What Tangled Webs - Ch 1 - Late Start (New Commission) (Patreon)

Summary:

The place: Forest Hills, Queens, New York. The world: Earth-19. The year: 2025.

There have always been myths and rumors about people with powers beyond human, and there have been increasingly more Mutants popping up for the past twenty years, but the debut of the Fantastic Four in early 2024 seems to have started a small wave of 'superheroes'. The Four receive some grace based on their public identities, but the government is very interested in fully-masked vigilantes like this 'Spider-Man', so they send one of their best operatives to ascertain if he's a threat.

Notes:

This is a new continuity, inspired by many others. The Fantastic Four operate in Manhattan, and Daredevil in Hell's Kitchen, but New York City is (deliberately) more sparse than in most continuities.

This fic was commissioned; find commission status here.
I'm dropping this chapter publicly as a teaser and going forward will be publishing on AO3 trailing advance chapters on Patreon.

Peter

My name is Peter Parker. And I am… going to be late for school if I don’t hurry this up. Not a good look on the first day back after Christmas break, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let me start over.

My name is Peter Parker. I grew up in Queens, New York. My parents died overseas when I was two, so I was brought up by my Uncle Ben and Aunt May. I just turned 18 in 2024, and I’m a senior at Midtown High School, right smack in the middle of Forest Hills. And during an internship at Oscorp over the last Christmas break, I was bitten by a genetically-engineered, radioactive spider before it scuttled off again and disappeared.

The internship was cancelled immediately, of course. Not because of me, since I didn’t report it, but because the spider was missing and the scientists naturally freaked out. I’m not sure why they were enhancing and irradiating a spider, but I’m pretty sure Oscorp has some government funding for some kind of supersoldier project. Most likely trying to recreate someone like that Captain America from back in the '40s.

Why do I think that? Simple. Because for some reason, rather than killing me outright or causing me to vomit up all of my blood and killing me that way… that spider bite somehow gave me superpowers by the next morning.

Yeah, I haven’t figured that one out yet either.

But not only was I suddenly ripped in a way that should have taken years of careful eating and weight training, I was also way stronger, faster, tougher, and more agile than even the best Olympians on record. And I now had perfect vision, could hear the capacitors charging in a cell phone before it rang, and hadn’t needed to touch the inhaler I’d gotten for runner’s asthma as a kid during any of my testing.

You can see why I didn’t report what happened with the Spider.

Not wanting to go to the hospital about it and possibly get strapped to a table in some lab, I stayed home that day to rig up some equipment. Biology isn’t my strongest subject, but biotech always interested me in a vague sense, so I got to reading and researching and that night I was ready to give myself a checkup at home. Good thing, too, because as soon I drew blood I noticed it sparkling. And then my Geiger Counter started going off.

That freaked me the hell out, not gonna lie, but some more testing showed that as long as my blood is still inside me, I’m just barely not hot enough to set off the most sensitive radiation detector I could cobble together out of civilian parts. Figuring out a compound to render the radiation in my sparkly blood inert also conveniently destroyed any recognizable patterns in my DNA.

Given the radiation levels involved, I can’t imagine Bitey McSpidey-Bite lived much longer, but weirder things have happened. Me, for instance. I’ve been monitoring my vitals off and on for the past year, and while I still haven’t quite found the limits of my powers, I can confidently state I still don’t have super-cancer. Or even regular cancer.

Small mercies, because the rest of my life got really complicated after that. Uncle Ben came to pick me up one night from my part-time job at a repair shop when we got held up by a guy with a gun. For the sake of keeping my secret, I kept my head down and tossed him my wallet. Uncle Ben was doing the same, even as he tried to talk the guy down… but something evidently startled him, and the gun went off.

Uncle Ben died because I was more worried about hiding than helping.

I don’t remember much after that. I remember the guy dropping the gun, probably in shock. I remember punching him… and then I remember the cops draping a shock blanket over me while the ambulance rolled up. It was too late for Uncle Ben, but they took the mugger away… in traction. Even holding back I put that guy in traction.

In traction. Broken neck. I nearly killed him.

That really shook me, even on top of losing the only father I’d ever known. I dreamed about it for months afterward. The shot, the punch, or both.

Still do, on occasion.

It took a long time to get Aunt May off my back about going to therapy. Not that I didn’t believe in therapy! It had done great things for her and a couple of my friends, and under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have fought it at all… but I couldn’t exactly explain to a therapist that what I was feeling was way beyond survivor’s guilt. Because that would involve explaining that I didn’t just feel like I could have done more to prevent it. I knew it. For certain. And could demonstrably prove it.

What eventually got me out of my head was deciding to do something about it. I couldn’t save Uncle Ben, but I could stop things like that from happening to anyone else in front of me.

I didn’t get there entirely on my own, admittedly. The Fantastic Four debuted as a group right around that time, stopping some subterranean weirdo called the Mole Man from dropping The Bowery into a giant sinkhole, and the full-body costumes three of them wore sparked the idea of putting one together for myself.

…Admittedly I spent more time looking at Invisible Woman’s costume than the others, but hey, teenager here. I was looking respectfully, I swear.

The four of them were open with their identities, which I respected, but to protect Aunt May, I would definitely need a mask. My ability to cling to surfaces aside, I could’ve gone with a different theme, but… well, call it my tribute to li’l Bitey. Besides, combining that clinging ability with the aforementioned enhanced strength and balance meant I could legitimately crawl up walls and across ceilings. It wasn’t much of a leap from there to ‘Spider-Man’.

All I was missing was the webs. I was anxious about that for a bit, wondering if I was going to develop spinnerets at the base of my spine or something — it would make about as much sense as any of my other powers — but unfortunately or thankfully that didn’t happen. Instead I rigged up some gadgets to wear around my wrists that could fire out a shear-thinning polymer from a pressurized capsule. It took some testing before I could trust it to hold my weight, and even more to dial in the palm-trigger’s sensitivity so I wouldn’t set it off when I made a fist, but eventually I got something workable.

Web-swinging was easily the coolest thing I’d ever done at first; after a year… it’s still totally frickin’ sweet, and I love it every time. Yeah, maybe that one mutant with wings has an easier time getting around, but no way does he have as much fun as me.

The last bit of prep work was making sure I couldn’t be tracked electronically. Security cameras, cell phones, private and government drones… Piecing together a signal scrambler wasn’t that hard, but making sure it wouldn’t interfere with other electronics took a lot of forethought. I didn’t want to screw up hospital equipment or someone’s pacemaker just by being near them, after all. In the end, I settled on a pair of devices that I worked into my web-shooters. One that would mess with recorded images, and the other to mess with non-camera pathfinding.

Once I had my costume, my gear, and was confident I wouldn’t be spotted by anything less than an NRO satellite — my plan for that was to never enter or exit home as Spider-Man if I could help it; if I couldn’t find any other place to change I could always get on the subway as Peter Parker and exit as Spider-Man — the only thing holding me back was fear… and I pushed past that by reminding myself that Uncle Ben would be proud of me for taking on the responsibility of helping people who couldn’t help themselves.

He would probably have preferred I didn’t keep it secret from Aunt May, but while the Fantastic Four were given some leeway on account of their public identities and scientific achievements, vigilantism was still illegal and this way she couldn’t be complicit if I got caught and unmasked. To put as much distance as possible between my two identities, I dipped into my savings from my part-time job and raided some thrift stores for the baggiest, plainest, most forgettable outfits I could find, as well as some clear-lensed prop glasses that looked a bit like my old ones.

Flash Thompson never missed a chance to rag on my new duds, but most of the other students just looked straight past me these days. Mission accomplished, even if it felt bad to be treated like wallpaper by kids I’d known since grade school.

My first week out, I was practicing swinging around the Upper East Side when I learned about one more power I hadn’t known about: I had some kind of sixth sense for danger. I found that out when I suddenly got a sharp feeling at the base of my skull — almost like a headache but not quite — because some dickheaded cop drew his pistol on me. I didn’t connect the two things immediately, but two nights later I was breaking up a mugging and it happened again when the backup I hadn’t known about came at me from behind with a tire iron. Once I was paying attention, it was easy to notice it flaring every time he took a swing, getting less intense each time as I grew more confident in dodging.

My Spider-Sense has proved invaluable time and time again as the months wore on and I unwillingly graduated from disarming muggers and scaring off burglars to dealing with full-on costumed bank robbers. Or, well, diamond exchange robbers.

The Vulture was a real pain, a guy brilliant enough to invent an electromagnetic harness capable of independent controlled flight… and he decided to rob banks with it rather than, I don’t know, filing a patent, licensing it or selling it himself, and making a zillion dollars the perfectly legal way. He even boasted about what he was doing, sending letters to the newspapers announcing his next robbery before pulling it off despite increased security, so maybe he was just in it for the thrill? Beats the hell out of me.

I chased him after one such bank caper, tangling with him midair over the Garment District, and that’s how I found out the wings on his costume were mostly for show. They did help him maneuver, but they weren’t necessary for flight, and he managed to give me the slip when I ran low on web fluid trying to tangle him up.

I started testing after that, and figured out that his flight worked off the principles of electromagnetism. I definitely didn’t have all the details of how it worked, but I was pretty sure I could disable the harness… at least, if I could manage it while he was still low to the ground.

Right around finals last year, he once again announced his next robbery, and even called me out directly as Spider-Man. Unfortunately, there was a class trip that day, so I couldn’t scout the place out in costume, but I brought it and my experimental anti-Vulture device with me regardless. Security was tight, especially since we were only a block or two from Rockefeller Center, and everyone was watching the sky, so I probably would’ve had trouble if I’d arrived via web-swinging anyway.

As it was, Vulture came up from the sewers, bursting out of a manhole on 47th St before grabbing a case of diamonds and fleeing through the sewers. Getting away from everyone to change was a pain, and catching up was worse since Vulture wasn’t any less maneuverable underground, but I managed to cut him off and the tighter quarters meant he couldn’t get away before I slapped my Anti-Magnetic Inverter on his back, disrupting his flight and sending him plummeting.

I was tempted to let him drop into the sewage below, since it wouldn’t hurt him and I was pretty peeved by that point, but I caught him just before that and webbed him to the ceiling, leaving a note with the untouched case of diamonds to let the approaching cops know that the webbing would dissolve in an hour and they should get his harness off without removing the extra device on the back.

Naturally, no good deed goes unpunished, and by the time I got out of the sewers, got out of costume, showered the sewer stink off me, and rejoined the class, I had been missed. I got detention for it and somehow a rumor got started afterward that I’d slipped off for some kind of hookup. In hindsight, that rumor actually boosted my reputation for a little while, making people think I wasn’t quite such a dweeb… which was a problem when I was specifically trying to avoid notice so no one would think to connect Peter Parker with Spider-Man.

Worse, though, that rumor got back to Aunt May, who spent weeks badgering me about introducing my nonexistent girlfriend.

Frankly, it was looking like I wouldn’t be introducing any girlfriend anytime soon, because the girl at school I had a crush on, Liz Allan, was out of class for several days after that… because, as it turned out, the Vulture was her stepdad.

And I put him in prison. Talk about awkward.

Vulture was only the first, too; there was also Chameleon, Doctor Octopus, Sandman… I also heard about some guy called Electro, and an Aussie going by Boomerang. Which seemed a bit on the nose, but hey, I didn’t name him. No idea where they all came from, considering mutants only started popping up a couple years ago as far as I know…

It was a real busy year, is what I’m saying. I crossed paths with several other members of the powered set in the past six months, heroes and villains alike. The strangest year of my life — at least so far, knock on wood — culminated in me being framed for robbing a museum, then teaming up with the extremely intense Daredevil to clear my name and take down an incredibly obnoxious illusionist calling himself Mysterio, just in time for Christmas.

Side note: My costume really needs more insulation for Winter outings. In fact, I should probably have an entirely separate Winter costume. Although, I’d hate to be stuck having to wear something like that in Summer if my regular costume got damaged… Thoughts for later.

Overall though, I really do think Uncle Ben would be proud of what I’ve accomplished in the last not-quite-a-year. At the very least, I can say I’ve grown a lot more confident sticking my nose in other people’s business, for better for worse.

Which brings me back to why I’m probably gonna be late for school. Namely, the man standing in front of me at the bodega who suddenly yanked on a balaclava and whipped out a cheap switchblade.

I just wanted a bagel and schmear on the way to school, but it’s not like I can just walk away from something like this.

“C’mon, buddy, drop the knife,” I pleaded.

If I hadn’t already been in the store myself, I would’ve ducked down a side street and come back in costume, but alas… There was probably something to psychoanalyze in the fact that I could so easily spot solutions for Spider-Man and not for Peter Parker, but who had time to self-reflect when there was a knife in their face? A year ago I’d have been way more nervous around a guy waving a knife, but my Spider-Sense was at a remarkably low buzz, so I was pretty sure the guy didn’t actually want to hurt anybody, and I’d be able to talk him down.

“This doesn’t have to go badly, you can walk straight out the door if you drop the knife and don’t come back,” I insisted, keeping my hands up.

He paused. “Deadass?”

“Deadass.” I said, when the owner at the register looked ready to disagree. “Drop it and tell me you won’t come back — tell me,” I emphasized. “And you can walk right past me and get outta here; I won’t stop you.”

Oops, little bit of Spider-Man slipping into my dialect there. Be more careful, Peter; Aunt May got you those elocution lessons for a reason… Not this reason, admittedly, but best to take advantage of yet another distinction to separate Spider-Man from Peter Parker.

The would-be robber looked between me and the bodega owner, who was inching toward the other end of the counter, then dropped the knife with a clatter and shouldered past me out the door. “I’m outta here!”

Naturally, he failed to notice me slipping a Spider Tracer into his pocket. My newest invention, they were tiny devices that emitted a radio signal I could track anywhere in the city with an app I wrote for my phone. Actually, I was pretty sure I would be able to pick them up from as far as Newark, but I hadn’t gotten around to testing the limits of its range yet. I should really take the time to do that; maybe I could do it tomorrow since we were off from school–

My Spider-Sense suddenly flared, and I hit the deck as the owner lifted a shotgun from under the counter. The tingling diminished once he’d swung the barrel past me, and thankfully the robber was already gone so he didn’t fire.

Equally-thankfully, he didn’t point it at me when he glared at me and barked, “!ווערן זאָל פֿון דיר אַ בלינטשיק און די קאץ זאל דיך קאפן” My Yiddish wasn’t great, but I got the gist — Turn into a blintz and something about a cat? “If you’re gonna let a bastard like that run outta here you can run off too, ya nebbish! Get outta here!” he yelled.

How’s that for gratitude? I bit down the urge to quip aloud since I wasn’t in costume. Guess I wasn’t getting that bagel after all. School on an empty stomach again, yay.

Shuffling outside, anxious of another spark from my Spider-Sense that thankfully never came, I checked my smartwatch and then took off running, narrowly dodging around passersby without ever actually hitting anyone. Crap, crap, crap, I cannot be late on the first day back!

Five minutes to the first bell, and the school about a mile away… a year ago that would’ve been completely impossible, but I guess part of me is finally getting used to being superhuman. Not that I could afford to run flat-out, or I’d definitely draw attention, but I’d gotten very used to sandbagging in P.E. over the last year.

Although… I frowned internally as I slipped past a few more pedestrians. Now I think about it, spiders aren’t particularly known for their distance running, are they? Biology still wasn’t my strongest point, but I’d sure as hell read up on every species of spider I could find. The fastest running speed charted by a true spider was an Australian huntsman species at a hair under 3.6 meters per second, according to a joint English and German study. Which was ‘only’ a little over 8 miles an hour, though I guess proportional to only being about 3 centimeters long, moving 120 times their body length in a single second was pretty darn fast.

I started to work out how that would correlate to my own top speed, but a spider’s body length didn’t necessarily correlate to its stride length… and I hadn’t tested my own top sprinting speed anyway. I once kept up with an accelerating car when I pulled out the stops, but that didn’t tell me how fast I actually ran.

Oh well.

As I crossed 67th Rd I slowed to a jog that used to be as fast as I could run flat-out, hanging a right and slipping in the side door closest to my locker… which coincidentally avoided the front quad where most of the seniors hung out in the mornings. While it meant missing the chance to see Liz before class, it also meant dodging Flash so he couldn’t make me late.

“Cutting it close, B,” said Morty, straightening up from the locker under mine, tossing lank hair out of his red eyes.

“Got stuck on line at the bodega,” I muttered, shoving my backpack away. “You have any trouble this morning?”

Morty was one of the only people I knew who got picked on more than me, at least when his best friend St. John wasn’t around — St. John was a big enough track star to shield Morty by association, and given the choice between the two of us Flash would pick me every time — but I worried about him whenever one of us wasn’t there to run interference. I wasn’t sure if he was actually a mutant or not, but his sallow complexion, sunken eyes, and hunched figure had definitely resulted in the ‘mutie’ slur being slung his way a few times a week. And that was just the times I heard.

He gave a crooked grin and reassured me, “Singe covered for me. Even though I keep telling you guys you don’t have to do that. The worst they ever do is call me ugly, and I tell myself that every day in the mirror.”

“You shouldn’t,” said our other friend, tucking her red hair behind her ear and gently flicking Morty’s forehead as she walked up.

As usual, she was dressed like your standard-issue goth. A black tee shirt from a metal band — I recognized the heart-pentagram thing as one of her favorites — distressed jeans tucked into big black boots, elbow-high fishnet gloves, and a thick black velvet choker around her neck supporting a big green stone that matched her eyes.

“Even as a joke, you’re going to reinforce a negative self-image,” she lectured Morty gently.

“What other image should I have?” Morty shrugged. “Fortunately, there’s no minimum handsomeness quota at boot camp.”

Despite his casual stance, I could tell Morty was getting antsy and changed the subject. “‘Morning, Jean. Did I miss anything?”

Huffing, Jean gave me a smile… and a look that said she knew exactly what I was doing, even if she was allowing it. Not that I’d doubted it. While she could be sassy at times, Jean’s overall attitude was completely the opposite of what you’d expect from her aesthetic. She was sweet, supportive, encouraging, and honestly I might have had a thing for her if she weren’t completely head over heels for Scott Summers.

Scott was… all right. Especially for a pretty impressive quarterback. Football wasn’t really my thing, but Jean had dragged us to enough games for me to recognize the major positions. And while everybody talked up our halfback, Flash — especially Flash himself — Scott was a close second. To hear the enthusiasts tell it, he had a real eye for spotting the slimmest of openings for a pass, and almost always threw the ball exactly where he intended.

“Not much. Couple of people making fools of themselves to impress that bitch Emma, per usual.” Emma wasn’t always the nicest person, to be sure, but I had never figured out exactly why Jean seemed to have it out for her. I was fairly sure it wasn’t just because the blonde was from Boston. “Rumor has it there’s gonna be a transfer student… or maybe two according to Sally?”

Sally Avril was a friend of Liz’s, whose parents worked as the assistant principal of Midtown and the Superintendent of Queens South High Schools, respectively. Consequently, she overheard and happily passed on a lot of gossip about upcoming inspections, budget plans, and faculty changes before they happened. I actually knew her, and most of the in-crowd other than Flash and Emma, from elementary school.

Not that any of them would speak to me since we started at Midtown.

Sigh.

“And… Jess still hasn’t woken up,” Jean added softly.

Our friend Jessica Campbell — who Morty definitely had a little crush on but you didn’t hear it from me — and her dad got in a car crash involving a military convoy on a road trip back from Disney World down in Florida. Mr Campbell and Jess’ brother Phil were killed, and Jess wound up in a coma. We’d been to visit Jess in the hospital a few times, to the relief of her previously estranged mom, but her prognosis was still uncertain.

“Damn,” Morty groaned. “At least she hasn’t gotten any worse, though. Right?”

“Right,” Jean nodded. “Her body is healing normally, and her mom said her heartbeat is strong and her breathing is deep and regular, so even though she’s still asleep, she’s technically improving.”

The final bell rang just then, and we all shuffled off to homeroom. I didn’t share mine with any of my friends. Hazards of a last name so far down the alphabet. Our homeroom was actually a bit underweight after a few kids transferred out last year; just 14 students. Eight guys, three girls, and one out nonbinary, which thankfully Mr Warren was cool about.

I had wondered if I might need to step up as a bully-distraction again when Nyx came out last year, but Jean mentioned that Scott (also in my homeroom) had flat-out told Flash to back off. Which was honestly decent of him.

Not for the first time, I toyed with the idea of getting to know Scott. I knew he wasn’t seeing anyone — Jean had been inconsolable the last time he had a girlfriend — and I knew Jean was working up to letting him know how she felt ahead of senior prom, so optimistically I would probably be seeing more of him, and by every metric I could think of he seemed like a genuinely good guy.

At the same time, though, it felt risky associating with anyone that was friends with Flash. Not because I was afraid of the guy, but because it would definitely garner more of Flash’s attention, and my whole schtick for the last year had been avoiding attention. I’m not sure why Flash himself never got the hint that I didn’t want trouble… unless it was because I was constantly struggling not to laugh when he talked about how cool Spider-Man was. Because of course the guy who bullied me was a huge fan of my alter-ego.

Dropping into my usual seat in the back corner of the room, I was completely unsurprised when no one sat nearby. Ah well, I’ll be putting high school behind me in just a few more boring months–

Mr Warren rapped on his podium to draw the class’ attention, which was a bit unusual. Normally he just silently took roll, since he knew who we all were by now, and went back to whatever scientific journal he was reading.

“Class,” he said a little sharply, making Seymour and Swiss finally pipe down. “Thank you. I shan’t keep you long, but I have a few announcements. First, a reminder that tomorrow, being Lunar New Year, is a school holiday. Please enjoy yourselves responsibly whether you are celebrating or not. You can likely expect that today will be a review day, but as you are seniors, expect to hit the ground running on Thursday.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Secondly, there are two students transferring into your grade, and by happy coincidence, both young ladies will be joining this homeroom.”

“Hope they’re cute!” Seymour called out immediately.

Mr Warren fixed him with a flat look, and Seymour shrank in his chair. “That comment was not appropriate, Mr O’Reilly.

“Particularly inappropriate from someone who has a girlfriend,” Scott muttered, and Seymour started to cringe. “One who will definitely find out about this.”

“It is inappropriate for anyone, regardless of their relationship status,” Mr Warren insisted.

“Yes, Sir,” Seymour groaned.

After another moment, the teacher glanced toward the door. “It’s time to welcome our new classmates. If you cannot be civil, be silent.” He waved, and the door slid open to admit the two new girls. And I’ve gotta admit, while while Seymour’s comment was definitely not cool, I could admit privately that they were both extremely cute.

The first was a blonde wearing a green jacket over a fashionable black turtleneck, purple skirt, and black stockings, with a matching black headband holding her long hair out of her face. Dark eyeshadow and long lashes offset bright blue eyes, and some lipstick flattered a somewhat wide mouth. Her figure actually reminded me a bit of Sue Storm, being slender but with a defined waist, and the cheek dimples that appeared when she gave the class a polite smile elevated her from cute to striking. At least in my humble opinion.

“Miss… Gwendolyne Stacy?” said Mr Warren. “If you’d care to introduce yourself to the class.”

“Hi,” she gave a little wave. “You can call me Gwen. ‘Stacy’ is spelled without an E — for some reason everyone gets that wrong… I used to go to Standard, but don’t hold that against me. I’m interested in biology and chemistry, I’m planning a trip to Europe after graduation, and while I generally try to eat healthy I’ll never turn down a slice. What else…? I have a cat named Jeff who I love, and three little brothers I tolerate on a good day. My dad just made Captain at NYPD, but don’t hold that against me either. And…” She trailed off a bit after the strong start, her smile turning uncertain. “I hope we get along?”

Oh no, she’s adorable.

I tried to calm my beating heart as she stepped back, letting the other girl have the floor.

She was about the same height as Gwen but a bit broader in the shoulders and hips which brought even more attention to her equally-snatched waist. Her clothes were plainer, not designer brands, but the blouse and high-rise jeans flattered her hourglass figure regardless. She took a single step forward, and the part of my brain that was always in hero-mode noted she was both perfectly balanced and completely silent, probably from gymnastics or dance training. Maybe both. Her coppery red hair was darker than Jean’s, just long enough to brush her shoulders, and the only makeup she wore was lipstick the same shade as her hair.

“You’d be Miss Nancy Rushman, then?” Mr Warren prompted.

Nancy

I listened idly to “Gwen’s” self-introduction, part of my mind taking notes on what I did and didn’t want to mention myself, while the rest was dedicated to memorizing the faces and names of the rest of the students in the room.

Allegedly, someone in this school is Spider-Man, I reminded myself. A faculty member more likely, but a student couldn’t be ruled out, especially this early in my investigation.

I studied a rather well-built boy in the front row for a moment before moving on. None of the other students looked particularly more likely or suspicious than the rest. Although at this point, anyone at this school being under that mask would be equally surprising, but I suppose that’s by design on Spider-Man’s part.

Then my eyes lit on another boy sitting alone in the back row.

There were several empty desks around him, which might have suggested a rebel or troublemaker, but the rather thick glasses and multiple textbooks — physics, chemistry, calculus, psychology — on his desk disagreed. If my understanding of American high school stereotypes was accurate, this was a nerd; someone used to being pushed around and ignored. His clothes — clean, but old and unfashionable — made it clear he was trying not to draw attention.

Wallflowers tended to have a better grasp on social dynamics than people thought, though. Not unlike serving staff and housekeepers in upper-class homes. In which case, this boy might be a good avenue for getting my finger on the school’s pulse. I should tailor my cover such that it wouldn’t be unusual for me to move in the same circles.

Recognizing Gwen was done talking, I took a step forward, pasting on a smile which I rather smugly thought looked much more natural than hers. “Hello. I’m Nancy. I enjoy ballet, psychology, and classical literature. Unfortunately my grades have slipped lately due to some personal circumstances, but my guardian and I are hopeful I can bring them back up before graduation. I’d appreciate your understanding in that regard, if I need to beg off plans to study.”

“Very responsible,” said the teacher. “Perhaps you’d like to take a seat near Peter? He’s one of my best students, and I’m sure he could catch you up on anything you’re uncertain about.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, already angling for the seat next to the nerd.

What were the chances it would be that easy? Well, all the better for me. Most likely it wouldn’t be that difficult to flatter someone who was likely unused to female attention. Not to mention, if he’s seen anything unusual, whether he recognized it or not… he could be my key to finding Spider-Man.

As I stepped past the last occupied desks, though, the boy let out a gasp. Clutching his head, he nearly fell out of his chair, barely keeping his feet. I reached out, but he stepped away at the same moment, staggering against the back wall.

“Peter?” The teacher called, concerned. “Are you all right, son?” I noted genuine concern in Warren’s voice. It seemed Peter was indeed something of a favorite student, despite his demeanor.

“M-migraine,” Peter rasped, lurching for the door. “Sorry, Mr Warren, but I need some air. Nice to meet you, Nancy.”

“Jeez, Petey-Pie, you’re such a loser you can’t even come within five feet of a fire shorty?” one of the other boys jeered.

Peter didn’t bother to retort, just letting the door close behind him.

“That is your second inappropriate comment today, Mr O’Reilly,” the teacher snapped. “I think you had better join me in detention after school so that we can review what is and is not appropriate to voice aloud. In excruciating detail.”

Belatedly, I noticed my arm was still outstretched, and let it drop. That had been… odd, even for someone as unpopular as Peter appeared to be. I wasn’t quite sure what to think of it, except that I could at least rule out one person in this class as being Spider-Man.

A/N: If you’re enjoying this story, feel free to check out my discord server at https://discord.gg/H6V854Fvbg

So yeah, new kickoff. There’s a bit of a blend of multiple continuities here that I think comes together okay, and which hopefully culminates in a modern-feeling take on every brown-haired white boy’s favorite superhero.

Sort of in the vein of Sony's Disney's Marvel's Insomniac Games’ Spider-Man game, we’re skipping past the origin to pick up a year or so in. There have always been some mutants and mutates around throughout history (not that Peter knows that yet), but the Heroes Gallery is just starting to kick off in the current generation.
As Peter mentioned, the Fantastic Four are around and ‘out’, while he and Daredevil are holding down the secret identity club. There are a few more folks operating out there, but New York isn’t nearly as packed as it is in the mainstream or cinematic universes — critically, the Avengers don’t currently exist, and if they do form it won’t be in New York.

The note about spiders’ running speeds comes from a genuine (if slightly slightly anachronistic) study awaiting peer review at time of writing.

Peter’s upper limits are not very well defined (at least in terms of numbers), but according to Marvel’s own scales he ranks higher than Steve Rogers in Strength and Speed, and equal in Durability. Bro is enhanced all around.

‘St. John’ as a given name is usually pronounced something like “Sinjuhn”, hence Morty calling him “Singe”.

Gwen Stacy originally attended Standard High, a rival school to Midtown. Just a little trivia.

A spider-cookie to anyone who recognizes ‘Nancy’ before next chapter’s reveal (or… y’know… reading the tags on AO3. Lol.)

Glossary

bodega – a particular flavor of convenience store; not exclusive to New York, but everyone there knows what they are.

!ווערן זאָל פֿון דיר אַ בלינטשיק און די קאץ זאל דיך קאפן (Yiddish, read as Vern zol fun dir a blintshik aun di kats zal dikh kafn!) – May you turn into a blintz and be snatched by a cat! (Implying ‘–and then we’ll be rid of both of you!’)

If the Yiddish looks weird, I apologize. I don’t know how to read that alphabet (alephbet?) so I can’t be completely sure, but I’m fairly certain the issue is that Hebrew script is written right-to-left and this is the best the text renderer can do when jamming it into a sentence that’s otherwise written left-to-right.

nebbish (נעביש, American Yiddish slang) – someone who is fearful, indecisive, and timid, especially in confrontations and taking responsibility.

‘on line’ – apparently how the locals say ‘in line’ (as in ‘waiting on line’ rather than ‘waiting in line’)… don’t jump up my ass if that’s a stereotype rather than accurate, I’m not from New York.

a slice – in New York slang, a single portion of [New York-style] pizza