately to Peter.
"You're on time," he said.
"Yes, sir," Peter replied.
For a second, it looked like that would be it.
Then—
Gwen turned back.
She walked straight up to Peter—
and kissed him.
Not quick.
Not subtle.
Long enough that Peter's brain completely short-circuited.
Somewhere in the background, he swore he heard something in George snap.
When Gwen finally pulled back, she smiled like nothing happened.
"I'll text you," she said softly. "Be safe."
Peter blinked, still catching up. "…Yeah. You too."
She turned and went inside.
George gave Peter one last look—sharp, warning, very clear—
then followed after her.
The door shut.
Peter stood there for a second.
"…I'm dead," he muttered.
—
A few minutes later, Peter was already climbing the side of the building with ease. He reached Gwen's window, quickly webbing his backpack to the fire escape before pulling his mask on.
Then he took a running step toward the edge—
—and leapt.
The city opened up around him as he swung forward, the familiar rush hitting instantly.
Wind.
Speed.
Freedom.
—
A few blocks away, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, and Jimmy Olsen stood among a crowd waiting at a crosswalk.
Jimmy adjusted his camera. "So… day one: no Spider-Man."
Lois crossed her arms. "We'll find him. These things take time."
Clark glanced up briefly at the skyline, thoughtful.
"Tomorrow," he said. "We'll try again."
The light changed.
The crowd started moving.
They stepped off the curb along with everyone else, blending into the flow of people crossing the street.
Halfway across—
A horn blared.
Loud.
Too close.
Heads turned.
A bus came barreling down the street—too fast, not slowing.
People froze.
Some shouted.
Clark's posture shifted instantly, ready to move—
—but someone else got there first.
A blur dropped from above.
Small.
Fast.
Compared to Clark, almost nothing—
—but more than enough.
Spider-Man landed directly in front of the bus.
He planted his feet—
—and pushed.
The asphalt cracked beneath him as he dug in, the force of the impact rippling through the street.
The bus screeched, tires screaming—
—and slowed.
Slowed—
—then stopped.
Right at the edge of the crowd.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Then—
people started shouting, backing away, realizing how close it had been.
Spider-Man exhaled, shaking out his arms slightly before stepping forward. He crouched near the driver's window.
"Hey," he called up. "Everybody okay?"
The driver, pale but steady, nodded quickly. "Y-yeah… yeah, I think so. Thank you—"
"Alright, good," Peter said, relieved.
He glanced back at the front of the bus—
and realized just how close it had been.
Another foot—
maybe less—
and it would've plowed straight into the crowd.
His expression shifted under the mask.
"…Yeah," he muttered quietly. "That was close."
Behind him, Lois stared, already reaching for her notebook.
Jimmy raised his camera, snapping photos rapidly.
Clark watched in silence—
his eyes focused on the figure in red and blue.
Spider-Man didn't stick around.
The moment the crowd started to recover, he bent his knees—
—and launched upward.
A webline snapped out, catching the side of a building, and in seconds he was gone, swinging off into the night like he'd never been there at all.
—
Back at the crosswalk, Jimmy Olsen lowered his camera, already flipping through the shots.
"Okay—wow," he said. "I got it. I actually got it."
Lois Lane leaned over his shoulder. "Let me see."
Jimmy held up one of the clearer photos—Spider-Man braced against the bus, frame tense with effort.
Jimmy tilted his head. "You know… for a guy, he's pretty small."
He paused.
"And that's saying something coming from me."
Lois squinted slightly at the image. "Yeah…"
Then something clicked.
"…What if he's not a guy?"
Jimmy blinked. "What?"
Lois tapped the photo. "Look at him. The build, the height—what if he's just a kid? Like… thirteen, fourteen."
Jimmy frowned. "What would possess a kid to do something like that? That's insane. It's dangerous."
He hesitated. "…Maybe he's a meta."
Clark didn't answer right away.
Clark Kent kept his eyes on the street where Spider-Man had stood just moments ago.
He respected what he'd seen. Anyone stepping in like that—risking themselves for strangers—that mattered.
But…
A kid?
That thought didn't sit right.
Someone that young shouldn't have to carry that.
His mind flickered briefly to Robin—to Batman—and the difference was immediate.
"At least Robin has someone," Clark thought. "Someone to guide him. To catch him if he falls."
His gaze shifted upward, toward the skyline.
"This kid… he's out here alone."
"…Clark?" Lois said, snapping him out of it.
He blinked, then gave a small nod. "We should head back. We've got what we need to start."
Jimmy grinned. "Oh, yeah—we've got a story now."
—
Across the city, Peter slowed his swing, landing lightly on a rooftop.
The adrenaline from the bus had faded, replaced with something more focused.
"Connors…" he muttered.
He moved again, scanning alleyways, rooftops, anywhere someone could hide.
But nothing.
No signs.
No leads.
After a while, he stopped, crouching at the edge of a building.
"If he doesn't want to be found…" Peter said quietly, "no one's gonna find him."
He paused.
Then shook his head slightly.
"…Okay, that's not true."
If Superman were here—
Or Batman—
They'd figure it out.
They always did.
Peter exhaled.
"Guess I just have to try harder."
—
Hours later, the city had quieted.
Peter slipped back into his room through the window, landing softly.
He pulled off his mask, running a hand through his hair—
—and froze.
The light was on.
In the kitchen, Aunt May sat waiting.
Peter glanced at the clock on the wall.
3:00 AM.
"…Oh."
He stepped inside slowly.
"…Hey."
May didn't look angry.
Which somehow made it worse.
Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I, uh… I went out after Gwen's and just—ended up exploring the city."
He gestured vaguely. "Lost track of time."
May studied him quietly.
Peter shifted under the weight of that look.
"I didn't mean to stay out that late," he added.
Peter stood there, hands at his sides, waiting.
He wanted to go to bed—every part of him did—but there was no way he was moving until Aunt May said something.
She watched him for a moment longer… then her expression softened.
May stood up, walked over to him—
and pulled him into a hug.
Peter blinked, surprised, before slowly hugging her back.
"You're growing up," she said quietly. "I know that."
Peter swallowed.
"But I worry about you," she continued. "If you're going to be out late like that… just call me. So I'm not sitting here all night wondering if you're okay."
Peter nodded against her shoulder. "I will. I promise."
She pulled back, giving him a small smile. "Alright. Go get some sleep."
"…Thanks, Aunt May."
—
The next morning, Peter shuffled downstairs, still tired.
A note sat on the table.
Went to work. Be safe. —Love, May
Peter smiled faintly, setting it down before dropping onto the couch and turning on the TV.
Even with Curt Connors missing, the world didn't stop.
And neither did Gwen.
"She's probably already at work…" Peter muttered.
He leaned back, flipping channels lazily—
until—
"—hostage situation developing downtown—"
Peter froze.
The screen showed police barricades, flashing lights, a building surrounded.
He was already moving.
Upstairs.
Under the bed.
Suit.
Out the window.
—
Minutes later, he was swinging through the city again, faster this time.
Focused.
He reached a skyscraper near the scene, quickly webbing his bag to a ledge before diving back down toward the streets below.
—
A few blocks away, Gwen walked beside her mother, blending into the crowd that had gathered at a safe distance.
Then—
A streak of red and blue passed overhead.
Gwen looked up.
And smiled.
—
At the scene, police had the area locked down.
Cameras rolled.
Crowds whispered.
Among them stood Lois Lane, Clark Kent, and Jimmy Olsen.
Jimmy scanned the rooftops. "You think he'll show?"
Lois crossed her arms. "If he's half as active as people say—yeah."
Clark didn't answer.
He was already looking up.
And then—
"There," he said.
They followed his gaze.
Spider-Man clung to the side of the building, barely noticeable to anyone not looking.
Clark watched closely as Peter ripped open an exterior vent and slipped inside.
Clark pointed it out quietly. Jimmy immediately lifted his camera.
Then Clark's gaze sharpened.
Following him.
Through walls.
Through steel.
Through shadows.
—
Inside the vents, Peter moved carefully.
"Okay… stealth mode," he whispered to himself.
He dropped silently behind the first gunman.
Thwip.
Webbed.
Down.
He moved again.
Second guy—
thwip.
Also down.
"So far, so good," he muttered.
Then—
He misstepped.
A vent creaked louder than it should have.
"…Oh."
A head snapped up.
"Hey—!"
Gun raised.
Peter dropped fast—but not fast enough.
BANG.
The shot grazed him, sending him slamming into the wall.
"Okay—ow—!" Peter hissed, scrambling.
More shouting.
More guns.
"Spider-Man's here!"
"So much for stealth…"
They fired.
Peter moved—fast.
His spider-sense flared, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He twisted, ducked, flipped through tight spaces as bullets tore through the air where he'd just been.
Still—
another shot clipped his shoulder.
"Ah—!"
He hit the ground, rolling—
—and shot webs.
Thwip! Thwip!
Two guns yanked out of hands.
One guy charged—
Peter ducked and swept his legs out.
Another came from behind—
Spider-sense—
Peter leaned just enough to avoid the hit and countered with a quick punch.
"Okay—okay—focus—"
The last couple of gunmen rushed him together.
Peter planted his feet—
THWIP! THWIP!
Webs shot out, slamming them into the wall and sticking them there.
Silence.
Peter stayed there for a second, breathing hard.
"…Still counts," he muttered.
He pushed himself up, wincing slightly as he moved.
"Hostages…"
He turned, quickly finding them—terrified, but unharmed.
"It's okay," he said, softer now. "You're good. Let's get you out of here."
—
Minutes later, the doors burst open.
Hostages rushed out.
Police surged forward.
And just behind them—
Spider-Man dragged the webbed-up criminals into view, sticking them together for good measure.
Before anyone could react—
he fired a webline—
and swung away.
—
Across the street, Jimmy lowered his camera slowly.
"…Did you see that?"
Lois nodded, eyes sharp. "Yeah."
Clark said nothing.
But his gaze followed Spider-Man as he disappeared into the skyline.
The city didn't stay quiet for long.
Peter had barely caught his breath when another set of sirens cut through the air.
"…Round two," he muttered, already moving.
He swung toward the sound—and saw the fire before anything else.
Flames clawed out of broken windows, smoke pouring into the sky. Firefighters were already on scene, shouting, coordinating—
And then Peter saw it.
A woman, frantic, struggling against a firefighter holding her back.
"My daughter is still in there!"
Peter didn't hesitate.
He hit the side of a nearby building at full speed, sprinting along the wall before launching himself forward—
—and slingshotting straight through a shattered window.
He hit the ground hard, rolling through debris.
"Hello?!" he shouted.
No answer.
Just fire.
Cracking wood.
Groaning metal.
Peter pushed himself up, coughing slightly as smoke filled the air.
"Okay… okay… think…"
He moved quickly, ducking under falling beams, weaving through flames, his spider-sense constantly flaring.
"Kid!" he called out. "Hey! I'm here!"
Nothing.
Then—
A faint sound.
Crying.
Peter turned sharply, following it deeper into the building.
"Hang on—I hear you!"
He pushed through a doorway—
—and found her.
A little girl, curled under a table, shaking.
"Hey," Peter said, lowering his voice instantly. "Hey, it's okay. I got you."
Then—
The ceiling cracked.
Peter looked up.
"…Oh, come on—"
It collapsed.
He moved instantly, shooting both hands up and catching it.
The impact slammed him to one knee.
"Okay—okay—this is—this is fine—!" he strained.
The weight pressed down, debris shifting dangerously.
"Hey!" he called to the girl. "I need you to listen to me, okay?"
She looked up, terrified.
"See that window?" he nodded toward the wall. "You're gonna crawl to it. Nice and slow."
He shifted slightly, freeing one foot just enough—
—and kicked through the debris.
The window shattered open.
"Go!" he urged.
The girl scrambled out from under the table, running toward the opening.
Outside, firefighters saw the glass explode outward.
"There!" one shouted, dragging a ladder into position.
They climbed fast.
By the time they reached the top, the girl was at the window, crying.
"I've got you," the firefighter said, pulling her into his arms.
As he turned—
he saw it.
Spider-Man.
Holding up the collapsed ceiling.
"Hang on!" the firefighter shouted. "We've got you—!"
But before either of them could move—
A sudden rush of cold air swept through the building.
The flames flickered—
—and died.
Smoke cleared in an instant.
The heat vanished.
The firefighter blinked, looking up—
—and saw him.
Hovering.
Cape shifting gently in the air.
Superman.
"Spider-Man needs help!" the firefighter called immediately.
Superman nodded once—
and dropped down beside Peter.
For a split second, Peter glanced over.
"…Oh. Wow. Okay."
Superman placed his hands against the collapsing structure.
"On three," he said calmly.
Peter blinked. "Wait, we're doing a three—?"
"One."
"Okay—yep—three is good—"
"Two."
"Still holding—still holding—"
"Three."
Together, they shifted the weight—slow, controlled—lowering the debris without letting the weakened floor give out beneath them.
The structure settled.
Stable.
Peter carefully let go, stepping back slightly, catching his breath.
"…Thanks," he said.
Superman gave him a small nod. "You did well."
Peter let out a short laugh. "Yeah, I almost didn't."
—
Moments later, Peter climbed out, making his way across to a nearby rooftop, landing with a slight stumble.
He pulled off his mask halfway, breathing in the cooler air.
Behind him—
a soft landing.
Superman joined him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Peter glanced over.
"…So," he said, still catching his breath, "this is… happening."
Superman smiled faintly.
"It is."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck.
"…I grew up hearing about you, you know."
Superman looked out over the city.
"And now you're out here saving it."
Peter followed his gaze.
"…Trying to."
For a moment, the rooftop was quiet.
Smoke drifted upward from the building across the street, the chaos below settling into something manageable. Sirens still echoed—but softer now.
Superman kept his eyes on the city.
"You did good in there," he said. "But you shouldn't have to."
Peter glanced at him. "…What?"
Superman turned slightly. "You're young. You should be in school. With friends. Living your life."
Peter let out a short, disbelieving breath. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
"I mean it," Superman continued. "This—" he gestured toward the city, the fires, the danger, "—this isn't something you should be carrying alone."
Peter's expression shifted.
"You think I want to?" he asked.
Superman didn't answer right away.
Peter stepped forward slightly, frustration creeping into his voice.
"Look," he said, "when you can do what I can—and you don't—then bad things happen."
He shook his head.
"They happen because of you."
That landed.
Superman's expression tightened—not in anger, but in understanding.
Peter continued, quieter now but no less firm.
"I didn't ask for this," he said. "But I got it. So I use it."
The wind picked up slightly between them.
Superman studied him for a long moment.
"…That doesn't mean you have to lose yourself in it," he said finally.
Peter didn't respond.
For a second, it felt like neither of them had anything left to say.
Then Peter pulled his mask fully back on.
"…I've got places to be," he muttered.
He stepped toward the edge of the roof—
then paused.
He looked back at Superman.
"With great power…" he started, voice steady now, "…comes great responsibility."
Superman's eyes softened slightly.
Peter gave a small nod.
"Oh—and next time you see Batman?"
Superman raised an eyebrow.
"Thank him for me."
Before Superman could ask what he meant—
Peter fired a webline—
—and swung off into the city.
Gone just like that.
Superman watched him disappear between the buildings, the words lingering in his mind.
"…Responsibility," he repeated quietly.