Disclaimer: dis claimer though am I right? (laugh track) And yeah I no own stuff

Anyone else notice that the new actor playing Spidey and the new director for the Spidey movie were announced today!? :O I was wrong-it's Tom Holland! He seems like a swaggin dude, plus he's a gymnast! It'll be super cool to see him alongside the rest of the Avengers in future Marvel movies. CANT FREAKIN WAIT AAAGGHH

...oh yeah and here's another chapter yay

Chapter 4

A small roadblock had developed in Peter's plan. After shaking him awake that morning, his aunt had insisted that she accompany him to his doctor's appointment, not wanting to risk letting him leave alone only to skip out on it. She knew him too damn well.

So, sitting adjacent to his aunt in the back of a cab, still groggy and disheveled from the early rise and sporting a pair of cargo shorts and a comfy V-neck, Peter sat in a semi-panicked state as he fought to conjure a new plan to escape his double-life's impending disclosure.

"Dr. Rowell is a wonderful man. I'm certain he'll make sure everything's just fine with you. Don't worry about a thing, Peter."

"Aunt May, I'm not sure if I can—"

Suddenly, the cab jerked to a stop by the curb, and Peter glanced out the window in surprise.

"What? We're already here? This isn't the office I normally go to." He examined the white building suspiciously.

"This is where I work," Aunt May explained as she unbuckled her belt and tipped their driver courteously. "I figured we'd get much better discounts if I switched you over to here."

Ah, dammit, Peter thought as he slowly stepped out of the cab. Now she'll be able to look up the records herself and see if I completed my check-up. What the hell am I going to do now? Grappling for some excuse, Peter was caught off-guard as his aunt grabbed him by the hand and dragged him into the pearly white building.

"W-wait, Aunt May," he stuttered as they walked through doors. "I—I actually don't think I can do this. You don't understand. It's too risky. I'm going to get found out. Aunt May, are you listening—?"

"Hello Trish," his aunt addressed the woman settled at the check-in desk cheerfully, taking no notice of his frantic stammering. "I'd like to introduce you to my nephew, Peter. I called yesterday and scheduled him for his annual check-up. Is Dr. Rowell here?"

Trish smiled warmly. "Yes, he checked in about thirty minutes ago. I'll notify the back and they'll call him in whenever they're ready." After buzzing a small button on her desk, she turned to face Peter, her smile unceasing. "Hello, Peter. May has told me all about you. She never stops talking about what an amazing young man you're growing up to be."

Peter took a second to switch his attention from the crisis he was currently suffering and glanced at the smiley lady distractedly. "What? Oh, um, thank you, ma'am. I, uh, sorry."

She gave a light laugh, which grated at Peter's already frayed nerves. "I think someone's a little nervous. There's nothing to be afraid of, dear. Dr. Rowell is the nicest man I know. He'll take good care of you."

"What? N-no, it's not that. I just—" He whipped around to his aunt again, his voice dropping into a vicious whisper. "Aunt May, seriously: I really, really, really don't think I can do this! You've got to understand, there is no way I can get checked out without the doctor discovering that I'm—"

"Peter Parker?" an elderly woman called from across the room, smiling as she swung open the door to the back hallway. Peter went rigid and wanted to scream in frustration. This was all happening too fast for him to think! Gingerly he glanced over his shoulder, clueless to what he should do, when his aunt gave him a rough shove in the back, making him jump with a start.
"That's you, dear," she snapped, pointing sharply at the gaping door. "Don't leave the nice lady waiting! Go on now, I'll be waiting out here for you once you finish."

My aunt is a freaking evil mastermind! "But—wait—Aunt May, I—"

She pushed him once again without listening to a word he said. "Go!"

Flushed from creating such an embarrassing scene and fazed by the fact that his life as he knew it might be ending, Peter released a frazzled sigh from his lips. Rubbing anxiously at the back of his head, Peter turned, walked the long journey across the silent doctor's office, swallowed the lump in his throat, then entered the narrow hallway.

"Room number three," the lady called after him as she shut the door and followed close behind. Useless, feverish thoughts ran through his mind as he strolled aimlessly between the white walls. Dammit, dammit, what do I do? Should I make up an excuse? Make a run for it? Pretend to be insane? Dammit, what should I do?

Nothing productive came to him before he arrived in front of the ominous door. The nice old nurse opened the door, nudged him inside, and smiled sweetly as he stood motionless in the cramped space.

"Dr. Rowell will be with you in just a moment. You can sit on the bed there while you wait. Good luck, Peter." With a small wink, she let the door shut with a heavy clank, and Peter found himself all alone in the pasty, cold room.

I am so screwed.

Then Peter shook his head and palmed his face in his hands.

No, you are not screwed. You are going to do exactly what you planned. You are going to let the doctor run a few simple tests, then you're getting out of here. Make up an excuse, then you and Aunt May will leave. Simple as that. If it screws up the records or something, oh well. Maybe Aunt May won't notice. And even if she does, having your aunt pissed at you isn't as bad as having the whole world discover you're Spider-Man and placing her life as well as the rest of your loved ones' in danger. I'll just go by Banner's place and have him check me out for real later. Everything's fine, Peter. Chillax.

Puffing out his cheeks, Peter released his face and let his arms drop at his sides. He seriously needed a spa trip to keep from losing it over the smallest of things these days. Maybe he should take a crack at Banner's yoga again—at the very least it would help him catch some extra z's. Above all, he needed to remember how good things were going for him now, especially compared to the disastrous school months of ravenous chimera invasions and near-death experiences he'd recently been through. This little hiccup he was currently faced with was nothing he couldn't handle.

Feeling much less like a paranoid spazz, Peter hopped on to the examination table, causing the wax paper to crackle beneath his weight, and sat patiently waiting for the doctor to come, balling his hands in his lap. He swung his feet causally above the floor. This was nothing to get worked up over. Everything was under control. He should be used to dealing with stuff like this by now. Just to calm himself further, he played out what was going to happen perfectly in his mind: the doctor would come in. Ask him a few general questions, give him the usual weigh-in and measurement procedure, maybe tap his knee with a hammer or whatever, then Peter would drop the bomb. He—he had at meeting, at work. A very important meeting at the Bugle that he had completely forgot about, and that he absolutely could not miss. The doctor would understand, maybe suggest that he come back in to finish the check-up some time soon, and then he'd allow him to leave. Simple as that. No questions asked. All would be well with the world, as long as he played this out accordingly.

Not a minute later, there was a knock on the door, which stirred Peter from his thoughts. Surprisingly, the crippling anxiety he'd been suffering only moments before had almost entirely vanished. He was confident he could figure this little predicament out. He had stopped an army of mutant, man-eating monsters from demolishing the city. Escaping a silly little check-up would be a piece of cake.

The door opened. It took a moment for the doctor to come into full view, as he was yelling something to someone across the office over his shoulder. Even still, Peter could tell that he had black hair with a few hints of gray beginning to congregate around his scalp. He was a tall man with a wide body and thick limbs. He wore light blue scrubs that hung loosely off his large frame.

"Yes. I'll be right with you once I finish this one. Thank you." He stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself, chuckling softly. "Sorry about the wait, bud. Office is awfully busy this morning. Anyway, let's get you checked out, shall we?"

The doctor turned to face Peter, smiling welcoming through a short, messy beard. Peter had known something was wrong the moment he'd heard the man speak. But when his eyes fell upon his friendly, cheerful face, his only recently settled heart instantly tore itself from his chest and plummeted into his stomach. Oh. No.

It was him. The doctor who had helped him back in Times Square after his fallout with Scorpion. He knew it. Peter recognized him.

But to make matters so much worse, as the doctor met his stunned gaze, the same look of shock encapsulated his own features, and the realization dawned on Peter in a terrible, violent rush: he recognized him.

Silence. Horrible, agonizing silence. In reality it lasted about a second or two, but to Peter it felt like a millennia. He was still as statue. Finally, blinking in bewilderment at the strange situation he'd found himself in, Dr. Rowell took a careful step towards the young man frozen on the examination table, hinting a dubiously joyful smile.

"Hey. Wait a minute. I...I remember you. You're...aren't you—?"

"I have to leave," Peter blurted out. He had no idea what else he could do. He had to get out of here! His sudden interjection caught Dr. Rowell off guard, and in one quick movement Peter dropped off the bed and went for the door. A large hand against his chest stopped him, however, and he jumped back reflexively.

"Whoa there, bud," the man said with a mixture of surprise and amusement in his voice, holding his palms out cautiously. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything. Just hold on a second."

"I can't be here," he stated frantically. "You—you have to let me leave. Just pretend you never saw me. Act like I never even showed up. Please, you don't understand, I—I can't—"

"I understand," the doctor insisted earnestly. "I understand perfectly. You don't have to explain anything to me, Spi—I mean…" He glanced at the clipboard he had in one of his giant pockets. "…Peter. Parker. Wait, Peter Parker?" He stared up at him with surprise in his eyes. "You're May's boy?"

Peter sat silently for a moment, eyeing the doctor with shaken suspicion, his hands gripping tight to the edge of the examination table. Eventually, he licked his lips, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Nephew. I live with her."

His eyes and voice softened. "She's a wonderful person. Amazing nurse, too. I guess awesomeness just runs in the family, huh?" It was clear he was trying to defer the issue at hand and put him at ease, but Peter remained tensed in anticipation. This was terrible. Why couldn't his aunt have listened to him? Now a man who worked right alongside her knew their family's secret, and could expose herself and his girlfriend to even more danger than they were in already. She seriously hadn't thought this through, and now they were really paying the price for it. Dr. Rowell could sense the hero's potent apprehension at being discovered, and continued to speak in a gentle tone. "I guess this explains why she speaks so fondly of you all the time. You as in Peter Parker and Spider-Man. I thought she was just a hearty old superhero fan, which I suppose hasn't been completely falsified by all this, but clearly she has alternate reasons." He chuckled lightly. "She's only been working here a month or so now, and already the entire staff has fallen in love with her. I've never seen someone come in right off the bat who was so good with children. When I brought my daughter in to get a shot, May distracted her so well that she didn't even notice the needle going in her arm. Every time I've tried, she ends up crying an hour beforehand, and usually an hour or two after. Emily's always been such a sensitive girl, but May handled it like a pro."

Upon hearing the name, Peter quickly lifted his gaze. "Emily?"

Dr. Rowell let out a laugh. "But I guess you already knew that, didn't you? I never did get to thank you for saving Emily and my wife awhile back at the restaurant shooting downtown. I cannot express how truly grateful I am that you protected my family."

He couldn't hide his shock. "Wait...Emily is your daughter? And that woman—her mother—that's your wife?"

"Yep. Guess I can't blame you for not seeing the resemblance—Em takes after Elena. I have God to thank for that," he added with a chuckle.

Reclaiming a bit of composure, Peter's lips hinted a careful smile. "Small world. Well, she was braver than every person in that room. Certainly braver than me."

"She hasn't stopped talking about you since that night. You've become her idol. When I asked her what she wanted to do for her seventh birthday, she completely abandoned her original My Little Pony theme idea and made all of her guests dress up as Spider-Man and spray each other with silly string. It was definitely a nice change of pace—less rainbows and glitter."

Peter had to laugh at that, although the doctor's words surprised him. Emily had seen him nearly beat a man to death, yet even after all this time, she still considered him a hero? It seemed kids these days were always giving him more credit than he deserved.

"I heard about what you did back during that monster attack on the city. I watched videos of you and the Avengers fighting those things together. I'm glad you guys are on good terms now—you know, since they tried to take you prisoner when you all first met. I assume that either Tony Stark or Bruce Banner figured out how to cure the venom that green freak injected into you, seeing that you're not dead from it."

Peter scratched the back of his neck in thought. "Yeah, thankfully. We're all pretty solid now. I kinda actually recently joined their team, if you didn't hear from the news and stuff."

"I heard," he answered simply. The doctor stood with his back against the door, hands folded politely in front of his stomach, eyes wandering about the room as he rocked absentmindedly on his heels. Finally, after a long moment of hesitation, Dr. Rowell cleared his throat. "So, uh, how have you been doing? The last time I saw you, I was seriously thinking you were going to die, but clearly you're recovered. I can't imagine how you were able to walk away from all that, even with an antidote."

Peter detected the doctor's reluctance to pry too directly. Despite having only met this man once before in a rather desperate situation, Peter was shocked to find himself already trusting him; or rather, perhaps, wanting to trust him. He didn't really have a choice in the matter. He realized the list of people aware of Spider-Man's real identity was getting longer and longer as the year trudged by, and the thought of anyone else honing in on his secret was unsettling. He seriously had to tone it down a notch. The more people who knew about him, the greater chance he had at being discovered, and the more people at risk of being hurt because of him—especially with guys like that Shocker freak out there. He made a pact in that moment to never tell another soul his little spidery secret from here on out.

He was a little late on this one, however. So, sighing exasperatedly, Peter looked Dr. Rowell directly in the eye. "I...I have a healing factor. I probably would've died if it weren't for that."

Surprised by his sudden forthrightness, the doctor's friendly smile reshaped behind his beard. "Really? As in, your body heals faster than the average human's? That's incredible." He pointed at Peter's stomach with his index finger. "Does that mean your stab wound didn't leave a scar?"

Curiously, Peter lifted up his shirt and stared down at his side, pulling at the skin below his ribcage. "Unfortunately, no. Even with my powers, it took forever to heal because of the venom. There's still a big white stripe from where the stinger gutted me."

Dr. Rowell eyed the scar inquisitively from a distance. "If I'd had the right equipment with me when I tried to help patch you up, it probably wouldn't be as bad. I left my suture kit at home that day, of course. I guess my crappy gauze and bandage combo didn't really help that much. Sorry about that, by the way."

Peter dropped his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest, scoffing amusedly under his breath. "If it weren't for you, I probably would've bled out right there in front of everyone in Times Square. You saved me. And somehow, you managed to do it without revealing my identity to the entire world. I didn't get the chance to thank you for that then, but seriously—thanks. I owe you one."

The doctor dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Least I could do. I'm just glad you're okay." After a second in thought, biting the inside of his cheek, he slipped his fists into his pockets and gave a small chuckle. "If you don't mind me asking...why would a person like you who wants to keep his identity undisclosed come to a public doctor's office? Seems a little risky."

Peter groaned with frustration. "My aunt made me. She still hasn't quite got a grip on the whole secrecy part of a secret identity. She said since I'm out fighting bad guys all the time she wants to be sure I'm healthy or whatever." He stared off to the side. "And, uh, she thought for some reason that you could somehow look at me and figure out all the ways the spider venom affected my DNA or something."

Dr. Rowell blinked at him in surprise. "Really? She said that?" He grinned slightly. "Well, I'm not sure where she got that notion. I will say that before I decided to be a doctor, I worked as a geneticist. But I found that line of work didn't really suit me, so I switched to pediatrics after a couple years. I remember talking to your aunt about it, although I don't know how that qualifies me for something like this." He narrowed his eyes at him inquisitively. "Did you say...spider venom? Are you saying that that's how you got your powers? From a spider bite?"

After debating whether he should answer for a second, Peter caved. "Yes. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and it messed up my body in freakish ways. That's why I can scale walls and shoot webs from my wrists and fight people and all that. My DNA has been altered to where I'm actually part spider."

"Wow," the doctor exclaimed in awe, his eyes wide. "That's...just...amazing. I can't imagine how cool that must be. But...I think I understand your aunt's concern about all this. I know I'd be scared to hell if my kid started developing powers and stuff and I had no idea exactly how or why it was happening."

Peter chuckled despondently. "Well, I guess you could say she's not the only one. I haven't really thought about it much until now, but I've realized that I still don't really know what all that bug bite did to me. The powers and the enhanced senses are great no doubt, the way they help me save people's lives and protect them from bad guys, but it's kind of unsettling to know that you have DNA that's different than everyone else's coursing through your veins, and not knowing for sure all the ways it's changed you is kind of scary." He paused, his eyes staring hollowly at the floor. "It's made me hurt my friends. And...kill a person."

The doctor stared at the daunted boy standing before him, and a pang of sadness nicked his heart. He hadn't a clue the courageousness of the fellow he'd saved way back in Times Square. This young man was trying to balance his already stressful adolescent life alongside the fears and unknowns of being a teenage superhero, all while carrying the weight of the world on his scrawny shoulders. He couldn't help but admire the kid's recklessly selfless ambitiousness. He watched a chill shoot through Peter's body as he leaned against the table. Sucking in a breath, Dr. Rowell rubbed his hands together, shot a glance at his wristwatch, then gave a small shrug.

"Well, it's my job as a doctor to give my patients proper check-ups to make sure their bodies are healthy. That's what I'm being paid for, and that's what your aunt asked me do for you. If you're okay with it, I'd be more than happy to check you out and try to help you understand everything that venom did to you."

Peter cringed with immediate uncertainty. "I...I really don't think that's a good idea."

"It would be completely confidential," Dr. Rowell explained to him assuredly. "I promise you. I'll fill out the standard check-up BS on all of your medical records. I won't mention a single thing that will draw any attention to you or your family. I would only look into whatever you're comfortable with. Everything would stay between you and me."

Peter stared at him in shock. "But that's illegal. You could get into serious trouble for messing with my files, couldn't you? And I have dangerous people after me. If any of them found out you were helping me, they could try to hurt you. I don't want to put your family in danger like that."

"The file thing is a risk I'm willing to take if it means I get to repay the debt I owe you. And don't worry, we'll be very careful to make sure that doesn't become an issue. I wouldn't risk doing it here. My apartment up the road has all the instruments and solitude we need. My wife works at a flower shop on weekdays, so that wouldn't be a problem either. If you're willing, you could come by my place tomorrow morning, and I'll do what I can to diagnose all the aspects of your, uh, relatively unique condition."

Peter was taken back by this man's willingness to help him. If there was anyone indebted to the other in this situation, it was certainly himself to the doctor. He seemed to write off the fact that he had saved his life and protected his identity so impetuously. He dropped his gaze to the floor, troubled still.

"Why would you do that for me?"

Dr. Rowell smiled in pained amusement. "It surprises me that you don't expect people to want to help you. Especially after all you've done for the city."

"I guess I just sorta have...trust issues."

The kind doctor laughed softly. "That's not exactly surprising," he responded. Pausing, he fished a notepad and pen from his pocket and scribbled something down on the paper. Once finished, he tore it from the pad and held it out for him to take. "Well, if you can find it in you to trust me, you can swing by this address tomorrow. I suggest you come in street clothes, because those red and blue pajamas of yours might attract some unwanted attention."

Grinning reservedly, Peter accepted the paper from him. "Thank you, Dr. Rowell."

"Maes," he said quickly. "You can call me Maes. I never liked my family's last name; it rolls off the tongue weird."

Peter chuckled. "Alright. Thanks, Dr. Maes."

"I hope to see you tomorrow, Peter."

After signing off on all the necessary medical papers, Dr. Maes let Peter leave, no questions asked. As he and his aunt flagged down a cab and poured into its musty belly, she smiled at him sanguinely.

"Everything check out okay?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did he find any problems? Anything wrong with you at all?"

"No."

"Well, that's good I suppose. Perhaps I really was worried for nothing." She blinked slowly. "So, did he...find out? About...y'know.."

Peter grimaced. He considered lying to her at first, but abandoned the idea almost instantly. There wasn't any point, and he had promised that he would be honest with her. "I've already met him once before when I was hurt. He recognized me. So, yeah, sorta."

She sighed relievedly. "I figured. That probably made it a little easier then, huh?"

Immediately Peter turned to stare at her, puzzled. "Wait, what?" he stammered, narrowing his eyes. "You expected him to figure it out?"

"Well, yes. He spoke about how he helped save your life a few months ago. I assumed he might recognize you from that."

"And you recommended him to be my doctor?" he hissed in a hushed tone, not wanting to alert the driver of their little conversation. "Aunt May, why the hell would you do that?"

"He's one of the few doctors there that speaks fondly of you," she retorted indignantly. "I don't know if you know this, but lots of people think you're some kind of menace, Peter. But Dr. Rowell told me how you saved his family, and he always talks about what an amazing hero you are. That's why I wanted him to look at you and not any of those other jerky pediatricians. Well, that and the fact that he was a geneticist, which I'd hoped would make him more fit to examine you."

Peter palmed his face in his hands and let out a groan. "So let me get this straight: you purposely set up this appointment in hopes that the doctor would figure out who I am?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," his aunt asserted sharply. "But I know how important keeping your identity a secret is. I know how dangerous it could be for you and Gwen and I if the bad people you fight found out who you really are." She glanced at him squarely. "I trust Dr. Rowell enough to know that he would never tell anyone. I would never have considered doing this if I didn't. Did you really think I would risk something like this if I wasn't absolutely sure?"

Her nephew sighed exasperatedly. "Alright, Aunt May. I know you wouldn't. But you have to understand that you cannot make a habit of this. If any more people find out—"

"I won't. I promise. I won't discuss your alter ego with another soul. Okay?"

Peter huffed quietly. "Okay. And no more secrets between us, alright? It's exhausting enough that I have to hide myself from the whole world. I'd prefer that not apply to us too."

"Agreed," she sighed, glancing out the window with her hands tucked in her lap. She watched the people and cars fly by passively, her crinkled eyes fixed forward. "Did you like him? Dr. Rowell?"

"He's nice. I'm meeting with him again tomorrow to see if he can sorta diagnose all the stuff that spider bite did to me."

She glanced at him in pleasant surprise. "Really? Wow. That's great. Give me a full report on all the stuff you find out, alright?"

Nodding slowly, it occurred to Peter just how conniving his sweet old aunt had been in all of this. She had set up this whole plan between him and the doctor so strategically and surreptitiously that he couldn't decide if he was impressed or disturbed or both. Perhaps his aunt really was an evil mastermind.

The cab stopped at a stoplight as the light turned red. Cars rushed in front of them in a mad dash. Peter watched their geometric forms zip by with bored disinterest. "Lovely day in the big city," he heard their driver murmur as he cranked up the radio and bobbed his head to the music.

Then people started passing by. Lots of people. They were running on the sidewalks, out of stores, down the middle of the road in a massive horde. Peter realized some of them were screaming. They kept glancing over their shoulders, eyes wide with fear. Alert all of a sudden, Peter leaned forward out of his seat, glancing left and right in stunned confusion. The bodies were rushing through the street in a flood of panic. Terror was plastered across their faces. He unbuckled his seatbelt, fearful adrenaline beginning to rush through his veins.

What the hell is going—?

His spidey sense went nuts. A shadow descended over them from above. Seconds later, an enormous gray foot crashed through the roof and completely demolished the front end of the cab, littering the pair of them with glass and debris, inciting a cry of terror from his Aunt May, and crushing their screaming, nameless cab driver to death.

Poor dude. Also sorry I keep talking about movie stuff but I love movies...I'm (hopefully lol) going to Baylor to study cinematography/screenwriting/production etc like that's how much I love movies. Jon Watts is directing the new Spidey movie, never heard of him but cool. Anyhoo I like the next chapter a lot ahahaha