Chapter Text
The rain pouring down in Queens pound into Peter's ears with a harsh thud, thud, thud. Sighing, Peter carded a hand through his waves, tired from the lack of sleep and exhaustion. He hadn't been able to sleep well in the past weeks, his superpowered senses making everything too much to process; too much to ignore.
Every night, Peter heard the calls of help, please help, and the helplessness of being stuck in his room kept him wide awake, as if to torture himself as repentance.
The real nightmare, he had learned soon after, was falling asleep. He'd wake up, pale and shivering from yet another dream of Ben (don't do this to me, Ben. You can't die yet, please plea-), of the cold dead night and his uncle's eyes slowly losing their ability to see.
On the worse nights, he'd wake up seeing red, his uncle's blood staining his hands.
He hated it.
Spider powers, as Peter had taken to calling them, were fucking bullshit. He couldn't even get in the bathroom without puking. And when he was puking? The smell made him puke even more, an endless cycle of pain.
Quickly, Peter had realized that his senses were some sort of blessing and curse. Sure, he could sense everything better than literally anyone on the planet but the benefits were really outweighed by everything else.
The smells alone were driving him up the wall. Literally. His aunt May's poorly cooked rendition of a meatloaf was tolerable. Flash's incessant bragging, less so. The scratching of pens and papers were dealt with out of necessity.
The crimes happening in Queens on the other hand? About to drive him insane. He'd even taken to trying to soundproof his room but to no avail.
Sure, there were a lot of perks to being a spider.
Exhibit A…
Stickiness?
He wasn't sure. Actually, now that he thought about it the stickiness was also mildly inconvenient too, considering he had to actively stop himself from running a hand through his hair - a habit since he was younger. He's afraid he'd somehow pull out chunks of hair and go bald like Jeff Bezos. Peter wanted to be able to successfully run a company too one day but he wasn't so desperate for success as to emulate the man's hair-do.
Really, he was just fine with his messy, wavy hair
Peter was sure that if he had to hear another scream today, he'd go mental with his inability to do something about it. It also definitely didn't help that his uncle's death was still frighteningly fresh in his mind, the blood seeping through his clothes and staining his hands still disturbingly vivid, even when asleep.
He had these powers.
He had the ability to go out there and save people but here he was, stuck in his room with only his homework to keep him company, because he was afraid.
Afraid of failure.
Afraid of mistakes and incompetence.
Afraid of watching more people die. After all, it was one thing to hear it clearly, as if he were there, but it was anthing thing entirely when he had to see it. There is a different level of pain watching someone die, seeing them bleed out in your arms so, yes, he was afraid.
Peter was afraid of what he could do. He knew, from the shattered remains of the glass in his wastebasket, that if he just held something a little tighter than intended, a little rougher than normal, things wouldn't end well.
His strength was something that he couldn't play around with.
But…
But, if there's one thing that Peter knew, one thing that Peter was taught growing up, it was that with great power comes great responsibility - a quote that Ben would often repeat when talking about his work as a policeman.
With great power comes great responsibility.
He had these powers and from the looks of it, there wasn't anything he could do to change it. Right now, he had the ability to save people, had the power right in his fingertips.
Maybe…
Maybe it was time to do just that.
At the very least, Peter had the obligation to try his hardest to do so.
Why?
Because if there's one thing that Peter knew well, it was that helplessness; not being able to do anything felt infinitely worse than trying and failing.
That was why, at the very least, he had the responsibility to try - if not because of his powers than at least for his mental state.
(And he tightened his grip on his pen minutely, Peter pulling out a new notebook and got to work.
He didn't need to be Iron Man or the Avengers.
He'll be a vigilante - the gray area. He was going to help the people around him.
If he was going to be a vigilante, then he couldn't do it as Peter Parker.
Finishing his first draft, Peter nodded tiredly. It wasn't much, wasn't even that creative and was definitely not a world-changing idea but it was progress.
Progress was progress.
It wasn't much but it was something and something was better than nothing, right? He'd figure this out.
He had to.
He'd go crazy if he didn't
And for the first time in the past two weeks, Peter doesn't hear the echoes of help, please help me, someone please save me, in his dreams.
For the first time in a while, the screams and voices don't sound like they were maddening drums pounding in his head.
For the first time in a while, Peter sleept dreamless.
It helped.)
Deciding to go out as Spider-man, a name Peter had thought of on the fly, was, as it turned out, a shitty decision. In fact, he'd go as far as saying that it was downright disastrous.
Today, he had saved a grand total of zero (0) people and had somehow gotten himself mugged in the process. He didn't even have his wallet on him! Currently. He was missing a hoodie, the snack stash he packed in case he got hungry and possibly a shoelace. Looking down, Peter sighed, resigned.
Yep, definitely down a shoelace.
And if that wasn't embarrassing enough, the world decided to take a shit on Peter.
Peter had somehow gotten himself saved by the Daredevil just as he decided to give up on chasing some guy on a motorcycle wgo he had stupidly chased all the way to somewhere in Hell's Kitchen.
At the time, he hadn't paid it any mind, thinking he was familiar enough with the city to get himself back home, right?
Wrong.
As a matter of fact, Peter had gotten himself lost and then subsequently mugged and sort of, mildly stabbed, in what looked to be Hell's Kitchen and now here he was, stewing in his embarrassment on top of an abandoned building because he was supposed to be the one who saved and not the other way around.
Reaching for the alcohol and bandages that he had hidden in a makeshift pouch under his costume (really, it was just a glorified t-shirt with pants that were painted with web designs), he hissed at the sting of the liquid, the pain welcome after the night he had had.
In hindsight, he should have known that he was going to be shit at this. Really, for all his genius, Peter had not realized this fact. It made sense too. Of course, his powers don't magically turn him into Captain America.
Right now, he was just a naïve kid from Queens with slightly stronger fists and annoyingly strong hearing and sight.
He wasn't going to magically master martial arts and kick ass automatically.
He had to work for it.
The sting of the alcohol was a welcome pain, reminding him that even if he was bad - shit, really - at this, he had come out here and took the first step. He was doing something and though there weren't any fruits to his efforts yet, that was fine.
Right now, he wasn't trapped in the words of his homework or suffocated by the walls of his room. He's doing something. It's nothing major, not even anything to talk about, but it's something.
It was progress.
He's got a lot to do, a long way to go but maybe…
Maybe, it'll all turn out alright.
For once, as he sat with his legs hanging from the edge of the building, the red of his costume don't turn a dark maroon. The echoes of screams and help, please help, not as harsh as it normally was.
That had to count, right?
Moving to get up, Peter sighed, already planning to find some sort of landmark to get himself home and maybe some training plans while he's at it.
He's got a lot to do. But first…
"What the hell are you doing out here, kid?"
Matt had been standing behind the kid for the past few minutes silently, simply observing the child that he saved a few minutes ago bandage himself up, lost in thought.
The kid was obviously injured and with the amount of blood he noticed on the roof, it wasn't just a papercut either. The fact that the kid had thought to bring alcohol and bandages as well as hide his identity spelled out a bad picture for the vigilante. It said a lot about what this kid had planned to do - was planning to do.
A lot of very bad things; very headache-inducing things.
He knew exactly what someone who was about to do something very reckless sounded like.
That was why, he had simply observed the kid from afar, waiting to see what he would do next. Listening to his heartbeat which was surprisingly calm, Matt concluded that the child probably didn't even notice his presence, too caught up in whatever has his mind wandering.
Deciding to speak up, Matt said, "What the hell are you doing out here, kid?"
It should have surprised the kid, really, an ominous looking man standing behind you looking like some stalker then suddenly talking and asking a very ominous 'the hell are you doing out here' was reason enough to at least jolt in surprise.
Yet, surprisingly enough, he didn't. Instead, he was met with a calm, wry smile that said, 'I knew you were there the whole time'.
The kid turned to face him. From the still calm beating of his heart, Matt knew that the kid must have noticed him since the very beginning and simply chose to not say a thing.
Smiling wryly, Peter told the man, "I'm here to be a vigilante."
"I'm here to be a vigilante."
He said.
The child, literally a small, tiny teenager, who couldn't possibly be older than twelve, just said that he was going to be a vigilante with such a matter-of-fact tone that Matt was sure that this kid knew exactly what he implied with that statement.
In this line of work, Matt had come to know a lot of things, had seen people killed, and had felt the worst sides of mankind. He was pretty sure that this kid, who looked like he was twelve and should be at home and obsess over spongebob or something, wasn't going to be able to handle it.
Hell, even he himself had bad days too.
He knew what that tone sounded like. The tones and subtle conviction in his words were said with utmost certainty.
This kid was going to be a vigilante and there wasn't anything Matt could do about it was what he was saying.
Still, Matt is pretty sure that if he doesn't talk to this kid with the right words, he'd probably go out and get himself robbed in some other area of the city. With a resigned huff, Matt takes a seat beside Peter who had decided that standing wasn't worth it, and continued to bandage himself up on the edge of the roof.
"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into? Being a vigilante is hard work, you have to be tough as nails to get through a night."
Motioning to hand over the bandages, Matt redid the kid's handiwork. It was sloppy and was way too tight, probably cutting off circulation in his arm.
Receiving them, Matt carefully bandaged the wound, taking unusual care because this kid was a child and he wasn't that big of an asshole to act like he didn't give a shit. He himself knew that he was self-sacrificing at best but he wasn't fucking twelve when he started out, now was he?
This kid was practically setting himself up for a suicide mission and like hell would Matt simply stand there and allow it to happen.
"Kid, you just got mugged. Why the hell did you decide to go out as a vigilante? The world out here isn't all sunshine and rainbows like the Avengers. There's a lot of dark shit that happens here and they're going to make you sick. Hell, it makes me sick sometimes. You know that?
The kid, to his credit, didn't quiver at Matt's intimidating presence, instead, he looked at his bandaged arm carefully, as if cataloging exactly what Matt did and how. After a few minutes of silence, he turned to point in the other direction, he said, "There, about 30 blocks from here, give or take, is someone muttering that they hate their night shift."
Looking at the vigilante beside him, Peter continued, his eyes never wavering, "In that direction, there's a woman running home, judging by the sound of her heels, she's definitely wearing platforms."
Spending the next few minutes pointing out mundane things that he could hear in about a 30 block radius, the kid doesn't stop.
"I've just got these powers, got bitten a few weeks ago and hurt like hell but now, I can hear things, feel things so intensely that it's driving me insane. I'm not choosing to be a vigilante for shits and giggles. I have to. I don't know what else I could do if I don't."
Staring at a very specific block in the distance, Peter said softly, a little haunted and jaded, sorrow seeping into his bones. "I lost someone close to me two weeks ago. He taught me that with great power comes great responsibility. I know that I'm gonna face a lot of bad things as a vigilante. How could I not? I hear them like I'm there first-hand. I hear people calling for help. I realize that I'm probably going to be shit at this but I'm going to get better."
Turning to the man sitting beside him, Peter asked, "I at least have to try, right?"
Taking a moment to listen to the kid's heartbeat, Matt turned away, thinking through his answer carefully. He knew that voice. That was the voice of someone desperate.
If there's one thing that Matt could relate to with this kid, it was that the senses they both had were simultaneously a blessing and a curse. He knew what if felt like to hear things you don't want to hear. This kid probably had better hearing than his.
Thinking about it, Matt realized that the kid probably heard it in his bedroom at night. Hell, even his senses weren't as strong as this kid's and he already had a hard time keeping them in check. If he was in the kid's situation, he'd probably go insane from it too.
"Kid… I get it, really, I do. It's obvious you're new to this but it sounds like you don't plan on stopping no matter what I tell you. I'm going to give you some honest advice."
"You should learn to throw a punch; how to mitigate damage or how to bandage a stab wound. You're a kid, you can't learn on the job. It's going to be a suicide mission, understand? You've got to learn how to do things before you go out and become a vigilante."
Matt wanted to tell this kid to go home, really. He did.
But, he knew this kid won't go home. He'd go somewhere else, where he'd be all alone and there wouldn't be anyone but lady luck to help him. So, the best he could do was give him solid advice. If he's lucky, the kid would take his advice and disappear for a few years, five or maybe even ten if he's really lucky.
Continuing, Matt said, "I'll be honest with you kid, you can't cut corners. As a vigilante, you got enough leeway to fighting dirty but you can't go out beating the shit out of crtiminals, alright?" Feeling a deadpan stare, Matt chuckles, "stop looking like that, I'm aware that I beat the shit out of criminals but you're not me, are you? You're literally twelve."
"I'm thirteen."
"Not helping your case at all. Look I watched you kick a trash can and smush it like an empty can of coke before making your way up this roof. Trust me on this, you need to learn how to regulate your strength. Do a bit of conditioning, you know?"
Giving the kid a pat (seriously, a pat?! Damn, he's getting soft), Matt stood up, planning to continue his patrol, knowing there wasn't much he could say anyway. "You'll get to where you need to but for now, learn how to do it. It might take a few years but trust me on this. It'll help you out."
Watching the vigilante leave, Peter only let out a sigh. It seemed he had a lot to think about.
But, wait. Wasn't he here because of something?
"Hey, can you tell me how to get to Queens?"
"Hey, May? I can I talk to you for a second?"
His aunt, who had been attempting to follow Ben's meatloaf recipe and was failing miserably, looked up. "Sure, Pete, what's up?"
Moving towards the table, May settled in front of her nephew, a worried frown on her face. "Is something wrong?"
Telling his aunt about his plans for Spider-man and all the implications and reasonings that came with it took a while, Peter had to spend a few minutes simply opening and closing his mouth, at a loss for words. But May was an angel and waited patiently, hearing him out with quiet support.
By the end, Peter had devolved into a sobbing mess, repeating the words, "I'm sorry" again and again.
May, who had watched as her nephew took a chance and told her everything despite the obvious fear in his voice, simply held her nephew. "It's okay, Pete." Searching for the right words, May said, "I get it. Baby, I get it. It's okay."
"But…"
"I know, kid. Losing Ben… it was hard on both of us; heck, it took me an hour to even get myself in the kitchen and try cooking. I get it, the loss hit both of us hard. But, you… you watched your uncle die, kid, and with these powers… the guilt you'd feel…" Sighing, May cupped her nephew's face tenderly.
"I don't blame you for Ben's death, Petey. Even with these powers, it isn't your fault. I know it's going to take you a long while before you believe it but it isn't."
"Still, I know it's going to eat you up. Don't get me wrong. I hate this. I hate that this is what you have to resort to to be able to handle all the changes in your life but I could never hate you, Peter. I get it, okay?"
Hugging her sweet, sweet nephew closer, May started to cry. "I get it. After losing Ben, I, kid, I love you like the sun. I couldn't possibly handle losing both of you but… I know that if I don't let you do this, you'd either lose yourself or go behind my back to do it; both of which are scenarios I don't like," seeing him about to argue, May shushed him with a flick of a finger. "Don’t argue with me, young man. I raised you. You're gonna lose yourself without something to cope so you gotta promise me at least this. Okay, Pete? Promise me that you'd do everything - and I mean, everything - in your power to come home to me, okay?"
Resting her head on her nephew's shoulder, May said, "We'll figure the rest out but this is my one requisite. Do everything in your power to come home to me, okay, baby?"
Sobbing wholeheartedly, her nephew sniffled and hiccuped out a small but thankful, "okay."
And then, May sobs harder.
(May sobs because she was thankful.
Her nephew has never been quite the same since the night Ben died. She was thankful, to that vigilante in Hell's Kitchen who told him to train safely first and then to Peter's trust in her.
May knew that Peter could have done this behind her back, could have done it even without her permission; with her not knowing any better.
But instead, Peter came to her for help.
May was thankful.
If her nephew was going to do this, then she's going to make sure he'd be able to do it and come home.
Right now, the Parkers were down to two. It was May and Peter against the world and l ord knows that May would do anything for Peter.
She's going to help him become the best he could possibly be.
Later, they'd sit down at the table to browse for gyms around the area and Peter would tell her that he was going to work at Delmar's to pay for the expenses.
Later, both aunt and nephew would congregate at the kitchen and discover that Peter had inherited his uncle's skill in the kitchen.
Later, they'd cry all over again because it tasted exactly how Ben cooked it.
But that was for later. For now, May allowed herself to cry.)
It's been a few days since his first night as a vigilante and Peter hadn't been out since then.
After he had decided to tell his aunt about his plans, the two had planned together on his arrangements.
Daredevil's advice had gotten Peter to think with a clear direction in mind.
As such, though he hadn't gone out since that night, Peter wasn't just sitting around either. In fact, he'd argue that he was kicking things into high gear.
Now, he was currently standing outside of the boxing gym that they had found which had the best trainers he could find and was, simultaneously, within walking distance of his school and their apartment.
Even better, the place where he was working at, Delmar's, was just a little bit farther from here too. Peter and May had noticed that his metabolism had a freak glow-up and decided to be a spoiled bitch and demand food every few hours. As such, Peter had decided to take up a few side hustles here and there to help cover the gym and food, much to May's reluctance.
This was Peter's first step. He had heard Happy Hogan and a bunch of other retired pros helped out here every now and then and had decided that if he wanted to be a vigilante, he had to learn from the best possible people available.
That meant that his trainer had to be in the loop so that he could go all-out during their sessions, a fact that May and Peter had agreed upon but were still a little hesitant on, considering their circumstances.
After all, Peter didn't want to take advantage of anyone and besides, if they were going to train him, he was 98% sure that they'd be able to identify him from the way he fought alone in the future.
It was going to be a gamble but a necessary one nonetheless.
Taking a deep breath, Peter placed a hand on his chest to calm himself. Progress was progress. It's going to take a while but he'll get there.
For now, he was on his way.
Even this bit, even if it's just something as small as finding a gym, Peter reminded himself that progress was progress, no matter how small.
He was on his way there.
Placing a hand on the door, Peter pushed it open.
Queens wouldn't know what hit them.
Let it be known that Happy Hogan absolutely despised children or, at least, the children that go through the doors of Stark Industries. They're too goddamn excitable and bounce all over the place and ask too many fucking questions that just looking at them makes him want to die.
Now, the real ones he hated were the teenagers. The damn things walked into the building like they just won the elections and became president when in fact, they were just there for tours or the occasional internship. Entitled bastards every single one of them.
Sure, Happy would admit that there would be the occasional calm and down-to-earth intern but the gains don't really outweigh the headaches caused and damages incurred to his being. Happy had to endure watching kids brag about how they're at Stark fucking Industries every goddamn week and coupled with the literal manchild that was Tony Stark, it was absolute hell for Happy.
He absolutely hated it.
That was why he had opened a simple, nondescript gym in Queens. It didn't have a good location, didn't have the best views but what it did have was the people.
See, Happy Hogan has been in the sports industry nearly his entire life. He had discovered early on in his career when he was training for pro that the best places were the run-down gyms, the ones that look like they're halfway to hell. He knew that the best places were the ones that were rickety and old but was still running, even after all these years.
If it's still going, that's when you know that the people teaching and training there were legit.
Now, Happy hadn't grown up in the best parts of town and had stumbled into one of them as a teenager looking to make a name for himself. At the time, he wasn't anything special in academics but excelled in sports. He had realized halfway through middle school that if he wanted to earn better money and escape poverty, his best bet would be going pro.
Happy Hogan couldn't do a lot of things but what he could do was throw a punch.
And that he did.
Now, many years later, Happy had decided to open his own gym. It was freeing in a way. Sure, he'd made a name for himself in the pro circuit and then later, as Tony Stark's bodyguard but the fame had quickly turned stale and bland.
Suddenly, people started to approach you not because they wanted to be friends but because they wanted to take advantage of you. It was why he hated socializing so much. He realized that even when you make it out of the worst parts in town, the better parts weren't that better.
In fact, he'd go as far as say it was worse.
The people at the top had learned how to mask their ill intent with kind words and sharp smiles. It was just human nature for them.
The gym had provided Happy with a nice outlet. At the beginning, he had had to hire a few other trainers but with his connections and knowledge, it was easily done.
With his schedule working at Stark Industries, he didn't always have the ability to go there but when he did, it felt different.
There's something truly different about teaching people who come solely because they want to learn. It's was a gratifying experience to be able to impart all the knowledge he had accumulated over the years; to be able to share all the tips and techniques that he was taught all those years ago to willing students.
He called it Happy's gym. Simple, but Happy wasn't looking to advertise. He just needed it established and it would work.
And that it did.
The gym didn't have a lot of students who came to learn, maybe five or so at a time only, but it did have a lot of people who came to practice and work out. The trainers he hired were the best in the business and, on occasion, some of the retired pros he'd come to know over the years would visit too.
Most of them had retired quietly, but all those geezers had missed being in the ring and doing for the sake of doing, no money involved. Teaching the kids were a plus, all of them, like Happy, enjoyed being able to teach the next generation, even if the kids weren't planning on going pro.
It wasn't much but the gym earned good money; everyone was satisfied. They got to teach and continue to hone and encourage their love for the sport while earning good cash. Most of the teachers were retired pros themselves, wanting to experience teaching, so they weren't too pressed about the money either.
All of them were well-off and really, all they wanted was a good distraction.
That distraction came in the form of one Peter Parker.
Peter had walked in, shy and meek, carrying around a little backpack with him, obviously having come straight from school.
When Happy first saw him, he had thought the kid was no older than eleven at most. That was how tiny he was.
Turned out, he was thirteen.
Peter was small for his age; shy in the way unsure teens were, not knowing where he was standing in society quite yet, but he had a quiet conviction in his eyes.
There was something Peter had come here to do and Happy just knew that there wasn't going to be a lot of things that would stop him from doing it, though he wasn't quite sure what.
Hesitantly approaching the receptionist who, quite frankly, had a hulking figure for a 36 year old, Peter had asked with a small stutter, "I-is this where I can register for classes?"
Brian, the receptionist Happy had hired simply because he didn't want to teach the kids who were easily scared away - serving as the first obstacle of sorts, - had asked a question in reply, "Yes, what do you need?"
To the kid's credit, Happy noticed that the kid didn't falter at the stare at all, instead, he replied, "I want to know how to fight."
Obviously appraising the kid, Brian looked him up and down then raised an eyebrow, "why?"
And Peter, who had thought long and hard on how he'd get stronger, who had people he had to save, who had a lot riding on this, conviction seeping into his body language, stared the huge man down and said, "Because I want to be strong."
At that, the gym stilled. Today was one of the days that most pros visit and all of them stared at this child, tiny but steady on his feet, staring down the biggest man in the gym without flinching and had spoken with such strong and steady conviction that it was palpable in the air.
They didn't know it yet, but the person they were staring at had, for a split second, felt like someone bigger.
They didn't know it yet, but they had seen a glimpse of who Peter would become in the future.
For a split-second, these people had seen Spider-man.
"So, let me get this straight, you want me to be a… vigilante."
Peter Parker had asked to talk to whoever would train him in a private setting. That someone happened to be Happy Hogan and they ended up in Happy's office.
Now here they were, Happy Hogan had been staring at him with the gaze that clearly said kid, are you stupid and Peter had stared back with the unsaid reply of thank you, I know.
"Yes."
"But, you can't throw a punch."
"Yes."
"Kid, give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you to the cops right now."
"…because I haven't done anything yet?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Happy sighed deeply. He was going to have a head ache, he was sure of it. "Really, that's what you're going with?"
Staring at the kid in front of him, Happy couldn't help but see the silhouette of his best friend, Tony Stark. Happy liked Tony, really, he did.
He was one of Happy's closest friends but god, that man got himself into so much trouble simply by existing.
This kid, Peter, had the same shade of brown hair and the same genius intellect that his friend did. Peter had the same exact look Tony did when the genius had the bright idea to become a superhero (aka, absolute stupidity).
Tony was a good man, if only masked by the general sarcasm and don't-give-a-shit attitude. Somehow, his best friend had developed the idea that by becoming a superhero, it would lessen the amount of guilt he felt for not noticing his company's weapon business going borderline illegal.
This kid was definitely going through something similar.
Damn it, this was going to be a headache, wasn't it?
Downing a painkiller, Happy settled down for a long talk. "Why?"
So the kid was a mutant and unlike Wanda and Steve or even Xavier's students, Peter wasn't born with it nor had consented to receiving the powers.
It was a combination of a mildly distressing project in Oscorp (he should probably look into that), the kid's rotten luck ("I suspect it's my Parker Luck."), and a bully who had pushed the kid in the direction of the spiders he was avoiding.
A week later and he suddenly woke up from a bad fever to superpowers and was, quite literally, stuck to his bed.
Basically, Peter was Steve doped up on even more drugs, aka, really fucking strong.
Happy knew that Steve had once told the team that his supersenses were the best and worst part of receiving the serum. The hearing was beneficial to their line of work, he had said, but at the same time, it made him hear things he didn't want to hear.
Happy would imagine that this kid, who easily surpassed the senses and strength of Captain America by a mile and more, had it even worse. He wasn't naïve. He knew which neighborhoods were in the area; what type of people lived here.
The kid probably heard a lot of things in his area, if the 30-block radius minimum was anything to go by. For him, it wasn't as simple as Steve's hatred for stilettos.
Looking at the kid who was starting to fidget in his seat, Happy rolled his eyes. This kid was too damn endearing and Happy just knew that he was already in too deep. Muttering a short prayer for his sanity, Happy knew that after hearing everything, this kid had the most conviction and drive out of anyone he knew, Avengers included.
Even if Happy told him to stop and kicked him out of the gym, the kid was probably going to go find someplace to train by himself instead.
Damn it.
He was going to do this, wasn't he?"
Damn, this kid's puppy eyes were way too strong.
"Fine. We'll set you a schedule that you have to follow and discuss on when you're gonna come in, but first…" opening the door, Happy called out, "Duster! Get in here!"
The man, Duster, arrived with curiosity, wondering what Happy had called him for.
Quietly, Happy briefly summarized their entire conversation to the man, knowing that this man would be the best teacher in the entire gym for Peter. Giving Happy a short nod, Duster agreed readily, accepting the other man's plans.
Finishing their whispered conversation, both men turned to Peter.
Introducing the man in black clothes, Happy told Peter, "Meet Duster. He used to do vigilante work a few years ago but retired after a few years. Now, he works here for security and the occasional training. He's a mutant, like you, and went to Xavier Institute."
"Now, the details aren't really ironed out yet - we'll need to meet with your guardian - but the plan is for me to teach you hand to hand while Duster teaches you how to use your senses."
Giving the child a stare, Happy continued, "if I'm not going to change your mind, which I can see that you definitely won't, then I'll at least make you the best out there. You'll be up to snuff in no time."
"Get ready for hell, kid."
As it turned out, up to snuff meant training until he dropped dead. Happy, for all his grumpy exterior, was a thorough teacher.
Because he couldn't always control his strength, Happy had instead focused on teaching Peter the safety protocols of the weapons he'd most likely learn and started on tactics.
After teaching Peter how to throw a proper punch, he had started to teach him how to spot openings and think with his mind active in fights by having him watch and analyze the pros that come for weekly matches.
Peter, of course, soaked up all the knowledge like a sponge.
At his core, Peter was a thinker, with his love for engineering and research, analyzing was as easy as pie after he was taught what to look for.
The gym had quickly become Peter's haven. There wasn't a lot of kids who came by to train and the adults who did were all kind and understanding.
Even without knowing why Peter was being trained harsher than normal, they all realized that it was something serious and subtly thought it was either to be an underground fighter or a vigilante.
Nevertheless, they never commented on it. Instead, they had taken to teaching Peter other skills that Happy didn't excel in. This had allowed Happy to properly adjust Peter's schedule so that he wasn't always waiting for Happy to arrive from SI.
He was now slowly picking up skills that he'd be able to use on the job. Of course, his senses that allowed him to see and sense every single detail helped him learn a lot quicker.
By the end of the second month, Peter was able to handle throwing knives and arnis sticks safely enough to get by.
(He nearly blinded a guy but really, he turned out to be a guy who thought pedophilia was a gender identity so everyone let it pass.)
On the other hand, Duster was absolutely brutal.
Duster was an old vigilante, liking the thrill of chasing down petty criminals and had been well-known a few years back. His mutation wasn't something too obvious, granting him enhanced senses and strength like Peter albeit to a much smaller degree.
Still, this difference in power and his experience was invaluable to Peter.
They had started with working on his strength by using baseballs, an idea that Peter had thought up after a few nights of brainstorming. The older man had talked Peter through the process by first feeling out his maximum strength and imagining it with an adjustable metaphor and slowly work his way down.
The baseball was perfect for the exercise. It wasn't too durable which was why Peter would be able to see just how much stress he was putting on it. Peter would throw it directly upwards as he was lying on the ground and try not to hit the ceiling.
The first few times went through the roof. Literally.
But Peter had taken to doing the exercise anytime he could get, so he had gotten it down in a matter of weeks.
He was progressing slowly but that was fine. Small progress was still progress and to Peter, as long as he was moving forward, towards his goal, everything would be worth it.
What Duster had decided to focus most on was his senses.
Peter had come into the gym one day, distraught and exhausted. The crime he had heard last night was nauseating and pulled him into a bad flashback - rape. It had made him spiral down a dark rabbit hole and had only been able to sleep when he finally caved and asked May if he could stay the night with her.
From this, they had quickly realized that his main and most prevalent issue was his senses.
They needed to focus on his senses first before doing other stuff, otherwise, Peter wouldn't be able to sleep and just overwork himself, something his mentors didn't want.
For now, Happy and Duster had helped Peter with an earphone design to lessen the noise by around 50% but that was a short-term solution to a long-term problem.
Peter wasn't going to lose his powers anytime soon so he'd have to learn how to live with them if he wanted to continue living his life as normal.
They had quickly established Peter's baseline which, they had discovered, was definitely much more than a 30 miles radius.
It took a while - long hours of meditation and a lot of biology books but by the time he was halfway through his second month, Peter was able to handle his supersenses without having a major migraine every few days. He'd even gotten a good handle on his strength and was already working with Happy on a fight style that took advantage of his sticky abilities and flexible body.
Their most exciting discovery, however, was his 'spider senses'. They had discovered that Peter had some sort of sixth sense that warned him like some sort of weird danger sense power.
It took three weeks' worth of work but by the end, he was able to sense everything in his bedroom by focusing on his spider senses alone.
Sure, his bedroom was really small. But, hey, he was getting somewhere.
Nowadays, Peter slept with a body aching and sore yet, somehow, he had never felt as alive.
Two months in, Peter had realized a major flaw in his plans: his travel plans. Sure, he could run towards the crime but he wanted some way to be able to get from point A and point B without too much hassle and also escape any unwanted attention.
He can't use a motorcycle or car due to lack of funds; skateboards were inefficient and bikes were easily stolen and lost. He can't build thrusters like Iron Man and definitely didn't have the money to splurge on a cool looking jet.
Luckily for him, May absolutely adored Disney.
The idea came from Tarzan. Sure, he didn't have the vines to swing around but what he did have was chemistry and a brain.
Deciding that there was no harm in trying, Peter started to research.
Chemistry, huh.
That might just work.
Finding the right formula for his 'webbing' took a lot of time - probably two months' worth on calculations and formulation alone - before he could start testing.
Luckily, he had access to the internet and a friend who had a penchant for collecting spiders. This brought him to what he was currently doing: testing the webs on an abandoned rooftop halfway from Queens and Hell's Kitchen.
Thinking that Daredevil couldn't possibly catch him here, the moment he had turned around to leave after messing around for maybe 2 hours, only to be met with the very ominous figure of Daredevil made him screech in a very low voice (definitely not one that was borderline a whistle note, no sir.)
Looking like a kid caught taking candy from the candy jar, Peter greeted the man with a miserably forced casual, "Heeeey, Daredevil, sir. Nice weather out to sky watch, right? Orion was looking especially dashing tonight…"
Raising his eyebrows at the child that was shooting something, whatever it was, on an abandoned roof wearing yet another sketchy looking ski mask to cover his face and looking like a preteen drug pusher, Matt asked, "What are you doing out here, kid? Didn't think I'd see you out this soon."
In fact, Matt had assumed he'd see the kid in five years. Not six months.
Instead, the kid grimaces at being caught, "would you believe me if I said it was a science project?"
"Definitely not."
"I figured."
Sighing, Peter decided that there wasn't much he could do other than tell the man the truth. "These are web-shooters, it shoots that," pointing at the webs sticking on the other side of the building, he continued. "It's basically my mode of transpo, I figured that if I'm gonna be spider-themed, I might as well commit to it, you know?"
"So, you decided to, what, swing around the city like some ape?"
Correcting him, Peter said, "Like Tarzan. It's a movie by Disney and it's basically some dude swinging from vines. Well, I don't have vines but what I do have is a very well-funded school and brain to do the thinking!"
Noticing the kid had finally dropped all the nervous fidgeting and was starting to ramble, Matt asked about the elephant in the roof. "And what have you been doing about the whole vigilante thing?"
Somehow, the kid vibrated with even more excitement and happily rummages around his bag until finally, he produced a baseball which he presented proudly to Matt like a scammer showing off his earnings. "I've been using this!"
Answering him with a sarcastic comment, Matt replied with a deadpan, "a baseball?"
Ignoring the vigilante's sarcasm completely, Peter bulldozed through it and continued, "I figured I could learn to control my strength by throwing it directly above me and adjust my strength to correspond with different heights. It took a bit to consistently do it but I don’t hit the ceiling at all now and am making a fight style that suits me…"
Trailing off, Peter hesitantly waited for the vigilante to say something, unsure of what else to say.
Feeling for the heartbeat of the kid, Matt listened closely. He knew that this kid was too far gone, it wouldn't be possible for him to stop trying to work as a vigilante. Originally, he had hoped that the kid would take five years before even trying to work but it turned out that this kid doesn't do things in halves.
At the rate he was going, he'd probably be able to start in half a year.
Making a decision, Matt turns him, "what's your name, kid?"
Startled from the sudden question, Peter replied, "Peter. Peter Parker."
"One, don't tell strangers your name if you're going to be a vigilante. But that aside, Peter, I'm going to make you a deal. I'll bring you along for the occasional light patrol and you're going to continue training as normal. No more going out here alone, even if it's just to experiment with whatever."
"It's going to let you get used to the pace but not in a way that's too dangerous for you. You up for it, kid?"
Looking at the vigilante in front of him, Peter knew that this was a good opportunity and like hell was he going to let go of it. "Yes, sir."
Patrolling with Daredevil was a different and novel experience. It was a sneak peek into the life he'd live in a few months' time and though Peter wasn't necessarily enjoying it with the amount of crime he started to see, he knew that with Matt's teachings along with May's, Duster's and Happy's, he was improving at a frighteningly fast pace.
Happy and Duster were a huge help and the support of May, who had taken to teaching Peter enough first aid to get by and then some while sharing her favorite psychology books, were invaluable.
Over the past few months, Peter had built himself a small network of mentors; a support system if you will.
It really shouldn't have come as a surprise when they all started asking about each other.
Matt had wondered if his guardian actually allowed him to patrol. Happy and Duster subtly poked and prodded him about Daredevil and May just liked to gossip.
In the past months, Peter and May had settled into a nice routine. Both feeling the loss of the house's cook, the two had started working on their cooking skills. After gathering enough courage to try and attempt Ben's recipes a few weeks after his death, they had found that cooking allowed them to connect with Ben a little more and had given them a way to cope and grieve properly.
Sure, May's date loaf needed a major revamp but Peter excelled at baking better than her anyway.
Actually, Peter also excelled at cooking better than May did too.
Both of them had taken to cooking and hanging out as their bonding time. With Peter's increasingly busy schedule and May's shifts at the hospital, their time together soon became limited to cooking and eating breakfast and dinner on most days.
May would prepare the ingredients while Peter did the cooking. It worked for the both of them.
It was during these daily cooking sessions that May first brought up the idea of inviting his mentors for a meal together, saying it was about time they met anyway.
According to her, she needed to 'thank them for dealing with my hot mess of a nephew', whatever that meant.
That was how his mentors all finally met.
The four had settled on the dining table, taking each other in. Then, with identical expressions on their faces - all realizing their predicament of having a stupid kid in each other - nodded, acknowledging each other's efforts in the improvement of their student.
Somehow, all four mentors and parental figures took one look at each other and recognized the look of fond exasperation and formed a mutual understanding that Peter was just a little shit sometimes.
By the first hour, the four had already thought up necessary changes to their lesson plans and schedules. By the second, the food was cleared out and all four had started telling embarrassing stories at Peter's expense. By the third, a group chat had come into existence and plans on meeting Foggy were in the works. By the fourth, they had started talking about Peter's plans for the coming six months.
Currently, they were talking about Peter's outfit, Happy had mentioned idly that he could probably 'ask Tony to make him a suit' and Peter, to the surprise of the four at the table, had respectfully declined with a 'I think I got it covered.'
Obviously, May hadn't let go of the opportunity to mention Peter's disaster of a wardrobe, "Peter, sweetie, your entire wardrobe is literally just plain shirts and maybe the occasional sweater. Are you sure about that you want to design this yourself? Honey, your current outfit is literally just a onesie."
Making an offended noise, Peter said in mock offense, "First off, rude. What's wrong with my sweaters? My hoodie that say 'HUD-E' is the peak of fashion! Second, I'm not actually going to be making it myself - or at least, I'd have some help. I've been saving enough money at my part time at Delmar's since Happy," giving the grumpy man a pointed stare, "wouldn't accept my money. So, this guy I saved-"
"Oh, you mean that guy that said you looked like a mess and need a revamp ASAP?"
"that guy I saved on one on my patrols with Matt said he'd do it, I just had to pay and provide the tech and he'd handle the costume. From the drafts we send back and forth, they look sick too! Actually, I think it's supposed to arrive within the week."
Continuing with their conversation, Peter slipped in a little more info, "Now, all I need is to finish the AI."
Sitting across from him, Happy nodded until finally realized just what Peter said and did a spit take, "You what?!"
Around him, all four mentors shared a look and shrugged. It's probably just going to be something like SIRI anyway, right?
They take it back. It wasn't anything like SIRI.
In fact, they should have seen it coming, really. The dramatics of Peter Parker knew no bounds, truly.
Peter had finished coding the AI with the help of Ned with sarcastic remarks inputted, courtesy of MJ, roughly a month after he had broken the news to his mentors.
Now, eight months into training, Peter was finally at the point where he could hold his own against three opponents at the same time with his martial arts and could throw knives like no one's business.
As it turned out, the training for throwing knives came in handy a lot when he had started training with his new and improved webbing two months ago. He still smashed into the occasional billboard but he was ready to go, a whole four months ahead of schedule.
Daredevil had finally allowed him to establish himself in Queens and patrol on the weekends, allowing him to slowly adjust to the sleeping schedule of school in the mornings and patrol in the late evening.
It made it a bit wonky but it worked.
His time at the gym was now limited to immediately after school but both Happy and Duster had already established themselves as his mentors and frequently visited their apartment to talk and check up on May.
Really, by the time they were introduced to Foggy, all four parental figures had established that they were going to be friends for a long time and had frequent meetings, both to chat and the occasional rant. They all got along like a house on fire, much to Peter's horror.
Peter's new AI, the vigilante intelligence link, also known as VIGIL, was the last thing Peter needed to integrate into his costume and, like the nerd he was, had taken to integrating it into his apartment as well. Now, holograms and stats could be seen all around the place and the apartment had essentially turned into a high-tech lab.
If VIGIL was turned off, the apartment looked no different but when it was on? It looked like a researcher's wet dream.
And how did Peter decide to introduce VIGIL to his mentors?
By playing the intro of Beyonce's Crazy in Love and catwalking through the corridor, of course.
Then, as if walking through a ritual of some demented messed-up scientist, the corridor lit up blue like tiki lights in a garden while he passed by every few steps. By the time the song starts with the oh, oh, oh bit, the adults were watching their kid point at random places in the apartment which promptly lit up in sync with the beat.
Looking like they were in between feeling second-hand embarrassment and looking proud because their kid made an AI, they watched their kid say, "VIGIL say hello," the very loud 'history in the making' in the background right on time.
To their credit, Happy had merely looked on as Peter finished his performance and start to explain everything with a mild expression that clearly said death, I await you. For some reason, Happy had walked off, muttering about someone becoming a 'new Tony Stark' whatever that meant.
Duster was in denial because how did his badass self train a protegee who was currently catwalking around the apartment to fucking Beyonce while May patiently nodded to whatever science jargon Peter was spouting with everyone in the room aware that she didn't have a clue on what he was talking about.
Matt had simply closed his eyes with mild resignation, knowing that Peter was going to somehow force him to use VIGIL to a certain degree.
(Idly, Happy wondered if he should call the pope right about now. Maybe, it was a mistake giving Peter, who arguably has the brains of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner combined and the dramatics of Thor and Loki smushed up into one twelve year old looking child, the means to kick ass.
Happy stared at his student who was excitedly explaining all the features his AI came with, which to his horror included an apartment lockdown protocol called fucking Pentagon. Deciding not to ask more questions so that he could claim plausible deniability when Peter inevitably murdered someone out of sheer stupidity, Happy chose to carefully observe him.
It's been ten months since he started training the kid. By now, he was up to snuff and more and Happy would deny it to anyone who asked but getting to teach Peter after working at Stark Industries or during his off days quickly became the highlight of Happy's day.
His student had burrowed into his deep unfeeling heart and Happy couldn't even say he didn't like it. Not only that, the kid had the audacity to tote along a small little family of other weird individuals like Matt who was kind of an asshole and Foggy who was only mildly better but had the sarcasm to match Tony. He wasn't even going to mention the chaos that was Duster and May. May was the carbon copy of Peter, mischievously hiding a chaotic interior with a soft and friendly exterior.
Still, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Fine. He supposed teaching the brat was good use of his time.
Not that he'd ever admit it, Happy thought with a grunt.)
By the time all the guests went home, every single one of them were sporting a ring with a minimalist spider design that had VIGIL programmed into it for safety reasons. It functioned like a distress signal and GPS with a mild mini taser that Peter had commissioned from one of Matt's contacts.
It took a huge chunk out of his savings but the rings allowed everyone to keep track of each other and send distress signals when needed so Peter supposed they were worth it.
It's a week later that Peter finally went out as Spider-man alone, officially, no Daredevil to babysit him.
It's a monumental occasion for Peter.
Somehow, the day had seemed like it went by too fast - as if the world itself was telling him that it can't wait for his debut too - and before he knew it, he was all suited up in and ready to go.
On a whim, Peter had decided to start his patrol from the highest building in Queens. Coincidentally, the building he had chosen also happened to be where it all started:
Oscorp.
Peter had found himself sitting, once again, at the edge of the building for a few minutes, simply taking in the view. To everyone else, today wouldn't be anything of notice - simply just another Tuesday. He watched as the people below him continued about their night.
Idly, Peter chuckled to himself slightly. A few years ago, he'd never think he'd even try and attempt this monumental mission; his superhero dreams would forever be stuck with the Iron Man helmet underneath his bed.
Peter supposed that this would bring everything full circle - to debut from the building that started all.
But really, he probably shouldn't have chosen the tallest building in the area. He was 300 floors above ground and was currently sort of freaking out but it didn't hit him as hard as it did now.
He guessed that this first jump would be the scariest; the hardest to do.
He supposed that this is what he set himself up to do. This was ten months in the making; he had endured frustration, grief, pain and soreness. He had worked himself to the bone to get himself here.
This was the starting line.
Ever since the beginning, Peter had always told himself that progress was progress. From the first time he went out as a naïve kid from Queens, to telling May, to coming to the gym, to recognizing that he still had a lot to learn, to finally managing some semblance of control, to making his webbing and restructuring his costume, to patrolling with Daredevil, to making his AI.
Even the smallest, tiniest thing was still progress.
But, now, it was different.
This was the starting line and really, Peter knew that there was only one thing he could do now.
Take a leap of faith.
For a minute, Peter simply breathed, savoring in the moment. Closing his eyes, Peter allowed his senses to take note of everything in Queens. Gradually, his spider senses wrapped around the building, the street, the block and then, the entirety of Queens. He allowed himself to simply feel the hustle and bustle of the late night.
Finally, his heart calmed.
Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed himself over the edge.
And then…
He freefalls.
(This was a monumental occasion.
Peter didn't care enough to notice.
But, for a minute, just a short minute, the entirety of Queens stilled as they watched a red and blue vigilante swing away for the first time.
Later, Ned Leeds would post on an anonymous account and name the vigilante Spider-man - a fitting name considering the motif, redditors online would note.
And for the next eight months, Spider-man would continue on to establish himself in Queens; would grow a steady following and become known as the protector of Queens.
In the following months, the people of Queens would learn that should they call for help, whether that be for a mugging or an abuse case, there'd be a blue and red vigilante who would be on the way and save the day.
But at this current point in time, they didn't know it but they had seen the very second that had been the making of Spider-man.
They had watched Peter Parker take a leap of faith.
And then…
They watched him soar.)