Chapter Text
Peter really regrets going on that field trip.
It wasn’t necessarily his fault that things went the way they did, though. He had been excitedly talking under his breath with Ned as their group was led through one of Oscorp’s labs, this one full of genetically modified animals, when he felt a sharp sting on his hand. He had slapped whatever bug bit him and flicked it to the floor, guessing it was just something that followed the group of highschoolers in. He thought he’d be perfectly fine.
Until he threw up the moment he got home.
He was lucky that neither of his moms were home. They had been apprehensive about the field trip at first, hesitating to sign the permission slip. Eventually they did, and Peter just chalked their weird behavior up to their usual wariness of the world. His mama’s always been particularly protective, and it took some coaxing from his mom to convince her to agree to the field trip in the first place. If they saw him like this, they’d somehow know it was from the field trip, and he wouldn’t hear the end of it.
So now, he’s stuck writhing in bed, his heart racing as he sweats from a fever he can tell shouldn’t be so high. It’s like there’s acid in his veins, causing a burn throughout his body that seems to originate from the bite on his hand. The pain curls around him like vines, dragging him further and further down into a feverish haze, and the ringing in his ears gets louder and everything seems so blurry but bright and he can feel every single fiber of his science pun t-shirt and he can’t breathe—
There were spiders in the lab.
—
He has superpowers now, Peter had later learned, once out of the throes of pain and fever. He felt so much stronger than before, and after some investigation, learned he had somehow grown toned muscles. He didn’t need his glasses to see anymore, he could hear things from presumably miles away, and he could stick to things. That spider gave him superpowers.
Eventually, he put together a homemade super suit using some old clothes he had lying around, cutting and layering red and blue fabrics and drawing on a black spider symbol. He used some gadgets he had lying around to make goggles and a pair of web shooters, then used materials from his science classroom to create a synthetic web formula. Then, Spider-Man was born.
When he took that first leap of faith, jumping down from the top of the Empire State Building, it was exhilarating. Freefalling through the air then soaring in arcs from web to web, it all felt so freeing. It gave him a feeling he had never felt before. It felt so… right. He can help people with his powers. He can step in, answering the cries for help that would otherwise go unheard.
He can’t just stand by when he can hear every cry, every scream, every struggle. He couldn’t just go to sleep while listening to somebody suffering without anyone there to help. He has these powers, and he has the responsibility to use them right. If bad things happen under his watch, well… it’s on him.
—
He feels bad, hiding Spider-Man from his moms, but he doesn’t want them to worry. He’s seen their shared glances when they think he isn’t looking, and he can tell they know something is up. They’ve always had a strange knack for that, and now, it makes hiding Spider-Man all the more difficult. He can’t risk it, though. When they worry, they get involved, but if they get involved in this…
He can’t risk them getting hurt. Not because of him.
He stares up at his ceiling from where he lays in his bed, before eventually rolling over to face his nightstand, where he reaches for a framed photograph. As he sits up with the frame gently in his hands, the photo is illuminated by the lights of the city right outside of his window. The picture is from a few years ago, when Peter had won a youth science competition. He stood in the middle, proudly holding his certificate up with a wide grin on his face and his glasses sitting slightly askew. To either side of him stood his moms, both sporting equally proud grins with their arms around him.
Looking down at the photo, at the sheer pride in their eyes… he doesn’t want to lose that. He doesn’t want to lose them.
His moms, they care so much. They would drop everything if it means making sure he’s okay. If he’s hurt, they’d do whatever they can to tend to the injury. If he’s sick, they’d give him whatever he needs to feel better and sit on the couch cuddled up with him, even if he’s contagious. If he’s in a bad mood, they’d cheer him up with a comfort meal, or hot chocolate, or popcorn and a Star Wars movie night, or even just a long hug.
Knowing he’s Spider-Man would just put them at risk. They could get too involved and end up hurt, or worse. He had already lost his biological family when he was so young, he couldn’t bear to lose another. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He won’t tell them about Spider-Man.
It hurts Peter, to have to pull away from his own family. When he looks at his moms, all he can see is hurt, confusion, and concern all swirling in their eyes. It’s hard to look at them and see just how upset they are from his actions, so he looks away. He can tell they’ve been trying to reach out to him more, but with each attempt Peter just turns them down. It’s better this way, he tells himself. He needs to protect them from the danger he faces every day as Spider-Man.
It still hurts him, though. Part of him wants to go back to a simpler time, before the spider bite, when he could spend time with his moms without any worry or fear. He wants to have movie nights, tell them everything going on in his life over warm, home cooked dinners, and go on random walks around the city while talking about everything, or nothing at all. He loves them, but that’s exactly why he has to push them away. So, these days, Peter often finds himself living in the memories of those simpler times, sometimes spending hours at night staring at the photograph by his bedside.
It hurts, but it’s his responsibility to bear.