[Third Person PoV]
Peter guided the group toward the room on the left, his steps echoing faintly against the polished floor. As soon as they entered, everyone immediately understood what kind of space it was just by the assortment of items decorating the area. The smell of antiseptic lingered faintly in the air.
"This," Peter began, spreading his arms wide with a small smile, "is the medical center — for anyone who's either sick, injured, or just needs quick and attentive care." His tone carried a sense of pride as he motioned around him.
Aunt May and Uncle Ben immediately began inspecting the room with surprising enthusiasm, almost as if they were trained professionals.
"Painkillers, disinfectants, antibiotics…" Aunt May murmured, carefully taking out items from one of the cabinets and displaying them like rare treasures to Uncle Ben.
"Tweezers, surgical knives, stethoscopes — this place seriously has everything. Nice~" Uncle Ben said with an impressed whistle as he pulled out a box of surgical masks and gloves, holding them up for everyone to see. The others looked on, amused by their childlike curiosity.
The space was surprisingly spacious — large enough to hold several medical beds separated by light blue curtains for privacy. To the side, a small doorway led into an adjoining storage room packed with extra supplies: bandages, IV kits, spare uniforms, and other equipment neatly labeled on shelves. Everything about the place screamed preparation and care.
They spent several minutes exploring the area, opening drawers, examining labels, and chatting before finally stepping out into the hall once more. Peter led them toward the room across the corridor, continuing the tour with the same warm enthusiasm.
"This room here," he said as he pushed the door open, "is where the majority of donations will be stored — food items, clothing, utilities, hygiene products, you name it. It's basically one big storage space."
Madeline's eyes widened as she took in the shelves stacked with boxes and bags. "This place is already nearly full… Have people already started donating?" she asked, genuinely surprised.
"More or less," Janice replied with a faint smirk, crossing her arms proudly. "These are courtesy of Parker Industries."
She gestured toward the labeled boxes and continued, "What you see here are only the physical donations. Many of our employees who know about this project have also chipped in through monetary contributions." She paused, raising her hands in mock defense with a teasing smile. "And before anyone assumes otherwise — it was all voluntary! No one was forced or guilted into it."
Everyone laughed softly at her tone, clearly amused by her need to clarify.
Lydia tilted her head curiously. "And how much, approximately, have you managed to collect in monetary donations? If you don't mind sharing, that is…"
Janice glanced toward Peter, who gave a reassuring nod. "Go ahead," he said. "Everyone here's practically family. You can be honest about these things."
Janice nodded thoughtfully. "In that case," she said, tapping her chin as if calculating, "last I checked, we'd accumulated roughly a hundred thousand dollars. Give or take a few."
Lydia let out a low whistle of admiration. "That's… impressive. For an organization that hasn't even officially opened yet, that's quite the head start."
The others nodded in agreement, clearly impressed by the accomplishment.
Madeline turned toward MJ, smiling softly. "You know, I still have some of your old clothes — and your sister's too — the ones you both outgrew. Maybe we could donate them?"
MJ shrugged casually. "I mean, I don't wear them anymore. Do what you want with them. And Gayle already took whatever she wanted when she got married and moved out."
Lydia perked up at the idea. "That's actually a great suggestion. I still have some of Felicia's baby clothes stored away. Might as well give them a second life since I'm definitely not planning on getting pregnant again." She motioned playfully toward her daughter. "This one is enough trouble as it is."
"Was that last part seriously necessary?" Felicia asked, feigning offense as she crossed her arms, though her smirk betrayed her amusement.
"Anyway," Peter interjected, clapping his hands together, "come on, let's keep moving — this place is big, and we've still got a lot to cover."
He marched ahead proudly, the group following behind him as they exited the vault-like room and entered through a set of wide, double doors that opened into a vast, airy space. Rows of tables and chairs were neatly arranged across the polished floor, sunlight spilling in through high windows.
"This," Peter announced, turning dramatically toward them, "is the heart of the Feast Foundation — kind of a mix between a living room and a dining hall. Here, people will be able to line up, get served food, and relax for a while." He pointed toward the counter along the far wall. "Behind that is the kitchen and freezer area. Follow me."
And with an acrobatic flourish, Peter vaulted effortlessly over the counter, landing lightly on his feet.
"Peter—" Aunt May started, ready to scold, but she never finished. The others were already following his lead before the reprimand could land. Harry flipped over the counter with practiced ease; Gwen and MJ vaulted with a single hand each. Felicia used both hands the way Peter did, and Lizzy copied Harry's somersault, landing with a little embarrassed grin. The adults simply stood there, faces flattened into a mixture of resignation and exasperation.
"Can't you kids be normal for once?" George asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Peter leaned against the counter, arms crossed, offering a theatrically innocent smile while the rest of the group stifled snickers behind him. "This is us being normal," he said smoothly, then cocked an eyebrow. "Now — what can I get you ladies? It's on the house." He finished with a wink that made Aunt May roll her eyes but softened the tension. The women shook their heads and smiled despite themselves, then walked through the doorway like perfectly sane patrons.
Once inside, the kitchen revealed itself to be far more spacious than the exterior suggested. A long island dominated the center, and cabinets stretched along two walls. "Wow — a modern kitchen. Every woman's dream," Aunt May teased, already opening a cabinet and rifling through pots and pans as if inspecting a museum.
They performed a thorough survey, exploring cupboards and pantry shelves, peeking into the freezer and discovering rows of neatly labeled containers and a stash of emergency rations. Peter drifted along the edge of the group and noticed Aria walking a little boredly beside them as they exited the Kitchen. With a soft, conspiratorial smile he scooped her up into his arms; she draped her small arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, content to be carried.
Peter pointed toward two sets of doors on opposite sides of the main quarters. "There's more space over to the left if this spot ever gets too full," he said, gesturing. "And to the right is a room that leads down to an underground bunker."
Madeline repeated, eyes wide. "An underground bunker?"
"Yup," Peter said, and his voice hardened with an edge that cut through the lightness of the moment. "In case of an emergency. You never know what might happen — especially now, with those super-powered freaks swinging around." The venom in his tone was small but unmistakable.
Those who already knew his secret exchanged glances; most of the room — in fact, nearly everyone present — stared at him with equal parts surprise and confusion. Peter's words sounded unexpectedly bitter coming from the usually easygoing man they thought they knew.
"Boss… do you have something against Spider-Man and the others?" Janice asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Of course I do," Peter snapped, passion rising. "They invite trouble. They attract enemies who'll come after them — and when that happens, it's the civilians who pay. It won't be long before some major villain shows up and destroys half the city trying to take them out. I won't stand for it." His hands clenched at his sides; even the skeptics in the room felt the sincerity — or the fury — behind his words.
"That's exactly why I built this place," he continued, calmer now but no less intense. "This base is supposed to function as a safe house, somewhere people can find refuge during natural disasters or… supernatural ones."
Janice's expression shifted from confusion to solemn respect. "I see. That's very noble, Boss," she said, voice softening as she adopted a suddenly serious, contemplative air. Peter watched her for a beat, puzzled at how quickly she could switch moods.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
She puffed out her cheeks and adopted a ridiculous, determined look. "I'm psyching myself into disliking Spider-Man too. If the Boss doesn't like him, I don't like him either."
"W-wait—there's no need to go that far," Peter said, a little panicked. "You can have your own opinion, Janice."
"Too late," she declared cheerfully.
At that moment MJ created a psychic link that connected Peter to mainly their hero group. "Tiger, what the hell are you doing?" came the amused question from the other end.
Peter spluttered. "I was making myself look like I don't like Spider-Man! A disguise — to throw Natasha off. It was supposed to be perfect!" His explanation tumbled out over the link, ridiculous and earnest all at once. A ripple of suppressed laughter passed through the room. A few mouths twitched; shoulders shook.
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