By the time Peter pushed open the front door, exhaustion was crashing over him in waves.
The string of bank robberies over the last few days had kept him stretched thin, and on top of that, his Daily Bugle internship application had gone nowhere. It wasn't even that somebody else had beaten him to the job. They had just flat-out rejected him. The posting for the website maintenance internship was still hanging right there on the school board.
But what weighed on him even more was the atmosphere in the house.
"Where has he been going lately? He comes home this late every single day..."
Aunt May's voice drifted in from the kitchen, unable to hide her worry.
"Don't worry, May. I'll talk to him," Uncle Ben said, calm and steady. "He's a good kid. He isn't getting into trouble."
Standing in the doorway, Peter let out a silent sigh before stepping inside. Aunt May looked like she wanted to say something, but Uncle Ben was already striding over. He gently patted Peter on the shoulder and steered him back out.
"I'll talk to Peter, May. It'll be fine. Come on, kid."
The garage was lit by a dull yellow bulb, and the air smelled of motor oil and old leather. Uncle Ben dug around for a while, then pulled out two boxing gloves from a pile of clutter. One he tossed onto the hood of the car. The other he slipped onto his own hands with practiced ease.
"Gwen told me a few things, Peter," Uncle Ben said while tightening the straps, his tone even. "But I don't think that was everything. There's more going on. Something about the spider too, right?"
"I just..."
"Don't talk yet." Uncle Ben cut him off and nodded toward the other gloves. "Put them on. Let's work."
Peter quietly pulled on the gloves and settled into the fighting stance Uncle Ben had taught him.
"Now listen carefully." Uncle Ben raised his hands into a guard. "You attack, I defend. Every time a punch misses, think about why it missed. Then throw the next one only after you've figured it out. Go."
Peter threw a straight punch. Uncle Ben slipped past it easily. Peter adjusted and threw the second one just like he'd been told, only to take a sharp tap right to the forehead.
"Ow!"
"See that, Peter? Getting stuck on the last punch is useless. Whether it landed or not, it shouldn't control the next one. Standing here, the only thing that matters is what comes next."
"I know, Uncle Ben. I just can't stop thinking about it."
"Then think about something else, Peter."
As he said it, Uncle Ben was already pulling off the gloves. Then he reached into the car and grabbed his old laptop.
"After hearing what Gwen said, I knew you needed to see this, so I brought it down here. Honestly, I probably should've shown you a long time ago."
Still rubbing his forehead, Peter walked over. Uncle Ben opened the laptop, and the screen lit up on a news report about a fire.
"Remember this fire?"
"Of course. It was the first time I used my powers to go into a fire and save someone..."
"What about this?"
Uncle Ben clicked open a saved page, and a video began playing. Onscreen, a mother with red-rimmed eyes spoke through a shaking voice.
"I don't know who you are, and I don't know if you'll ever see this... but I have to say thank you. When the firefighters stopped me, you were the one who ran inside and brought my daughter out..."
It was just a mother trying to say thank you, and by the end she was barely making sense through the emotion.
Peter had never seen anything like it before.
Then came the second video, and this time Spider-Man was in it.
Spider-Man helping Damage Control fight off armed thugs.
Spider-Man helping firefighters put out a high-rise fire.
Spider-Man taking bullets meant for a police officer on duty.
And smaller things too.
Helping an old man get back a pigeon that had flown off.
Cleaning graffiti off a little shop's wall.
Even just helping someone find a lost cat.
Big things, small things, so many things that Peter himself could barely remember doing them anymore.
But other people remembered.
They had no way to contact Spider-Man directly, so they had done the simplest thing they could. Someone had built a website and started collecting all these clips.
"I... I've never seen any of this before." Peter's voice was unsteady.
"But you should have, kid." Uncle Ben's hand rested on his shoulder. "Stop staring only at what you didn't do. Look at what you already have done. No matter how people smear you, no matter what Jameson says, the people you helped will always know the truth."
He paused, eyes firm.
"Spider-Man gives people hope, Peter. What are you beating yourself up over? That you didn't do enough? Look at this. You've already made so many lives better. My nephew has been a hero making people smile for a long time now."
"What you've done matters far more than what you think you failed to do."
Peter's throat tightened. He had always thought most of what he did was just small stuff, nothing worth remembering. He had never imagined it could really change people's lives.
"These people... their lives got better because of me?" he murmured, half asking Uncle Ben and half asking himself. "I really did that?"
Uncle Ben smiled and nodded.
"You did. Look at those videos. What you did for them is right there. Your past isn't just the things you failed to do. Compared to what you've already done, those moments are only a tiny part of it."
"I'm proud of everything my nephew has done, and you should be proud of it too, Peter."
"I... thank you, Uncle Ben. I don't even know what to say."
Peter stared at the screen for a long time. Then, at last, he laughed through the tightness in his throat.
"So Spider-Man gives people hope. And if the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man stops smiling, then who's supposed to make everyone else smile, right? Okay. Every day, then. Hope and a smile."
"Ben! Peter?!"
Aunt May's voice floated in from inside the house.
"All right, go apologize to your aunt." Uncle Ben lowered his voice. "Because if you keep coming home this late, you're not going to fool her for much longer."
"I won't. Never again."
Back in his room, Peter pulled an old briefcase from the back of his closet and took out a worn notebook. It was one of Richard Parker's things, filled with rough notes and research ideas from his work. The synthetic web formula Spider-Man used had originally come from there.
But the old web fluid wasn't enough to deal with the Shocker anymore.
Peter opened his computer, set the notebook beside it, and started trying to improve the formula. Until now, he had never really thought he was capable of improving on his father's work. But now, looking at the equations, looking at the hand-drawn web-structure diagrams that felt strangely familiar, Peter wrote down every chemical reagent the school had available and began modeling a new web structure on his computer.
"Looks like sometimes you really do have to push yourself," he murmured.
He had never imagined his life would turn into something like this.
Bottle after bottle of chemicals came out of the closet and went into his backpack. The rest of what he needed was already at Midtown High. As one of the flagship schools partnered with Oscorp, it had all the lab equipment he could want.
No teacher was likely to mind if he "borrowed" a little chemistry stock.
In theory, the new webbing should be about twenty percent stronger. That ought to be enough to handle the Shocker.
No... there was one more problem.
The Shocker was being careful now. He was working with other people, and during the bank robberies he always pulled out fast, never giving anyone a real opening. If Peter couldn't find him, then figuring out how to beat him would not matter.
But Peter had two very good friends.
One might be the seventh smartest person in the world.
The other might be an Osborn heir.
And the three of them had joined a detective club run by a superhero who happened to work as a detective.
Even if she didn't have powers yet.
The room grew darker as the night deepened. Peter checked the time. He could still get one or two hours of sleep. He was about to put the notebook back in the case and crawl into bed when his hand brushed against something else inside.
It was Richard Parker's old Canon camera.
For some reason, Peter powered it on.
It still worked.
And the Daily Bugle had posted a standing offer to buy Spider-Man photos.
Peter set the camera down on the desk, climbed into bed, and closed his eyes.
"All right, Herman. This time, I'm coming to find you."
(End of Chapter)
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