The house was dark when they pulled into the driveway. Peter killed the engine, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
"We really did that," MJ said quietly.
"Yeah."
"Broke into Oscorp. Made a cure. Got away with it."
"Stabilizer," Peter corrected. "Not a cure."
"Right. Stabilizer." MJ flexed her fingers, still marveling at the fact that they looked normal again. "Still can't believe it worked."
"Told you it would."
They sat in silence for another moment, the weight of the night settling over them like a heavy blanket.
Finally, MJ reached for the door handle. "Guess we should—"
Light flooded through the kitchen window.
They both froze.
"It's—"
"Anna," Peter finished grimly. "She's waiting up."
"Of course she is." MJ groaned. "What do we tell her?"
"The truth?"
"Which is?"
"That the party was canceled."
MJ stared at him. "That's your brilliant lie?"
"You got a better one?"
"Literally anything else would be—"
The front door opened. Anna stood silhouetted in the door frame, a coffee mug in her hand, her expression unreadable.
"You two planning to sit in the car all night," she called out, "or are you coming inside?"
Peter and MJ exchanged a glance.
They climbed out of the car and approached the house with all the enthusiasm of prisoners heading to execution.
Anna stepped aside to let them in. The kitchen was warm, the smell of fresh coffee filling the air. Two more mugs sat on the table, steam rising from them.
"Sit," Anna said. It wasn't a request.
They sat.
Anna took the chair across from them, cradling her mug, and studied them both with an expression Peter couldn't quite read. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just... assessing.
"So," she said finally. "How was the party?"
MJ opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at Peter.
Peter cleared his throat. "It was... canceled?"
Anna rose a delicate brow. "Is that a question or—"
"Canceled," MJ interjected.
"Yeah. Last minute. So we just... drove around for a bit and… Talked. Lots of talking took place…"
"For four hours." Anna deadpanned.
"Long talk," MJ added quickly.
Anna took a slow sip of her coffee. "Must have been a very important conversation."
"That's one way to put it," Peter said, meeting her eyes. "It really was."
Something passed between them—some silent understanding that Peter couldn't quite name. Anna's expression softened slightly.
"You both look exhausted," she said finally. "Go to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."
"Anna—"
"Bed, MJ. Both of you."
They didn't argue.
Peter grabbed his backpack—careful not to let the contents shift—and headed for the basement stairs. MJ disappeared into her room upstairs.
Anna watched them go, her coffee cooling in her hands, suspicion written across her features.
But she didn't push.
Not yet.
***
Peter didn't sleep.
He sat at his workbench, the basement's single bulb casting harsh shadows across the space. Two vials of MJ's blood sat in front of him, the liquid a deep crimson in the glass.
Blood Catalyst…
The words echoed in his mind, along with everything else, all the knowledge he had about the ability.
Consuming blood with unique properties from other beings, the host's body accommodates those properties by awakening and acquiring traits… Peter knew what that meant, the possibilities were endless.
MJ's blood wasn't just normal blood anymore. It contained the stabilized variant of the serum. The antibodies, her state, enhanced as it was was breathtaking. The controlled mutation was everything he had envisioned it would be.
What would happen if I consumed it?
Would he gain better control over his own transformation? Would it stabilize his powers somehow? Or would it just add another layer of mutation to the mess he'd already become?
Peter picked up one of the vials, holding it up to the light. The blood swirled slightly, catching the glow.
This is insane, he rational part of him thought. You're considering drinking MJ's mutated blood like some kind of vampire. That is the blood of an actual person..
This is cannibalism…
But..
But wasn't that what he was becoming anyway? The Ghoul of Blood and Sin ability required consumption of human blood and flesh. He'd been ignoring the growing urge, pushing it down, pretending it wasn't there. Maybe it was because the ability was newly awakened, maybe it was because of his experience as the Lizard, whatever it may be the urge to feed was more then what it should be.
He hated it.
Hated what he was becoming.
Hated that he was even considering this.
But the alternative was worse. If he didn't find a way to manage the hunger, eventually he'd lose control. And he couldn't let that happen. Not again. Never again…
Besides, I'm not doing this for myself… This could be a way to save Aunt May too.
Peter unscrewed the cap of the vial.
The smell hit him immediately—copper and something else, something wrong in the best possible way. His mouth watered involuntarily.
He brought the vial to his lips.
Hesitated.
This is a line you can't uncross, part of him whispered. Once you do this, there's no going back.
But hadn't he already crossed that line? The moment he'd taken the serum? The moment he'd died and come back? The moment Death herself had kissed him and bound them together?
What was one more transgression in a list that already stretched too long?
Peter tilted his head back and drank.
The blood was cool and thick, sliding down his throat like syrup. For a moment, nothing happened. It tasted like blood, his blood but that was all there was too it.
Then—
***
[Host has willingly consumed blood with unique properties]
[Trait Gained: Controlled Reptilian Mutation]
[Compatibility: HIGH]
[Trait Evolution Triggered]
[Due to the nature of [Ajin: The thief who stole his fate], [Imagine Breaker], [Will of Saitama: Limit Break], [Incarnation of Garou], the trait [Controlled Reptilian Mutation] has evolved into a progressively expanding anomalous immunity catalog.]
[Evolved Trait: The Unkillable Blasphemous Reptile]
[Upon an unnatural, supernatural, or anomalous death, the user autonomously regenerates with biological, conceptual, and anomalous adaptations that neutralize the cause of death. Each adaptation is permanent and cumulative. Adaptation time is proportional to damage severity. Adaptation scope is specific to the method of death as long is the method of death is not mundane. Imitation requires death to trigger; no preemptive adaptation.]
***
Pain lanced through Peter's body—not the agony of transformation, but something sharper. More focused. Like his very being was being rewritten one molecule at a time, he could fill something within him widen, or grow? As if he was becoming more, like his very soul was expanding to accommodate his new nature.
He doubled over, gripping the edge of the workbench, teeth gritted against a scream.
And then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Peter gasped for air, his heart hammering.
Peter stared at the notification, then at his hands. They looked the same. Felt the same.
But something was different. He could feel it—a subtle shift in his biology. His cells humming with new energy.
He pulled out a pocketknife and, before he could second-guess himself, drew it across his palm.
Blood welled up immediately.
And then—nothing. The wound remained open and fresh, nothing changed, the cut was relatively mundane. Guess a normal pocketknife isn't exactly supernatural, huh…
"Well shit," Peter breathed. He brought his thumb to his mouth to suck on the blood. His blood didn't taste all that appetizing to him and it did little to quench his hunger.
He then looked at the second vial of blood.
Considered his options.
Considered what else he needed to handle.
The revenge plan sat heavy in his mind—Poindexter's face, Fisk's empire, the promise he'd made to Uncle Ben's ghost and to May's comatose form.
But he couldn't pursue it. Not yet. Not like this.
He was powerful, yes. But uncontrolled. Unstable. He'd barely managed the Oscorp infiltration, and that was with MJ's help, experience, and a detailed plan.
Going after Poindexter—a professional assassin—in his current state would be possible but ultimately unsatisfactory. He didn't just want to take Poindexter out, he wanted to make him pay. Fisk too. He wanted—needed them to suffer.
He needed resources, a new plan, and a window of opportunity.
He played with the vial in his hands as he allowed his thoughts wonder, tossing it into the air then catching it.
He needed training. Real training. Not just the instinctive knowledge Garou provided, but actual, practiced skill and so much more.
Colleen Wing's card sat in his wallet, worn but still readable.
White Dragon Dojo…
Maybe it was time to take her up on that offer.
Peter pocketed the second vial of blood, locked his workbench, and climbed the stairs to what passed for his room—a mattress on the floor in the corner of the basement, a sleeping bag, and a pillow.
He lay down but didn't close his eyes.
Sleep felt impossible.
His mind raced with plans, contingencies, and the ever-present hunger that lurked at the edges of his consciousness.
Outside his window, dawn crept slowly across the sky.
The night was over.
But the real work was just beginning.
***
Four days since the Oscorp incident.
Peter stood in the backyard at dawn, his breath misting in the cold morning air. He moved through a series of stretches—not the casual warm-ups of a high school athlete, but the precise, controlled movements of someone training for war.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Pull-ups on the tree branch he'd reinforced. Squats with cinder blocks he'd found in the garage.
The routine was grueling. Methodical. And absolutely necessary.
Behind him, he heard the back door open.
"You know, most people sleep past sunrise," MJ's voice called out.
Peter didn't stop his push-ups. "Most people aren't me."
"Clearly."
MJ crossed the yard, dressed in workout clothes—her own concession to Peter's "ridiculous daily routine," as she'd taken to calling it. She'd joined him three days ago after calling in sick to school and spending the time figuring out her new abilities.
She dropped into position beside him and matched his pace easily.
Too easily.
"You're showing off," Peter muttered.
"I'm not showing off. I'm just better at this than you."
"You've had powers for less than a week."
"And yet," MJ grinned, increasing her speed. "Maybe you're just slow."
Peter pushed himself harder, his muscles burning. But MJ kept pace effortlessly, her enhanced strength making the exercise almost trivial.
When they finally stopped, Peter was breathing hard. MJ looked barely winded.
"I regret fixing you," Peter gasped.
"No, you don't."
"I'm considering it."
They moved on to the next exercise—sprints across the yard, timing themselves. Then, pull-ups. Then a series of combat drills Peter had cobbled together from half-remembered martial arts movies and the instinctive knowledge Garou provided.
MJ excelled at all of it.
It was somewhat infuriating to witness. He had to train his ass off and she just breezed right through it, he knew he would outgrow her and more in the long run, but at present she was getting on his nerves.
"How are you so good at this?" Peter grumbled after MJ landed a perfect roundhouse kick that stopped inches from his head.
"I don't know! It just... feels natural?" She looked at her hands, flexing her fingers. "Like my body knows what to do before my brain catches up."
"That's probably the serum working its magic," Peter said. "Enhanced reflexes, muscle memory, physical coordination. You got all the benefits without the drawbacks."
"Lucky me."
"Yeah," Peter's tone was flat. "Lucky."
MJ caught the bitterness in his voice and softened. "Peter—"
"Let's go again."
They trained until Peter's muscles screamed and even MJ started to show signs of fatigue. Then they moved inside for breakfast—or in Peter's case, food he forced himself to eat despite how wrong it tasted.
Anna watched them from the kitchen doorway, coffee in hand, her expression thoughtful.
"You two are up early," she observed.
"Training," Peter said, which was at least partially true.
"Uh-huh." Anna's gaze lingered on them both. "You know, Harry stopped by yesterday. Looking for you, MJ."
MJ froze mid-bite. Her gaze flickered to Peter for a moment before she replied. "Oh?"
"Said he'd been trying to reach you. Something about band practice?"
"Right. Yeah. I've been... distracted."
"Clearly," Anna took a sip of her coffee. "He seemed worried. Asked if everything was okay."
"Everything's fine," MJ said quickly. "Just needed a few days to myself. I'll text him."
Anna nodded slowly but didn't look convinced. She met MJ's gaze, then motioned to Peter with her eyes and gave MJ a raised eyebrow. MJ gave her an incredulous look, then shook her head furiously.
Whatever silent conversation they were having was completely lost on Peter.
The awkward silence stretched.
Finally, Anna set down her mug. "Right… You two have fun then. I have to head to work. There's leftovers in the fridge for lunch. And MJ? Maybe actually text Harry back. He's a good kid, and he cares about you."
"I will. Promise."
Anna grabbed her purse, paused at the door, then looked back at both of them. "Whatever you two are doing—whatever this is—just... be careful. Okay?"
"We will," MJ said.
The front door closed behind Anna as she left.
Peter and MJ sat in silence for a moment.
"Wanna tell me what that was about," Peter asked as he turned to MJ
"She knows something's up," MJ said finally.
"Yeah. Obviously, I was talking about the entire silent conversation that flew right over my head."
"No idea what you're talking about, Pete."
"Right… Think she'll push?"
"Eventually," MJ stood, grabbing his plate. "But not yet. Anna's good at giving people space to figure things out themselves."
"And when that space runs out?"
"Then we'll deal with it." MJ rinsed her plate in the sink. "Come on. Warehouse in an hour."
"Can't wait," Peter said dryly.
"More of your 'training.' Because that's going so well for you."
"I'm improving."
"Sure you are, Pete."
But she was smiling as she said it.
***
The warehouse had become their sanctuary.
The same abandoned building where MJ had first revealed her transformation was now their training ground. Peter had cleared a space in the center with MJ's help, they moved aside the construction materials and created something resembling a makeshift gym.
Today's focus was on MJ's transformation control.
"Okay," Peter said, leaning against a support beam. "Show me."
MJ took a breath, closed her eyes, and concentrated. She was dressed in a black sports bra, left her surprisingly toned midriff exposed with matching black oversized sweatpants. She didn't wear shoes, since no shoe would survive the transformation.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then her skin rippled. Scales emerged along her forearms—hexagonal and shimmering in the dusty light. Her eyes shifted to vertical slits. Her spine extended, a tail growing and swishing behind her.
But this time, she kept the rest of her body human. Controlled. Deliberate.
"Partial transformation," MJ said, her voice slightly different—lower, with an edge of reptilian rasp. "I've been practicing."
"That's incredible," Peter said, genuinely impressed. "How long can you hold it?"
"Haven't hit a limit yet." MJ retracted the scales, the transformation reversing smoothly. "It's like... like flexing a muscle. Once you know it's there, you can control it."
"Lucky," Peter muttered again.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." Peter pushed off the beam. "You got the perfect version of the serum. Controlled. Stable. Reversible. I got—" He stopped himself.
"You got what, Peter?"
Peter turned away. "Doesn't matter."
"It clearly does."
"MJ—"
"You've been weird for days. Weirder than usual, I mean." MJ crossed her arms. "You barely eat. You're training like you're preparing for war. And sometimes I catch you looking at me like..." She trailed off. Her gaze finding the walls, floors, and her fingers strangely interesting.
There was a slight blush on her cheeks, but Peter chalked it up the light or the effects of her transformation.
"Like what?"
MJ hesitated. "Like you're hungry."
Peter's blood ran cold.
He'd been more careful than that. Kept his distance. Controlled his expression. But apparently not careful enough.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice tight.
"Peter—"
"I said I'm fine!" The words came out sharper than intended.
MJ flinched.
Peter immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just... there's a lot going on. Things I'm trying to figure out. It has nothing to do with you."
Peter noticed her eyes flickered awkwardly from his to his lips and back again.
What? Oh shit, I'm drooling… Peter covered his blush by wiping his saliva away with the back of his palm.
MJ cleared her throat awkwardly as he did so.
"Then what does it have to do with?" Thankfully, she chose to ignore his momentary slip up and although her face was getting awfully close to matching her hair, her expression was calm and sympathetic.
My powers require me to eat human flesh and drink human blood, and you're starting to smell like a five-star meal…
"Just... adjusting. To everything. Same as you."
MJ didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. "Fine. But if you need help—if something's wrong—you know you can tell me, right?"
Peter nodded, even though he knew he couldn't.
Some things just couldn't be shared.
Even with someone who'd been through similar situations themselves.
They trained for another two hours—MJ practicing her transformation speed, Peter working on his enhanced reflexes and taking note of MJ's progression, continually dropping a few words of advice with his expertise on the serum now and then.
They did not bring up the things that were left unspoken, finding the current exchange oddly comforting.
Neither mentioned the tension between them.
Neither acknowledged the strangeness of it.
But both felt it.
***
That night, alone in the basement again, Peter stared at the second vial of MJ's blood.
The hunger was getting worse.
Sleep came in brief, restless bursts punctuated by dreams of tearing flesh and the copper tang of blood.
Food tasted wrong now. Bland like ash. Almost bitter too. And sometimes—when he was close to MJ or Anna—he'd catch their scent and feel something dark stir in his stomach. Something hungry.
He'd researched ghouls—both the mythological kind and the fictional ones. Neither offered much comfort. In the stories, ghouls were monsters. Creatures that preyed on humans. Things that had to be destroyed.
Is that what I am now? A monster wearing Peter Parker's face?
The rational part of him knew that was dramatic. He still had control. Still had humanity. The hunger was an urge, not a compulsion.
But for how long?
Peter's hands clenched into fists.
He had days. Maybe a week. Before the hunger stopped being something he could ignore and started being something that controlled him.
He needed a solution.
Blood banks were too risky—too traceable. Criminals felt... wrong, somehow. He wasn't a vigilante. Wasn't a hero. And becoming a predator who hunted humans—even evil ones—felt like crossing a line he couldn't uncross… How long would it take for that line to vanish entirely though?
But what's the alternative? Wait until I lose control and hurt someone? Best of two evils… the lesser one is always the safer option… If it comes down to hurting the bad guys and hurting innocent people, then the choice is clear. Right, Uncle Ben?
The second vial of MJ's blood gleamed in the dim light.
It wasn't enough. Wouldn't solve the problem long-term. He also needed to synthesize a possible solution for Aunt May's situation. That idea had been swimming around in his thoughts lately, too.
MJ's blood might just work, but it wouldn't be enough.
He had to find a better solution.
He had to figure out what the hell he was becoming.
Peter chose not to uncap the lid of the vial in his hands that night.
***
The yellow sedan pulled into the school parking lot at 7:45 AM, fifteen minutes before first bell.
Peter sat in the driver's seat, engine still running, staring at the building like it was a prison.
"You know," MJ said from the passenger seat, "most people actually want to go to school."
"Most people are idiots."
"Fair point." She grinned. "But seriously, Pete. You look like you're about to storm the beaches of Normandy."
"Would rather storm beaches," Peter muttered. "At least there I'd know who's shooting at me."
"Dramatic much?"
"Says the girl who turned into a lizard and broke into Oscorp with me."
"Touché."
MJ unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, then paused. "You know, you didn't have to drive me. Harry offered to pick me up this morning."
Peter glanced at her. "So why didn't you let him?"
"Because..." MJ trailed off, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. "I wanted to see the look on your face when you came back to school."
"What look?"
"That look." She pointed at his expression. "Like a cat being forced into a bathtub."
"I don't look like a cat."
"You absolutely do."
"MJ—"
"Also, I figured you could use the moral support." Her tone softened slightly. "First day back after everything. Thought it might help to have someone who knows."
Something flickered in Peter's chest—gratitude, maybe. Or relief. It was hard to tell these days.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"Don't mention it." MJ opened the door, then paused again, looking back with that same playful grin. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you'd have turned around and gone home if I wasn't here to make sure you actually walked through those doors."
"Would not."
"Peter, you're still gripping the steering wheel like it's a life raft."
Peter looked down. His knuckles were white.
He forced himself to let go.
"Fine," he said, killing the engine. "Let's get this over with."
They climbed out of the car together.
The parking lot was filling up—students arriving in clusters, laughing and talking, completely oblivious to the fact that two of their classmates had broken into a corporate tower, synthesized a stabilizing serum, and one was now walking around with said serum induced superpowers and the other was a functionally immortal cosmic anomaly of unknown origins.
If only they knew, Peter thought as he suppressed a chuckle.
MJ fell into step beside him as they approached the main entrance. A few students glanced their way—mostly at MJ, who'd been absent for days and whose return would definitely spark gossip. Peter was rather grateful they didn't really notice him thanks to MJ standing right next to him. He did look a little different, taller maybe, less baby fat on his cheeks and leaner too with a lot more hair and no glasses—did he really change that much?
Suddenly, Peter turned his head sharply as if he had noticed something.
"Peter," MJ's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "What's up?"
He realized he'd stopped walking. There was a strange pulling sensation, a tugging of his instincts, although he wasn't sure why. It wasn't dangerous, not really… Maybe? I can't really tell…
"What's happening over there?" Peter asked, motioning to the corner with a bunch of students were gathered around an arriving school bus.
"Oh that, just exchange students from some X—something school for the gifted. They might be here for a few weeks, give or take. Not too sure though."
"Oh," he muttered, forcing his feet to move again. "Guess I'm not the only topic of the week."
"In the school? Please, these Neanderthals have a surprisingly short attention span, Pete. If it doesn't come with a nice pair of bazonkers or rock-hard abs, give it a week and they'll forget all about it."
"Bazonkers? Who even says that?"
"You just did,"MJ's expression softened. "You, my friend, need to be reintroduced to the marvels of high school, so come on."
They reached the doors.
Peter let his mask slip back into place, squared his shoulders, and stepped inside.
The hallway was chaos—lockers slamming, voices echoing, the overwhelming press of bodies and noise and normalcy that felt completely foreign now.
Peter's enhanced senses picked up everything. Every conversation. Every heartbeat. Every scent.
Including the ones that made his mouth water.
He clenched his jaw and kept walking.
"There you are!"
A familiar voice cut through the noise.
Harry Osborn appeared from the crowd, his expression caught between relief and exasperation. Behind him, Gwen and the rest of their friend group followed.
Peter silently made a sharp turn when MJ turned to them and slipped into the sea of students around them.
By the time MJ turned back to him, he was already gone.
Chapter End
A/N: Thanks super_S_blue and Jason2004, I had been thinking of integrating SCP 682 into the story for awhile but your suggestions gave me an idea on just how to do that just now. Hope you liked my spin on it.