Web of Life (Spider-Man AU)

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Growing up, Vincent had a frog that serenaded him after dark. He had never seen the creature, but at night, after the lights had been turned off and his parents left him alone, it would start croaking. He would hear its voice until he fell asleep, and when he woke up in the morning, it would be gone. Searching for it was useless; the amphibian was like the legendary phantom. He couldn't be found, and he wouldn't stop his throaty ballad.

The noise was annoyingly grating. It was impossible to sleep, and therefore function. But a few weeks later, he was snoring peacefully, and after a few months, it had become a lullaby. The sound etched itself on his brain - even after they had moved to New York, and lived in a third-floor apartment, he could still hear it singing.

That frog had taught him something important. Humans had an extraordinary power of adaptability – whatever challenges they faced, given enough time, they would overcome them.

Vincent took the lesson to heart. His circumstances had never been favorable. His parents were young, uneducated, and poor when they had him - the three cardinal sins for a parent in America. His father was drunk and abusive (sins four and five), and his mother was a complicit woman (six and seven). And if just making him suffer wasn't enough, they decided to have another child.

But Vincent preserved. His teachers praised him as a sensitive kid – he did not know what it meant, but it was praise, and he liked to have it. He worked hard for it. Unfortunately, that only made his fall all the more tragic.

Narrative only existed in hindsight. Parables were not unequivocal constants that answered everything. Poverty was not a single problem that could be simply overcome with hard work. And over the years, Vincent came to understand this lesson as well. You couldn't will yourself through hunger, lack of sleep, or simply fatigue. When you had no money, no amount of hustle could make up for it. When you were cold, positive thoughts couldn't warm you. When you were beaten, prayers couldn't save you.

Vincent had been wrong, and he felt wronged. The anger was bitter burning, and it hurt all the more because he had tried. He had given everything, and the world had trampled all over it. So be it. If he was fated to lose from birth, then what was the reason for his compliance?

So he broke the rules. Small at first, then he grew bolder. He worked alone and was clever and quick. They caught him once, but that only taught him to be more careful. There was a new lesson there. Life didn't care. There was no accounting, no one keeping score. You were what you could get away with. He did, and it worked. His sister didn't go hungry. His father stayed off his back. His mother kept quiet. Things were getting better. And then life, with a great sense of irony, decided to help him out.

Vincent's father drunk himself to death. Nobody particularly cared - the funeral costed less than his tab. Then a lawyer arrived. Unknown granddad had specific instructions for an inheritance to be delivered after his father's death. Vincent had never known the man, but his admiration for him sky-rocketed instantaneously. There were money and a few belongings. Photos, diaries, curios, furniture, a bronze lamp post. A grandfather clock. A well-sized red statue of a deformed-looking lion. A three-legged stool. And most importantly, the box.

***********

Manfredo Colorito, in his own words, had led a disappointing existence. As Vincent read through his grandfather's diaries, he felt a kinship with the man. Like him, life had sold Manfredo a false dream. He was a patriot who wanted to go to war, but turned away because he was too sickly. He was an accomplished scientist, yet command never appreciated him. His wife died young, and his son left him behind. His life was unfulfilling, and so was his death.

It was tricky to open the box; the clues were in his notes, and he had to make an effort to figure it out. The man might've been a genius, but Vincent was no slouch either. The dials were turned, the letters aligned, the buttons pressed, a clockwise turn, counter turn, counter turn, and pull. It opened. An eagle emblazed the inside, with a shield as its heart. The Strategic Scientific Reserve. There were more notes, and a photo of lab coats standing next to each other. A top-secret project. Vincent dug within, and found treasure. The prototype. The suit. His grandfather's labor of love, unceremoniously decried and abandoned, never to see the light of the day again.

No. He wasn't going to let that happen.

*************

It took Vincent a lot of reading and studying to approach to understand how the thing worked. They had never got to finish it – but his grandfather had left him a path, and he intended to follow it. And he was almost done. He had needed money, materials, but hitting a few stores took care of it. All that was left was to complete the work.

Life had been unfair. He had been left behind from the very beginning, running a race that he could never win, forever destined to remain under the heels of a broken system. His anger was directionless, and would never amount to anything. No. Not anymore. He would prove them all wrong. He had a gift now, a purpose.

Vincent was going to make the world sit up and take notice.

**************

Lewis Park, Afternoon

Peter didn't really like barbeques, or any big social gathering. As an introvert, he would feel out of place and awkward most of the time, which was further of exacerbated by the lack of people to talk to. Today was no exception.

Standing near the cookout, he surveyed the park. Kids ran all over the place, people lounged in the shade, while others stood around in small circles and chatted. No one he knew. So he stood and pretended to be… not uncomfortable.

"Peter! Here you go." Uncle Ben dumped a heavy serving of meat on his plate. "This is good, right?"

"Right." He smiled. Uncle Ben was happy; being amongst his friends must've improved his mood. He wasn't going to be the one to bring it down. "I'm going over to Flash, okay?" He lied. Flash was here, but surrounded by his usual stooges, and Peter wasn't going to enter that den.

"Alright. Okay," His uncle smiled and gave him a pat on the back, and Peter almost felt a tiny bit guilty as he waved him off. Almost.

Now all he had to do was find a quiet spot, eat his food, and –

"Peter!" Oh no. He recognized the voice. "Peter, honey, over here!" It was Anna Watson, a mousy looking, soft-spoken woman, who had been Aunt May's best friend when she was alive. Peter avoided her; she meant well, but it never turned out as such.

"I have to say, I'm relieved to see you here. I thought you'd be all down after May's death!" Yep, exactly as he expected. This was the reason she was disliked; Anna had no social grace. In her defense, it was out of thoughtless ignorance rather than any actual malice – but still, it was hard to tolerate.

"Everybody took it hard, but we can't sit around moping forever." He gave a controlled answer.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel like I could." She sniffled. "Sometimes I forget that's she gone and still call her house, you know?"

"Yes. I picked those up."

"Of course you did. I was feeling so sorry for myself… that I almost forgot about you. How above you been?"

Not this song and dance again. "I'm okay now." Would she get the hint?

"Oh, Peter, don't be like that. You don't have to lie. You can feel sad if you want to." Nope, she didn't.

"I'm fine. Really." He decided to hammer in the point. "It's all good now. I'm fine. Uncle Ben is fine. You don't have to worry. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, tough guy." She didn't believe. Which was alright, as long as she stopped talking about it. "Honestly, you and Ben… two stubborn peas in a pod. But I promised her that'll look after you, and I intend to keep my word." Her face scrunched up as she fell in thought, and then cleared up as she got an idea. "Are you free on Saturdays?"

"Well, I have a…–"

"You're free." She imperiously declared. "Good. I'm in need of a strong and clever man around the house, someone who isn't averse to hard work for a little change. You won't say no to an old lady in need, would you?"

"Listen, you don't have to –"

"Saturday. I'll be waiting."

************

In the end, he had to agree. Great. Another event to add on the ever-growing pile. But now that had been dealt with, he could -

"Peter." A gravelly, deep voice interrupted his thoughts as a shadow fell over him. "It's good to see you, son." The man was wearing grey shorts and a pink Hawaiian shirt, but looked intimidating as ever.

"Mr. Brock – uh, it's good to see you, sir." It was Reuben Brock – what was he doing here?

"My wife encouraged this." He answered the unasked question. "I would have refused, but she bade me to see reason. How can we serve a community if we do not know them? Now that I am here, I see she was right." His face never changed as he spoke – it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

"Ri-right."

"As for the recent events, I will say that He will not test you beyond what you cannot handle," He continued. "And should you wish for succor, our doors are always open."

"Yes – of course. Thanks."

A few seconds of uneasy silence followed.

"Well, I won't tarry you anymore," He began to excuse himself, then changed his mind. "Wait." The word was soft, hesitant.

"… What is it?"

"… It has come to my attention, that… our son has returned." He spoke haltingly, considering over his every word. "Have you… spoken to him?"

Oh. So it was about this. "Eddie called me once, yes."

"Is he… well?"

"Seems so."

Reuben nodded to himself. "If you meet him, would you… no, nevermind." The corners of his lips curved upwards – no, wait, that was him trying to smile. It was terrifying. "Go on, Peter. Enjoy yourself."

"Oh… of course, sir."

**************

A shady tree, cool breeze, and everyone in the distance - It was the perfect spot. Peter sat down and relaxed. This was nice. No distractions, just him and nature. The wide blue sky and the green mounds… and there was a figure approaching him.

It was Jessie, Flash's younger sister. She walked closer and closer – until she was just beside him – and simply sat down without a word. Okay. He waited. She said nothing. He waited some more. Not a sound. What was happening? Did she want to talk? Probably not. Should he say something? Probably yes.

Say hello. No, too much time had passed for that – that would be awkward. Ask what she was doing – no, stupid question, she wasn't doing anything. Talk about the weather – nobody asked, you creep. Oh fuck – what was even happening? Why had she come over here? They had barely even talked – he didn't even know her! Did she - No, no, that was his imagination running wild. Things were not as he presumed, and there had to be some reason – but what could it be except that? No – no more of this nonsense – start a conversation – but how?

"Hello, I am Jessie Thompson, Eugene – I mean, Flash's sister. You are Peter Parker, his school mate. Let us talk." She said, her face blank and voice completely disinterested. "Isn't the weather great?"

"Uh, it sure is."

"And the food is good too, is it not?" She pushed her glasses up.

"Uh… I suppose so?"

"You are not sure?"

"I mean… okay, I'm going to be frank. What are you doing?"

"As I explained, conversing with you."

"Yes, but why?"

"To establish rapport before moving onto the actual topic."

"… You know, I think we have plenty of rapport. So what is it you want to actually talk about?"

"Fine. Are you neurotypical?"

Peter's mind connected the dots. "Where is this coming from?"

"My mom says you're gifted. She says the same thing about me. I assumed that's how she's coded it in her brain. So I decided to ask. Are you?"

Was he? On some level, with the spider and whatnot, he certainly was on the spectrum. And even before, he had difficulties interacting with people. But it had never affected his life to be noticeable, had it? But he couldn't just say yes, either could he?"

After some thinking, he gave his answer.

"I see." She nodded rapidly. "That was all I wanted to know. Thank you for that information. Would you mind if I skip the disengaging small-talk?"

"No, not at all."

She then got up and left without a word.

*******************

What did Peter answer to the NT question? (Neurotypical = people who are considered to have standard mental development

[] Yes, I am NT.
[] No, I am on the spectrum.
[] No, I am on the spectrum, but it's not official or anything.
[] Yes, I am NT, but I understand what being non NT feels like.
[] WRITE-IN

What event came afterwards?

[] Peter talked with Uncle Ben after his visit to the doctor.
[] Peter went to school
- [] Peter tutored his friends
- [] Peter made his first visit to the club.
[] There was a neighborhood event
- [] Aunt Rosie asked him to babysit Timmy.
[X] Peter met with Eddie Brock, and listened to his job offer.
[] Peter worked on planning his crime fighting initiative.

Peter has 4 exp.
Peter gets +20 INCOME.

INCOME is added passively after every event. Events may arise from work which may need to be resolved from time to time.