The morning of the second day of my unplanned vacation began not with an alarm clock (oh, bliss!), but with a phone call. The sharp trill of the old flip phone pierced the silence of the room, making me wince. Who on earth is calling this early? I fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, still not fully awake and feeling the dull ache in my ribs and cheek—souvenirs from Flash. The screen displayed the school's number. Seriously?
"John Smith, speaking," I croaked into the receiver, trying to inject some life into my voice.
"Mr. Smith? This is Mrs. Davis, Principal Morita's secretary. The principal requests that you come to the school immediately. You are expected in his office."
"Right now?" I glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. "I'm under suspension."
"Yes, Mr. Smith. Right now. It's important. They are waiting for you."
The line went dead. Here we go again. What happened now? Did Flash wake up and file a police report? Or did his father, some local big shot, decide to personally explain to me how wrong it is to hurt his golden boy? Well, if I have to go, I have to go.
Pulling on jeans and a T-shirt (choosing a decent one—it was a meeting with the principal, after all), I pondered the possible scenarios. Yesterday's victory didn't seem so sweet anymore. It's one thing to show up a dumb jock; it's another to deal with his influential parents. Though, what kind of influence could the Thompsons really have? His father is some middle manager, and his mother is a housewife with the ambitions of the Queen of England. But who knows what connections they have in this city of wonders?
I reached the school surprisingly quickly—the morning rush hour had already passed. The corridors were deserted and quiet; classes were in session. The familiar school hum was replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by my footsteps. Outside the principal's office, I took a breath and knocked.
"Come in!"
Principal Morita's office was just as stark and faceless as it had been yesterday. The principal himself sat at his desk, looking exhausted. But this time, he wasn't alone. Seated in the visitor chairs were the Thompsons. Mr. Thompson was a large man with a receding hairline and a disgruntled face, a carbon copy of Flash thirty years from now. Mrs. Thompson was a polished blonde with a predatory gaze and pursed lips, draped in designer brands that clearly exceeded her husband's status. She shot me a look as if I were a cockroach that had wandered onto her Persian rug. Flash wasn't with them—presumably at home nursing a broken nose.
"Ah, Mr. Smith, come in, take a seat," the principal's voice was strained. "These are Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, Eugene's parents."
I nodded, sitting in the offered chair opposite the furious couple.
"We called you here, Mr. Smith," the principal began, clearly feeling awkward, "regarding a very unpleasant matter. Eugene's parents are... uh... extremely concerned about yesterday's incident."
"Concerned?" Mrs. Thompson flared up before the principal could finish. Her voice was sharp and unpleasant. "My boy is lying at home with a broken nose and a concussion! And this... this hooligan," she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, "is walking free! Principal, you must expel him! Immediately!"
"Mrs. Thompson, please, calm down," the principal tried to intervene.
"We will not calm down!" Mr. Thompson chimed in, his face reddening. "Our son is a star on the school team, the hope of this school! And this... social outcast," he sneered contemptuously at me, "mauls him in front of the whole school! We won't let this go!"
I listened to this flood of accusations in silence, maintaining a perfectly calm expression. Internally, I was seething. Social outcast? Seriously?
"We demand that this... Smith," Mr. Thompson literally spat out my name, "pay all medical bills for Eugene's treatment! Every last cent! And also compensate for emotional distress! Otherwise, we are suing! Him and the school for allowing this! We have witnesses! The whole bus saw him provoke our boy!"
Aha, so that's it. Money. How cliché. And how predictable. They decided that an orphan living in an old house was easy prey. They figured they could shake me down for some cash and vent their anger at the same time. We'll see about that.
"Forgive me for interrupting your emotional monologue," my voice sounded calm, even slightly ironic. I looked directly at Mr. Thompson. "But before you throw around threats and insults, wouldn't you like to hear the other side? Or is this a default lynch mob?"
The Thompsons stared at me, clearly not expecting such audacity. Principal Morita looked on with surprise as well.
"First of all," I continued, folding a finger, "regarding the provocation on the bus. Yes, I engaged in a verbal spat. Because your 'golden boy,' Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, was once again bullying Peter Parker. Humiliating him, trying to trip him. And this happens constantly. Ask any student who rides that bus. This is called 'bullying,' and school rules, as I recall," I shifted my gaze to the principal, "categorically forbid it. Or am I mistaken, Mr. Morita?"
The principal cleared his throat. "No, Mr. Smith, you are not mistaken. The school's policy regarding bullying is very strict."
"Exactly," I nodded. "I merely pointed out to your son the unacceptability of his behavior. Quite politely, mind you. In response, he escalated to direct threats and challenged me to a fight after school. Again, there are plenty of witnesses. So who provoked whom? The one who protected the weak, or the one who constantly attacks and is the first to suggest solving matters with fists?"
Mrs. Thompson wanted to object, but I continued without giving her a chance to speak.
"Secondly, the fight itself. Yes, I accepted the challenge. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest decision, but your son left me no choice. And as you might notice from the result, the victory wasn't his. I defended myself. Yes, I broke his nose. But that happened in a fight he initiated. In the school rules," I looked at the principal again, "there seems to be a clause about self-defense. Or am I wrong again?"
Principal Morita looked increasingly bewildered. "Uh... yes, there is a self-defense clause, but the use of excessive force..."
"Excessive?" I chuckled. "Forgive me, Mr. Morita, but Eugene Thompson is nearly twice my size and an athlete. What force could be excessive against such an opponent? I used the means available to me to stop his aggression. And judging by the fact that he is now at home and not continuing to beat me, I succeeded."
Mr. Thompson's face turned purple. "How dare you!.."
"I do dare, Mr. Thompson. Because I am stating facts, while you are operating on emotions and threats. You talk about medical bills? Fine. Let's talk about them. Но then let's be consistent. If I have to pay for Eugene's nose, who pays for my bruises?" I pointed demonstratively to my aching cheekbone. "Or his bullying of Peter Parker for several years? You could bill for emotional distress for that too, don't you think?"
I saw the principal internally cringe. Suing the school over bullying was a scandal he definitely didn't need.
"And finally," I addressed the Thompsons again. "You threaten a lawsuit? Please. Но keep in mind, all witnesses will be heard in court. And the picture might turn out quite differently than you imagine. The story of how a 'school star' systematically torments a classmate and then gets beaten when he asks for a fight is unlikely to add to his popularity. Or to your reputation as caring parents. Quite the opposite, in fact. Think about that."
I leaned back in my chair, looking at the stunned Thompsons and the pale principal. Silence hung in the office. Mrs. Thompson opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. Mr. Thompson breathed heavily, clenching his fists.
"Mr. Morita," I finally said in a calm tone. "I understand this is an unpleasant situation. I am prepared to serve the punishment for participating in a fight, which has been done—I am suspended for a week. But I have no intention of paying for the treatment of someone who provoked the conflict and attacked me first. And if Mr. and Mrs. Thompson decide to go to court—that is their right. I am ready to defend my position."
The principal looked at the Thompsons, then at me. His eyes showed clear confusion and a desire to end this conversation as soon as possible.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson," he began cautiously. "I understand your outrage, but... Mr. Smith has raised valid points. The school will conduct an internal investigation into the bullying by Eugene. As for yesterday's fight... both students have already been punished. I suggest not taking this matter to court. It wouldn't benefit anyone."
Mr. Thompson jumped out of his chair. "This is outrageous! We won't let this go! Let's go, dear! Everything is clear with this school!"
He grabbed his wife's arm, threw a blistering look at me and the principal, and stormed out of the office, slamming the door. Mrs. Thompson followed him, huffing a goodbye.
The principal sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead. "Well, Mr. Smith. You certainly know how to create problems. And solve them, I must admit."
"I was only defending my rights, Mr. Morita."
"Indeed... Alright, you are dismissed. Your suspension remains in effect. Try not to get into such situations again."
"I'll try, sir. Goodbye."
I left the office with a deep sense of satisfaction. Outplayed. Destroyed. Not with fists, but with words.
In the hallway, I ran right into Gwen. She was clearly waiting for me.
"John! What happened? I saw the Thompsons; they flew out of there like they'd been scalded! What's going on?"
"Nothing much, Gwen," I smiled. "Just a minor legal battle. They wanted to shake me down for Flash's medical bills and threaten a lawsuit."
"What?!" Gwen's eyes widened. "And what did you do?"
"Me? I laid it all out for them: who the instigator was, who the victim of bullying was, and who was acting in self-defense. Reminded them of school rules and witnesses. Basically, they left with nothing but a slammed door. I think they'll back off now."
"Incredible!" Gwen shook her head. "You are a walking problem, Smith. But, I must admit, an effective one."
"I try," I shrugged. "Anyway, I'm going home. Since I have a vacation, I might as well use it. Clean up, do homework... no one canceled that."
"Alright. Be careful. And... call me if anything happens."
"Will do. Good luck with classes!"
I walked out of the school, breathing in the Manhattan air. A week of freedom! I could read in peace, watch movies, maybe even try to figure out the local technology—what if I could improve something? Thoughts flowed easily and pleasantly.
The day flew by unnoticed. Cleaning, laundry, sorting through the old belongings of this body's parents—turns out there was plenty to do. Homework went surprisingly smoothly.
The next day began peacefully. I didn't even immediately remember that today Peter and Gwen's class had a field trip to Oscorp. That very corporation owned by Norman Osborn, which in the future would become the source of many problems for Spider-Man. I wondered if Osborn himself would be there? Or just his scientific achievements?
I was calmly going about my business when around noon the phone rang again. This time it was an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"John? John, it's Gwen!" Her voice was distressed, almost panicked.
"Gwen? What happened? Where are you? You're supposed to be on the field trip..."
"We... we're at the hospital! With Peter!"
"What?! What happened to Peter?" My heart skipped a beat.
"We were at Oscorp, in the genetics lab... There... something bit him! A spider, I think! He fell, he got sick... The teachers called an ambulance, the trip was canceled... We're at St. Luke's Hospital now! He's really bad, John! He's burning up, delirious... I'm so scared!"
A spider. Oscorp. Hospital. It all adds up. It's started. My best friend just got his superpowers. But the path to becoming a hero lies through pain and suffering.
"Gwen, calm down," I tried to speak as evenly as possible, though everything went cold inside. "I'm coming right now. Which hospital? St. Luke's? Okay, I'll be there soon. Hang in there. And keep me posted."
"Okay... Hurry, John!"
I cut the call, feeling my heart pounding. I had to go. I had to support Gwen and find out what was happening with Peter. What if he didn't survive? Or turned into a six-armed spider monster? I still hadn't figured out which Marvel universe I was in… Comics or MCU? Or everything mixed into chaos?
Meanwhile, at St. Luke's Hospital...
May Parker stood nervously peeking toward the ward. Her face was pale, her hands trembling. Beside her, leaning against the wall, was Ben Parker. He had his arm around his wife's shoulders, trying to look calm, but the anxiety in his eyes betrayed him.
"Oh, Ben, what is this? What's wrong with our boy?" May's voice cracked. "What kind of spider? He's never had allergies! What if it's poisonous? In those labs... all those chemicals, genetics... What if it's dangerous?"
"Quiet, May, quiet," Ben pulled her closer. "Don't work yourself up prematurely. The doctors here are good; they'll figure it out. The main thing is he's under supervision. The teacher said he was bitten during the trip... maybe it's just an unfortunate coincidence. A normal spider, and Peter had a reaction..."
"A normal spider in an Oscorp genetics lab? Ben, don't make me laugh!" May looked at her husband with tear-filled eyes. "What if it's something serious? What if... if something happens to him? He's all we have!"
"Nothing is going to happen to him, do you hear me, May?" Ben looked her in the eyes. "Peter is a tough kid. He'll make it. We have to believe in him. And pray. The doctors are doing everything possible. We need to be strong. For him."
The ward door opened, and a doctor in a white coat stepped out. May and Ben rushed to him.
"Doctor! How is he? What's wrong with our nephew?"
The doctor tiredly rubbed his forehead. "The patient's condition is stable but serious. High fever, chills, occasional delirium. We've taken tests to try and determine the cause of this reaction. The symptoms resemble a severe allergic reaction or a viral infection, but... there are some peculiarities. His body is fighting, but it's not clear exactly what yet. We are doing everything possible to bring the fever down and support him. You need to be patient."
May sobbed again, burying her face in Ben's shoulder. Ben nodded to the doctor. "Thank you, doctor. Can we see him?"
"Not yet. Let's wait for the results; they should be ready any moment."
Ben nodded tiredly, placing a hand on May's shoulder. Their faces were a mix of fear and helplessness.
At the same time, Gwen Stacy stood in the hallway a bit further away with Harry Osborn, who looked no less distressed.
The phone in Gwen's hand rang. She startled, seeing John's name on the screen, and answered quickly, pressing the phone to her ear.
"John? Where are you?"
"Already walking down the hallway of your wing, Gwen," John's familiar, somewhat calm voice sounded in the receiver. "Trying not to mistake these hospital labyrinths for horror movie sets. How's Peter? Any news?"
Before Gwen could answer, the ward door opened again, and the same doctor who had spoken to Aunt May and Uncle Ben stepped out. There was a slight smile and clear relief on his face. He approached the waiting Parkers while Gwen and Harry listened intently.
"Mr. and Mrs. Parker, I have good news," the doctor said. "We received the results of the expanded blood tests and toxicology. We found no dangerous poisons, toxins, or known viruses. It appears to have been an extremely strong but atypical reaction to an unknown insect bite. Your nephew's immune system mounted a powerful response, hence the fever and delirium. But the crisis has passed. His temperature is dropping, and his vitals are stabilizing. I think he should come to shortly. His body is young and strong—it handled it."
May gasped, clutching her chest. Ben squeezed her hand tightly, a smile appearing on his face as well.
"Oh, thank God! Thank you, doctor! Thank you!"
At that exact moment, John appeared from around the corner. The bruise was still prominent on his cheekbone, but he looked determined. Seeing him, Gwen couldn't take it anymore. The accumulated tension and fear of the last few hours burst out.
"John!" she sobbed and, running to him, hugged him tightly, burying her face in his jacket. "He's going to be okay! The doctor said he's recovering!"
I was slightly taken aback by such a sudden display of emotion, but I gently hugged her back, patting her shoulder. "Hey, easy, Gwen, it's alright. I told you, our Peter is a tough nut. He'll pull through."
Gwen pulled away slightly, wiping tears with her sleeve. I looked around—Aunt May and Uncle Ben were still talking to the doctor, and nearby Harry Osborn was shifting awkwardly. He looked, to put it mildly, lost and morose—pale, disheveled, clearly worried. The situation needed a release.
"Hey, Harry," I looked at him with a slight smirk. "Why so sour? Do you need a stress-relief hug too? Gwen, will you share?"
Harry blinked in surprise, then a faint smile flickered on his face. "Thanks, John, I... I'm okay. Just worried about Peter. And I feel guilty that this happened at our place..."
His words were interrupted by a nurse looking out of the ward. "Mr. and Mrs. Parker? Your nephew is awake. You can go in."
Aunt May and Uncle Ben immediately rushed inside. Gwen, Harry, and I looked at each other.
"Can we go too?" Gwen asked the nurse.
"Just for a bit; he still needs rest," she nodded.
We cautiously entered the ward behind the Parkers. Peter was sitting up in bed, still pale but conscious. His eyes were open, though his gaze seemed a bit confused. May and Ben were already hugging him, showering him with questions and words of love.
"Peter! My boy! How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, Aunt May, Uncle Ben..." Peter's voice was weak. "Just... my head is spinning a bit. And everything feels kind of strange... What happened? Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Pete," I stepped closer. "A spider bit you during the trip to Oscorp. But don't worry, the doctors say you're okay now."
"John? Gwen? Harry?" Peter looked at us in surprise. "You're here too? What about the trip?.."
"The trip was cut short when you got sick," Gwen said softly. "The main thing is you're okay."
"Yeah, Peter, we were all really scared," Harry added. "Sorry it happened... on our turf."
Peter gave a weak smile. "It's okay, Harry, it's not your fault... Just... anyway, I'm fine!"
The doctor performed one more quick examination, asked Peter a few questions about how he felt, and checked his reflexes. Convinced that the patient was indeed recovering and his life was not in danger, he gave the clearance for discharge.
"He needs rest for a couple of days at home, plenty of fluids, and observation. If the fever returns or other concerning symptoms appear, contact a doctor immediately. But I think everything will be fine."
While May and Ben were packing Peter's backpack and jacket and processing the discharge papers, Harry Osborn approached them looking apologetic.
"Mr. Parker, Mrs. Parker... I want to apologize again for what happened. It is unacceptable for such incidents to occur on Oscorp grounds. I've already contacted my father, and we... we would like to fully cover all medical expenses and perhaps offer full compensation for... for the inconvenience and distress caused."
Uncle Ben immediately shook his head. "No, no, Harry, what are you saying! No compensation is needed! The main thing is Peter is fine. We wouldn't dream of..."
"Sorry to butt in, Uncle Ben," I decided to put my two cents in, seeing that a good man's pride might deprive the family of much-deserved support. "But I think Harry's offer is worth accepting."
Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Harry looked at me in surprise.
"You see," I continued, addressing the Parkers, "Oscorp is a massive corporation. What happened is their responsibility, a lapse in their security during a tour. They certainly have insurance for these cases. For them, this is standard procedure, but for you, it's an opportunity to cover not just hospital bills, but perhaps missed work days," I looked at May and Ben, "and simply the unpleasant experience. This isn't charity; it's an acknowledgment of responsibility by the company. Besides," I lowered my voice slightly, "who knows if Peter might need additional check-ups in the future? It's better to have a financial cushion just in case. Accepting compensation in this situation is normal and right."
I saw Ben and May thinking it over. My arguments sounded sensible. Harry was looking at me with gratitude.
"The boy is right, Ben," May said quietly. "It really is the company's responsibility. And... we could use the support."
Ben sighed. "Alright, son, you've convinced me. Harry, thank you for your concern and the offer. We... we accept."
"Great!" Harry brightened up visibly. "I'll give you the contact info for my father's assistant; he'll handle all the formalities as quickly and delicately as possible."
Soon the formalities were settled, and Peter, supported by his aunt and uncle, was ready to head home. He still looked weak, but much better.
"Thank you all for being here," he said to us as he left.
"Hang in there, Pete! Get well!" Gwen wished him.
"Yeah, Parker, don't wilt away," I added. "And try to talk to fewer insects. Especially the eight-legged ones."
The Parkers hailed a taxi and left. The three of us remained in the parking lot outside the hospital.
"Listen, can I give you guys a lift?" Harry offered. "My driver is waiting. Where to?"
"I'm heading toward Hell's Kitchen," I said.
"And I'm in Queens, but I can go with you guys first," Gwen replied.
"Great, let's go," Harry waved, and a sleek black sedan with tinted windows smoothly rolled up to us. A driver in a sharp suit opened the rear door.
The car's interior was a marvel of luxury and comfort. Soft leather, perfect silence, and the light scent of expensive perfume. Gwen and I settled in the back seat, and Harry sat next to us.
"Thanks again, John," Harry said once the car started moving. "You really helped with that conversation about compensation. I didn't know how to convince Uncle Ben; he's so... upright."
"Anytime, Harry," I smirked. "Sometimes a bit of pragmatism doesn't hurt. Besides, the Parkers are good people; they could use the help. And for your corporation, this is pocket change."
"Yeah, I guess..." Harry sighed and looked out the window at the passing streets. "My father won't be happy about this incident. Security at Oscorp is a obsession of his."
"Your father... Norman Osborn, right?" Gwen asked cautiously. "He must be a very influential man."
"Yes, influential," Harry nodded, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "And very... strict. Demanding. He's always busy with work. Especially... especially after my mother died."
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't know..." Gwen looked at him with sympathy.
"It's okay," Harry gave a weak smile. "It was a long time ago. Just... it seems like he's distanced himself even more since then. Immersed in work, in his projects... Sometimes I feel like Oscorp is more important to him than I am. He demands that I measure up, be the best in everything, the heir to the empire... And I... I'm not always sure I want that. Or that I can."
Silence fell over the car. I looked at Harry and saw not just a wealthy heir, but a lonely guy desperately in need of his father's attention and approval, yet receiving only demands and coldness. The world of big money and big corporations had its dark side. And by the looks of it, the Osborn family was right at its epicenter.
The car rolled smoothly through the streets of New York, taking us away from the hospital walls toward the unknown. Peter had received his powers. Harry had pulled back the curtain on his difficult life. And I... I was just an observer. For now.