Gwen POV:
Visions Academy wasn't known for keeping secrets.
By third period, Peter and I were apparently starring in our own daytime drama. Every corner I turned it was whispers, side-eyes and not-so-subtle phones held just low enough to pretend they weren't recording.
"Is he, like… Spider-Woman's boyfriend?"
"Or her tech guy? But, like… super ripped now?"
"I saw him glow. My cousin's cousin swears he's an alien."
I leaned across the lunch table, chin in hand. Watching Peter poke suspiciously at his apple like it might explode.
"So," I said sweetly, "how's it feel to be the hottest gossip in school?"
He groaned. "Like I'm on an episode of National Geographic. Starring: the nerd who turned into a science accident and now everyone wants to watch him eat fruit."
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Careful, Parker. That almost sounded like bragging."
"Not bragging." He stabbed the apple with his hardened finger like it was Vulture's face. "Just suffering."
I lost it — laughed so loud half the cafeteria turned. Worth it. Every single stare.
Peter POV – Later at Home
Uncle Ben muted the news as I walked in, Gwen trailing behind me.
"…local teen Peter Parker engaging in what appears to be superhuman combat—" click.
Ben turned to me with that Dad-look™ that could make supervillains rethink life choices. "So. You sure you don't want us to move to Kansas? Lots of corn. Not a lot of supervillains."
I dropped onto the couch with a groan. "Don't tempt me. Cornfields sound nicer every day. I can even learn how to play the banjo and play ' Shuckin the corn.' "
From the armchair, Gwen smirked. "Yeah, except you'd probably invent some laser corn harvester or a hyper wave banjo and we'd be right back where we started."
"Don't tempt me." I muttered again, but I couldn't help grinning.
Aunt May appeared with a tray of snacks, setting them down between us. Her eyes softened on Gwen. "Sweetheart, how's your chest? Still sore?"
Gwen flushed. "I—uh—better. Healing, thanks."
Ben's eyebrows rose but he didn't push. Thank god.
Triskelion, SHIELD Headquarters
Maria Hill tapped the frozen frame on the monitor: Peter slamming Vulture through a car hood like it was nothing. Meanwhile Fury was looking through the dossier of his best agents.
"You really think any of them could handle him? Not to mention Cap is still adjusting to the new century." She asked. Widow. Barton. Rogers. Files spread across the table.
Fury rubbed his chin. "Contain him? Maybe. For about five seconds. Then he'd slip."
Hill frowned. "You make him sound like a bigger risk than Stark."
"Stark's predictable," Fury said. "Kid like Parker? He builds monsters in the dark. Quiet. Dangerous. We keep eyes on him."
Cutaway – Stark Tower
Tony swirled his whiskey, replaying the clip.
"Well, well. Kid's got moves. Pretty sure that's my move, actually."
Pepper sighed from the doorway. "Tony, please tell me you're not recruiting high schoolers again."
"Relax. I'm just curious." He smirked. "Nobody hacks biotech like that without setting off alarms. Kid's either a thief… or a genius."
Pepper arched an eyebrow. "And you don't like competition."
"Exactly."
Gwen POV – Evening Walk
Peter flickered us out of school with that ridiculous orange blur before reporters could mob us. One second, swarming microphones. The next? Rooftop. Wind in my face.
When he finally slowed down, I crossed my arms. "Okay, real talk. How does it feel knowing the entire city thinks you're… whatever you are? Hero, mutant, robot ninja?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly? Like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn't want this. Any of it."
I nudged him with my shoulder, lighter than I felt. "Yeah, well. Welcome to my world."
He laughed, but it was tired. Worn. The kind of laugh that had cracks in it.
So I grabbed his hand before I could overthink it. Just… held it.
His head snapped toward me, eyes wide, mouth opening like he was about to say something sarcastic. But he didn't.
Instead, he let out a breath and squeezed back.
"You know," I said softly, "we might actually be the worst pair of normal teenagers ever."
He gave me this small, crooked smile that was half apology, half relief. "Correction. We're matching disasters."
We walked the rest of the way like that. Fingers laced. Shoulders brushing. Neither of us said the word for it. But it hung there anyway.
And under the neon glow of Queens' streetlights, for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like I was drowning.
Because broken as we were — we were broken together.
Read 15 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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