Peter has been having a blast of a time after finally getting his hands on a new webshooter and with the same high he rode to create WS-1.07, he created his first ever super suit. Well there wasn't anything super about the suit but those were semantics.
He might have underestimated the quality of the material he had bought from the Merchant, Mr. Isaac, until he started sewing it and realized that what the Merchant had dubbed as high quality spandex was perhaps something that wasn't in the regular market or even the high-fashion market.
In fact he was pretty sure that, while yes, it was a high quality spandex, it was too high a quality for spandex. It did let his thoughts wander though.
What kind of materials could he really buy from the Merchant?
As far as he was concerned, this extremely stretchy, wholly breathable, and greatly washable spandex resembles something that was made in a science lab.
With careful testing, especially after he found that out, he was able to squeeze in a second spare suit and two very comfy underwear before he ran out of fabrics to sew. It truly was an experience.
And that wasn't even the last of it. Oh no no no.
If Christmas came early then he might as have well robbed Santa.
Those chemicals. Oh, those chemicals. If the fabrics made him curious of where Mr. Isaac got his wares then the chemicals downright frightened him on where he got his wares.
Purity. It was too pure, way too pure for what was sold in a shabby store in a nondescript neighborhood.
The chemicals in his school lab were no way near the ones he bought in terms of purity.
They once had a science excursion to Oscorp and not even the fun little experiment they did there brought out the same efficiency with the chemicals he bought from Junk 'N Stuff.
He would know because the difference was way too clear in his webs.
First of all his webs could lift twice the weight they used to, which was a 100% increase on its strain reduction, and then there was the fact that he had to make changes to the ratio of chemicals he used because the initial ones were way too sticky and lasted for up to eight hours instead of the original two.
The elasticity also jumped through the roof, but that one was understandable given the first two discoveries.
If the chemicals they used in their trip to Oscorp were industrial grade chemicals then he had no clue what these ones were called. All he knew was that they should cost more than the amount he bought them for.
He could swing farther and faster with his new set of web fluid and he had the distinct thought that he needed to come up with better upgrades for his webshooter if he wanted to get the best out of the webs he had.
Rough calculations pointed that his shooters weren't shooting them as fast or up to the limit distance they could go.
As far as Peter Parker was concerned, his first reveal as a suited superhero was filled with way more excitement that he expected.
A traitorous thought slithered into his head at one point that 'what if this was what the Merchant wanted? To get him hooked on the good stuff and then cork the supply.'
It would be a classic addiction case and the 15 year old hyper-but-socially-awkward teen found it way too terrifying for his young mind.
Was he already getting addicted? Was this the start of his downward spiral? What lengths will he go to get his new fix?
All in all the last two weeks have been nothing but eventful for the young spider who finally learned to take its first true swing.
But the highlight of the last two weeks was when he finally managed to get out his name without fumbling through it or being lost in a quip-off with a criminal.
It was better than the awful names that were beginning to gain traction due to the very diligent effort of the Daily Bugle.
Seriously, what kinds of names were Creeping Crawler, the Masked Menace, the Stickler? And the worst of it, the Red Bugg-er.
The first time he heard that name on the broadcast he had to take a one hour break from patrolling to do a routine of self-motivation.
So yes, he was very happy that he finally managed to get the name out: Spider-Man (thankfully, instead of the Human Spider).
It brought a tear to his eyes when he saw the first published photo of him on the front page of the Daily Bugle with his official name tagged on the headline.
Jonah Jameson was a bitter critic but he sure knew how to write an article… even if it was a defamatory one.
The articles were so good – or was it so bad, honestly Peter didn't know – that he would do a double take every time he read them and wonder if that was how he appeared to people or if that was just Mr. Jameson just being his usual self.
He hated it somewhat, the hateful articles, but was smart enough to use it as a standard so as not to get too full of himself. He'll make J. Jonah Jameson write a good article about him one day, believe it.
So yes, Peter Parker has had an eventful time since his debut. He was still a nighttime hero but that couldn't be helped. He still had school in the morning after all.
"Seriously, again?" Peter sighed to himself in what was quickly becoming a habit. At this rate he'd soon start getting wrinkles according to Aunt May.
"C'mon guys, we talked about this the last time." The two goons on lookout were webbed up and dangling off the ceiling with their mouths webbed.
"No sticky fingers around the cinema. We don't have another one for at least six blocks. So, watch it." He's webbed guys up for less, but seriously what was it with these guys and cinemas?
He didn't think they kept money at the theater so what was up with these guys? And it was like they were part of a gang because these weren't the guys he caught last time.
"This is a new low, even for you guys." He whispered as he crawled over the rest of them on the ceiling.
Three more goons stood at an intersection, keeping an eye out, while the remaining two guys went on ahead.
"At least you're smarter than the last guys." He said to himself. "Here we go."
The three watchout split into two ends while the last one stayed at the intersection and so that was the first one he went for. He dropped down without making a sound and webbed the oblivious man's mouth and legs.
The man tried to raise his gun in fright but he kicked it out of his hands and webbed both of them to his chest.
"So pick – left or right – who should I go for next?"
"Left? Right? Come on man, pick one." He said in a singsong voice as the man kept shaking his head with terrified eyes. "Oh well, guess I have to choose myself."
He waited right there in the intersection until both men started coming back up and got a good look at him.
"Hey guys. So this is like what? A boys night out or something? Hope I'm not interrupting."
Both men were stunned for a second and he saw the moment realization entered their posture and a mental trigger was pushed into their muscle, but, well his webs were faster.
"I'll be taking these…" the guns were pulled away, "and in exchange you'll be getting those," and he webbed their hands in return. And then their mouths. Also with their legs.
"Sorry guys, but I'm getting late. I have sc– eh work tomorrow morning."
It was almost 1AM and any later and his day would be ruined. He still needed as much sleep as he could get just like everybody else. Sleeping past midnight every single day for two weeks was not a healthy sleeping schedule for a teenage boy, enhanced or not.
Too many late nights out and it was starting to affect his daily life. Mrs. O'Brian had caught him sleeping twice during classes and threatened him with detention if she caught him for a third time.
Two men hurried out of the door with duffel bags which made Peter really curious about what they stole.
"Oh there you are! We were just talking about you."
"Hey! If you wanted free tickets, you could've just asked—I know a guy who literally hangs around theaters!"
"Shit, it's the new freak!" One of them shouted. He dropped the bags— or at least tried to only to find out he couldn't because his hands were webbed to it and he couldn't reach for his gun.
The other one was quick to abandon his bag for his gun the moment he saw Spider-Man and would have got off the first shot if not for Spider-Man at that moment turning off the hallway lights.
"Where is he?! Where are you, freak?!"
"Hmpf… Hmpf… hmhmpf!"
"Show yourself fr— argh."
The lights were flicked back on to reveal the two of them knocked out and webbed together.
"Seriously guys? Electronics. Even a USB cable. I shouldn't be saying this but you guys can do better than this."
The cops were already on their way and he wouldn't want to be here when they arrived. To them it still wasn't clear whether he was a hero or vigilante and the conversations that usually stemmed from those were highly awkward, even without the usual case of them trying to arrest him. Honestly, he's had enough for a school night and all he wanted to do was just go and crash right into bed.
He could already hear the police sirens blaring into the neighborhood when he swung away from the cinema.
He was like ten blocks away from his recent crime scene, swinging by between buildings when his momentum was stopped and he perched against a wall, when he heard an explosion and saw smoke rising off a building.
"No." he cried out despairingly. Just like the smoke going up from the building, he saw his peaceful sleep going up in flames.
No one told the 15 year old hero/vigilante that trying to be a superhero was this hard.
And so, like he had done for the last few hours, he swung towards the scene of trouble, not just to be a hero or to fight bad guys, but because someone, anyone, might just be needing a helping hand right about now and he had two strong ones to help. He really did.
.
.....
[Peter Parker, a mentally exhausted sleep-deprived teen, functioning on way too unhealthy amounts of coffee]
The bed never felt so inviting in all my life like it currently did and I had to take extra care to not make a noise when I came in through the window in order not to wake Aunt May up.
During my swing home a new idea for an upgrade to my webshooters came to mind and since I had a few extra cash left over, maybe I should visit— nope, I'm going to go to sleep now.
Sluggishly, with every movement feeling like I was moving through quicksand, I started taking off my suit. Gosh, even taking off the mask feels like I'm dragging my hands through lead.
Gods, these boots stink. Even with how breathable the material is, it clearly wasn't enough to offset the soot and junk I've been through today.
Oh bed, how I've missed you.
Webshooters, Merchant, webs — they can all wait till I wake up. Whenever that is.
.
.
.
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A/N: Not really sold on how this chapter came out. I'm still having trouble writing in 1st person POV so hopefully I didn't do too bad with that.