Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Ordinary Life of Peter Parker
“Hello everyone. My name’s Peter Parker. Yep, that Peter Parker. Average run-of-the-mill high schooler, emphasis on mill. Because that’s exactly what Midtown High feels like: a factory that stamps out jocks, cheerleaders, and the occasional science nerd like me.
On paper? I’m a genius. At least, the tests say so. On the ground? I’m an orphan raised by my aunt and uncle, and apparently, that makes me the perfect target for every gym-rat with daddy issues. Yeah, it’s cliché. You’re already rolling your eyes, right? But I swear, clichés only become clichés because they work. Mine certainly does. Flash Thompson—the hunk of the school, captain of everything, and possessor of a jawline so sharp it could slice deli meat—has made it his daily cardio to bully me.
And me? I… well, I try to survive. Barely.”
The hallway smelled of floor wax and french fries, the twin perfumes of an American high school. Peter adjusted his glasses with one hand while juggling a stack of textbooks with the other.
“Yo, bookworm!” Flash’s voice boomed across the lockers like a ship horn. A football spiraled through the air—deadly accurate—and smacked into Peter’s stomach. The books tumbled down in a spectacular cascade.
“Great,” Peter muttered, clutching his ribs. “Internal bleeding and public humiliation, all before third period.”
Flash strutted over with his entourage, his letterman jacket practically glowing in the fluorescent lights. “Careful, Parker. Those books might bite you. You know, since they’re the only friends you’ve got.”
One of Flash’s lackeys snorted like it was the funniest line in history. Peter, on the other hand, crouched to gather his books, lips twitching with the temptation to say something suicidal.
Instead, he whispered to himself: Be cool, Peter. Live to suffer another day.
But Flash wasn’t done. “So, Parker, you going to that science exhibit after school? You know, where the real men hang out?” He flexed his bicep for the crowd.
Peter finally stood, hugging the books to his chest. “You’re right, Flash. When I think real men, I definitely think about field trips where they explain radioactive isotopes. Super macho.”
The entourage laughed. Not with Peter. At the absurdity of him even opening his mouth.
Flash shoved him lightly against the lockers. “Careful, Parker. Sarcasm’s a dangerous weapon in untrained hands.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the only weapon I’ve got,” Peter muttered, but Flash was already walking away, high-fiving his minions.
Lunch wasn’t much better. Peter sat alone with his tray of mystery meat, doodling in his notebook. Equations, chemical bonds, little sketches of gadgets that would never see the light of day.
“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice interrupted. Liz Allan, bright smile, ponytail bouncing. She always had this knack for approaching Peter when Flash wasn’t around. He suspected it was pity, but he wasn’t dumb enough to complain.
“Oh, just thinking about how much nutritional value a meatloaf can lose before it becomes classified as rubber,” Peter said.
Liz giggled, and for a fleeting second, Peter felt like maybe—just maybe—his life wasn’t a total trainwreck. Then Flash appeared, wrapping an arm around her shoulders like a vulture claiming a carcass.
“Come on, Liz,” Flash said. “Don’t waste your time with Parker. He’s probably calculating the square root of loneliness.”
Liz hesitated, offered Peter a small apologetic smile, and let Flash steer her away. Peter stabbed his fork into the meatloaf like it had personally wronged him.
By the time the dismissal bell rang, Peter’s head was buzzing with more than equations. The science exhibit loomed in his mind like Christmas for nerds. Radioactive technology, cutting-edge experiments, real scientists who might actually recognize his brain instead of his glasses.
At the exhibit, Peter drifted through the crowd of students. Glass cases glimmered with equipment. Posters announced breakthroughs in radiation research. His heart beat faster with each word.
A professor in a white coat adjusted his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, today you’ll witness our progress in controlling radioactive emissions for practical energy solutions.”
Peter leaned forward, eyes shining. This is it. This is where genius lives. Not in locker rooms or football fields, but here, with minds that can change the world.
So focused was he on the lecture, he didn’t notice the spider. A tiny creature, legs trembling, dangling from a thread above him. It descended slowly, almost deliberately, landing on the back of his hand.
Peter blinked. “Huh. Hey, little guy. You’re not part of the exhibit, are you—ow!”
The spider bit, sharp and immediate. Peter yelped, shaking his hand. The creature dropped limply to the floor, curling in death.
“Did… did you just—?” Peter stared at the corpse. “Well, that’s rude. I didn’t even get a chance to name you.”
Then the pain hit. Not just in his hand, but like a blade thrust into his skull. His vision blurred, his knees buckled. Desperate not to make a scene, he staggered toward the nearest restroom.
The stall door banged shut behind him. Peter leaned over the toilet, biting the edge of his book like a gag to keep from screaming. The pain coursed through him in waves, boiling his blood, twisting his insides.
Minutes felt like centuries. When the agony finally ebbed, Peter collapsed against the stall wall, drenched in sweat. He gasped. “What the hell just happened?”
His glasses slipped from his face, cracked against the floor. Groaning, he picked them up and shoved them back on—only to frown. Everything was blurry.
He tore them off. Suddenly, the world sharpened into perfect clarity. Every tile on the bathroom floor, every crack in the stall door, every drop of water trembling on the sink faucet glowed with detail he’d never seen.
“No way.” His voice shook. “I… I can see. Without glasses. Better than with them. Did that spider just… cure my myopia?”
Peter laughed breathlessly, then winced as his muscles ached. “Okay, Parker. Don’t freak out. You got bit by a radioactive spider. Happens every day, right? Totally normal.”
Still trembling, he shoved the cracked glasses in his pocket and stumbled out.
On his way home, the city felt… different. Every sound magnified. Every car horn sharp. He passed a man in a trench coat who barreled into him without so much as a glance.
“Hey, watch it!” Peter grumbled, pressing a hand against the wall for balance.
Except his hand didn’t come off.
He pulled, confused, and felt resistance—like invisible glue tethering his palm to the brick. His breath caught. Slowly, experimentally, he pressed his other hand higher up.
And then he was… climbing. Just a few centimeters, but enough for his stomach to drop.
“Holy…” He peeled his hands free, heart racing. “I can stick to walls? Like—like a spider?”
He looked around, making sure no one saw, and whispered, “Okay. Either I’ve lost my mind, or I just leveled up in the weirdest way possible.”
He ducked into a convenience store, bought a cola from a machine, and popped the can. Foam erupted like a geyser, soaking his shirt. He stared at the crumpled aluminum in his grip.
“…Did I just Hulk-smash a soda can? Great. Super strength. Super sticky hands. Spider vision. What’s next, web-shooter veins?”
But despite his sarcasm, a grin tugged at his lips. For the first time in his life, Peter Parker felt… powerful.
And the world had no idea what was coming.