Nick Fury POV – Triskelion Briefing Room
The Oscorp rooftop footage from high altitude flickered across screens. Muted screams. A city wrapped in chaos. A boy with a glowing spine forcing a monster to the ground. A girl in white and magenta, webs swinging through the skyline.
Maria Hill's arms were folded, her tone clipped. " Parker again. He injected something straight into Captain Stacey. Brought him back from the edge. That wasn't adrenaline, director."
I leaned on the table, one good eye fixed on the freeze-frame of Peter Parker cradling George Stacey's limp body, the serum's glow running up his arm.
"Kid's way ahead of the curb." I said flatly. "Not just carrying. Living it."
"Dangerous?" Hill pressed.
"Potentially world-ending or world-saving. Depends on his mood."
The doors hissed open behind them. Tony Stark strolled in, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, sunglasses still on despite the hour.
"I heard you've got some fresh highlight reels." He quipped, flicking a finger at the footage. The screen rolled again, Peter slamming into Connors with brutal efficiency, Gwen flipping with fluid precision then the blue mist swallowing the city.
Stark whistled. "That's… not bad for two high schoolers. And the kid, Parker, right? His movements are too clean. That wasn't panic. That was training. Improvised, sure but still…" He zoomed in, replayed the strike where Peter snapped Connors' wrist and twisted him into the ground. "That's combat rhythm. Where'd he learn that?"
Fury's eye narrowed. "He didn't."
"Which means?"
"Means the kid's a natural or worse, the nanotech in his veins is doing the learning for him."
Stark set the tablet down. His smirk faltered, just a little. " You do realise it could be both. So, what's the plan? Recruit? Contain? Dissect?"
Fury didn't blink. "We watch and don't poke him wrong."
Captain Stacey POV – Recovery Room, New York Presbyterian Hospital.
The world returned in waves. Pain first, then light and then the faces hovering above me. Gwen. Peter. Both wide-eyed, both waiting.
My hand instinctively reached for my side. Smooth skin met my touch. No gaping wound. No blood. Just a dull ache and weakness.
I groaned, sitting up with effort. "If this is the afterlife, it's overrated."
"Welcome back, Cap." Peter grinned. "You missed the parade. Also, Oscorp may or may not send you a bill for the rooftop."
Gwen smacked his arm. "Peter!"
"What? I'm just saying — guy takes one claw to the squishies the day he gets the shiny promotion and now he's stealing the spotlight." He leaned back in his chair, exaggerated sigh. "Some of us had to inject glowing sci-fi juice and fistfight Godzilla's cousin."
Captain Stacey's brow rose. "Is he always like this?"
"Unfortunately." Gwen muttered, though the corners of her mouth curved despite herself.
I let out a slow breath, my hand squeezing Gwen's. She squeezed back, her mask long gone, her secret in the open between us now.
"Gwen." I said, voice low but steady. "You saved this city. Both of you did."
Her eyes shimmered. "Dad—"
"Don't." I shook my head faintly. "I won't pretend that I'm thrilled that you've been risking your neck. But seeing what you did out there…" My gaze flicked to Peter. "And who's been watching your back… maybe the city's lucky you've got that secret."
Peter coughed, mock-serious. "For the record, Captain, I'm more of a reluctant sidekick. Full-time lab rat, part-time human shield and occasional chef."
"Chef?" Gwen shot him a look.
"Hey, who do you think made the recovery soup you're about to guilt your dad into eating?"
Even in the sterile, quiet room, laughter cut through the heaviness like sunlight.
For a moment, the weight of monsters, secrets, and sirens lifted.
We weren't cops or vigilantes or kids hunted by shadows.
We were just… a family. Broken, messy, stitched together in ways that shouldn't have worked but it did.
And outside the hospital's glass windows, the city healed too.
Triskelion, Director's office:
The recovery newsfeed played silently on the monitor. Captain Stacey alive, Gwen sitting protectively at his side, Peter cracking jokes that didn't quite hide the shadows under his eyes.
Fury stood with his arms folded. Stark leaned lazily against the railing, though his jaw was tight.
"They think they've bought themselves normal." Stark muttered.
"They haven't." Fury said. "Not even close. Both of them know that."
Stark's eyes lingered on Peter's laugh as the boy passed Gwen a styrofoam cup of soup. "So what's the play, Cyclops?"
"We keep watching." Fury's voice was quiet, final. "Because the world's watching them too. And sooner or later, something's gonna knock him wrong and that's when we help."
The screen froze on Peter — a kid trying to look carefree with the unwanted weight of a city on his shoulders.
"Question is," Fury added, his eye narrowing, " Which side of the line he lands on when it does what will he unleash."
Read 17 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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