AN: Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones are in the house baby!

I didn't quite like Ned Leed's role because it was more like Ganke Lee's role, making Tom's Peter kind of like whitewash Miles Morales. But that doesn't mean as a character I don't like him. He'll have his place as the "Guy in the Chair"

I love Michelle Jones and I thought long and hard how to bring her a part in this universe and thought back of how there is Actress!MJ and Reporter!MJ in canon.

Chapter 8

You know, ever since Flash has been up on my face less. I'm beginning to remember there were more than just my childhood bully who bullies in Middleton High. That fact was kind of shoved right on my face before I even opened the guy's bathroom. My enhanced hearing caught the mixture of cruel laughter and one guy's distressed crying.

Past Peter Parker would have turned around and pretended no to hear anything. Eugene, I can handle. Other bullies? Not so much.

I shook in a breath, bracing myself for the series of events I had to put up before crashing at their party, "Hey!"

The three boys I recognized as among Flash's posse froze. Their smile fell and their gaze coldly at me like I was an unwanted guest to their party. I barely paid any heed to them as I focused on the Asian guy on the floor. I squinted at the bag with the Darth Vader patch in the middle of being shoved down the literal toilet drain.

"Unless one of you guys has excellent taste in movies and a habit of clogging the toilet, I suggest you give his stuff back."

The tall guys just looked at each other before their eyes glint in nasty humor, " Aaaw , Penis Parker at it again, thinking he's some big-shot hero."

You don't know half of it. "Look man, I don't want any trouble. Leave the kid alone. You guys don't want to do this."

Chad laughed, "Look at this kid, Flash hasn't been paying him a visit and now he thinks he can boss us around

" Boss you— dude! I'm not bossing anyone around! I'm just saying between being a jerk and being not . Wouldn't the latter be better for everyone? It doesn't even cost anything!"

"Oh, shut up Parker!" Brione came to a step or two closer and I had set aside my bag ready to defend myself when three things occurred to me:

One, people still know me as puny parker who only got that one lucky shot with Flash

Two, my watered-down strength would still be suspiciously strong for someone who never advertised going to the gym or keens on sports in general.

Three, my spidey-sense that's been lowkey warning me of the incoming punch that I've been ignoring and it's starting to come real close— Oh shoot—

. . .

"Sorry for getting you in trouble with those guys," the guy I, well, 'saved' said while we're in the infirmary.

I waved him off with my free hand. The other still icing my throbbing eye, "Don't worry about it, err, Ned, right? Ned Leeds. We were in the same robotics club before, right?"

"Yeah, and you're Peter Parker. You're from the Broadcasting club, right?"

"Huh," I took the ice pack away before examining him. I've known Leeds to be another comrade of the nerd spectrum. Vocal about his hardcore love for all things sci-fi and heroes, which makes him a liable target for the jocks as per the tradition of toxic masculinity. I always hesitated to make friends with him despite what we have in common. It's bad enough I got Flash on my back as his personal punching bag, I didn't want to give more reasons for the other guys to target me. Maybe in another timeline or another universe, we could have been good enough friends that I consider teaming up with Ned instead of Gwen for the Stark Expo.

But then again, there's no reason we can't start now in this reality. I offered my free hand and we shook it. "Yeah, and it's the News and Broadcasting club actually, they would balk every time anyone missed that. I didn't think you know I'm in it."

"I was thinking of joining actually, a friend of mine suggested I could write reviews about new comic books, movies- stuff like that."

'What a coincidence, I was thinking of quitting." I blurted before it occurred to me I made no sense. Damn, don't tell me that weak punch actually gave me a concussion.

Ned looked surprised at that, "Really? Didn't you quit the Robotic club because you wanted to focus more on N&B?"

"Err… technically I said I quit to 'pursue other ventures,' never said it was for my club." Illegal and masked ventures to be exact.

"Huh," Ned seemed to accept that excuse, "but then… why haven't you?"

I sighed, suddenly feeling the exhaustion weighing on me, "I tried. God, I tried. But every time I tried to talk with the president, he would be all slick and smile on my face before I ended up getting my ass kicked out to shoot a photo before admitting my resignation."

Ned looked reasonably skeptical at how I go about my quitting. Well, he surely never met my club president. A spark of idea got to me and I put a 'reassuring' pat on my new friend's shoulder. "You know what? Seeing is believing. It's almost time for me to go to my club anyway so why don't we go meet him."

For a flash, Ned hesitated. He must have good instinct, but alas for him, Ned ignored it and nodded to my suggestion.

"By the way, mind if I asked where you bought that backpack, that patch isn't like anything I've ever seen."

Ned seemed to brighten as if Christmas came early for him. "Oh, gosh. You noticed? Lola - my grandma, I mean - made this for me when I was 12. She didn't understand the movies but she knows I love the series so much, she sewed a patch just for me."

"Wait, what?!" I glanced back at his bag and admired it with newfound appreciation at the details his family member made an intricate detail of Darth Vader with his red lightsaber raised with the Black Star on the background. "Dude, your lola is awesome."

"I know, even though she made it because she thinks the mask looks cool."

We talked back and forth about our favorite sci-fi shows and comic books. Breaching the topic as delicately as we could, knowing this was the moment we decided to either be best friends or mortal enemies for years to come depending on where we stand. The fact that we agree there's no competition between Star Wars and Star Trek is like choosing which is your favorite kid already made us comrades in arms.

It felt like time breeze by too fast for me to count before we arrived at the club room. I reached out to open but was greeted by the door to the face instead when Betty Brant, the face of the News and Broadcasting Club, burst out of the room. Ned jolted, surprised seeing my face got beaten up twice in one day.

"Sorry— oh, hey Peter, you're right on time. Randy wants to see you."

"Yeah, you don't need to tell me." Like being dragged into my execution, I braced myself to face the President of the News and Broadcasting Club. The rest of the club members were on their laptops or tablets, the room filled with the flurry of tap-clicks of their fingers as they were in the zone of doing their part in the club.

I spotted Randolph "Randy" Robertson, the only one with his eyes off-screen but busy discussing the wall magazine for next month. You could see how much he was in his element, talking animatedly while his hands enunciated every word. The gelled hair had long worn off from the dripping sweat, and revealing its raven spikiness. Probably because the air conditioner was broken, and this level of heat wasn't enough to deter him from working in high spirits.

"Peter!" He called out once he spotted me, I barely made a greeting wave before I was engulfed in his all-encompassing hug. Even when the Spider-Bite had given me a better build, I was still on the scrawny side that I felt myself being almost lifted from his friendly embrace. And did I tell you how friendly he is? Because, yeah , Randy is a fan of hugs.

He let go of me, but still had his hands on my shoulders, "I haven't seen your face for a while, I almost thought you were quitting."

"Oh, err, see, that's the thing, Randy."

"It would have broken my heart if you did, man. We're swamped right now, and you're pretty much the only two photographers that we have so you don't know how much important you are for this club."

"Uhm…"

"Oh, and just between the two of us," he coaxed me closer and whispered, "Out of all the photographers I work with, you've got the best shots that pros would envy. I know. My dad is a reporter so I've seen a lot of good shots."

"Wow," Ned finally let out his voice, "I can see what you mean."

Randy pinned him with a gaze like a cheetah eyeing his next prey, "And who are you?"

Before Ned could say anything, I had an arm around his shoulder as if we're best buddies and gave a wide toothy smile, "This is Ned Leeds, he's considering joining the N&B for the Entertainment Section."

Randy's smile, if possible, widened and he grabbed Ned's shoulder like a viper constricting his newest victim. "Well, Ned. I'm happy to tell you that we have a lot of open spots for Midtown Blog. You're gonna love it here. So much so you don't wanna leave."

Ned's eyes widened before turning his gaze to me, panicked for a moment before it dawned on him What I had done. Oh yeah, you're not leaving this club anytime soon.

I kept a prim and propped smile as I waved him goodbye while Randy practically dragged the stout boy away. But while keeping a tight grip on Ned's shoulder, he turned his attention back to me. I froze at the familiar glint behind his glasses when he needed to give me an errand.

"By the way, Peter, Jones had a great story in line and shot an interview with Erin Gruwell, of all people!" He almost squeaked at the end. "I want my best photographer with my best journalist on the job. I can count on you on that, right Pete?" Randy gave me one of those blinding toothful smiles, the kind of smile that makes you feel good about yourself, and… well… how can I say no to that face?

Reluctantly, I gave him a thumbs-up, "You're the boss, bossman."

"That's the spirit. JONES!" Randy yelled out, "Your photographer is here, go out there and make some news!"

Shouldn't it be finding some news?

One of the members, Michelle Jones stood and nodded before urging me to follow with a nod of her head. I know Jones since we joined the N&B Club together, so Randy had us work together often for a piece. She climbed into Randy's good grace as a top journalist despite being a sophomore because of her unique coverage and sources you don't usually have as a high schooler. Like that time she interviewed Anya Hill for her piece concerning school sexual harassment. How she managed to make contact with a public figure like her, no one has any idea. Anytime someone asked, she would say, 'I just called her' with that shrug that she knew would irritate others.

With a defeated blow, I walked in step with her, camera already out. "Did you call in favors for this one as well?"

She smirked, "You know me, Peter, I don't say my ways. Let the common people stew in their own curious mind."

Oh yeah, that's another Jones M.O., if you're not her friend, presume 80% of what she said is said to mess with you. I remember when we started working together, whenever I asked her a question she would answer with a question back, and then you'll find yourself having an existential crisis while she laughed at your face.

Good times.

"I saw what you did, you're still trying to quit, aren't you?"

I blinked, unsure. Is it just me or did I hear a sense of oddness in her tone? Her usual snarky tone was replaced with something more subdued. "Yeah, ever since... Uncle Ben, I had a lot more responsibility going on and I don't know I can keep up with club activities," I answered as blase as I could.

Jones hummed, "You can always be a ghost member, you know."

It was a fine idea, but I shook my head, "I can't do that. For one, that wouldn't be fair. And two, Randy would insistently call me, and I wouldn't have the heart to say no."

"Wuss."

"Hey!"

"But that's good, I wouldn't want another partner anyway."

"...you think we're partners?" It was a bit of a shock to me. Having Jones always acting cool and disinterested as she did with everyone else, it's hard to know if she wants me around.

Jones though gave me that trademark glance of hers whenever she thought someone was being an idiot. "Duh, we've been working together for... what? a year? You'd think we'd have a cake to celebrate by now."

"I thought you said celebrating with cake is but another capitalist effort of marketing sugar through social occasions."

" See , you get me. It'd be tiresome to get used to a new kid with all this ." She gestured to all of her. "Plus, you're much more fun to mess with."

"Oh, haha, just admit you'll miss me, Jones."

"Michele."

"What?"

"My friends call me Michele, get with the program, Peter."

"...whatever you say, Michele."

There was lighter weight in my step, and a feeling in my chest that I wasn't going to quit the club any time soon for more than one reason.

"But the way, how did you get a black eye and a new member for the club?"

"Okay, not-so-funny story but it started in the bathroom…"

. . .

After the bombing incident, I learned from Captain Stacy that being a first responder is one of the hardest jobs to do, giving me a newfound respect for the police, paramedics, and firefighters who sign up to face the everyday danger to the point we've taken them for granted. Afterward, I took a point to actually talk and work with the peeps in uniform.

Apartment on fire? Frank often lent me an oxygen mask as I scanned the building from top floor to bottom.

Broken arm from a swinging accident? Janette from the EMT gave me a crash course of how to put on a sling while your bones are on the mend.

But the boys in blue? Err… while still a work in progress. I once tried to share some donuts with them and what do I get? They served me good old hot leads straight at my big dumb butt.

But I shrugged it off and thought it fair. I'm a masked vigilante. I'm the definition of outlaw. So I can't blame them for trying to apprehend me. Though I'll say, the guns are a bit over the top even if my powers made them slightly useless.

Praise be Spidey Sense that's keeping this disaster of a human body alive.

Maybe that's why I never saw it as a problem before. The problem that should have been in front of my eyes was not lost to the eyes of the streets.

It started while I was hanging out with Homeless Clark and sharing burritos in one of my slow days. Cool dude. Has a fake leg. Sells awesome drawings he made (including my dashing mask if I say so myself). And knows 8 ways to escape out from being tied. One of the perks of being Spider-Man is that you get to meet really awesome people in the most unexpected place.

"Uh-oh, two officers coming from two o'clock. You better get going, Spidey." Carl shooed me away.

Not wanting to test my luck, I climbed up the alley wall, eyeing on the officers while keeping myself in the shadows. Just to see if It's safer to crawl out of the way or should I give them the privilege of having them witness a glimpse of my red-blue figure for their report. If I'm unlucky they might chase after me but it's always funny to outrun the cops, not gonna lie.

Seeing them stopping for a sandwich, I got ready to sneak out in broad daylight when something clenching held me back. Not to be confused with my tingly spidey sense that warns me off bodily harm, but more of a gut instinct that's giving me a bad feeling.

Tried as hard as I could, there's nothing in the street that would set off alarm. The cars were oddly being obedient to traffic, nobody shifty enough to pickpocket their next target. There were a bunch of kids chasing each other with a toy gun on hand, spraying water at each other as they ran down super fast toward the officers. The two men had their backs on them so they couldn't see them coming.

I tell myself to calm down. But is it because I keep getting shot by armed-blue officers that I'm restless? Was I beginning to see them as dangerous? I shook that thought away. Peter, you are starting to get paranoid. I told myself.

But the little hoodie kid bumped into the officer, arm raised, ready to squirt his friend back. I become hyper-aware as I watch the scene unfold like a reel film. The cops turned. Saw the kid. Gun raised. Web shot. A screeching scream just as a bullet let loose and I touched down on the sidewalk. My heart was beating double time and not because of the second gun being aimed at me but of the near-miss, spotting the concrete hole near my feet. The gun slipped into the middle of the street.

"Hey there, officers." I tried to forcibly keep my cheer, "Today has been too nice of a weather to be trigger-happy, wouldn't you say so fellas?"

"Shut up! Put your hand up and get down on the ground, freak!"

"Hey, no need for name-calling here, what would the kids think?" I gestured at the group of pre-teens so they could see where they might point their gun. It's the reason why I haven't skedaddled away since I didn't want spooking the cops to shoot accidentally. You would think they train their police better than that.

"Are you deaf? I said get down on the ground or I'll shoot."

"Okay! Okay! Just, just calm down. Look, I'm on my knee and my hand's on the back of my head, is that cool for you?"

The officer nodded shakily before asking his partner to cuff me. I gulped shakily as I tried to keep my bravado up as long as I could while the office came to put his hands on me. But then things took a turn when a lady came out shouting, "Brian!" She sounded scared for her life as she ran full speed toward us. The little kid behind me slightly trembled and called back "Mama!" but it was drowned out by the shout of the officer.

"Ma'am, step away from the vigilante!"

But the lady didn't listen, she had only eyes on her kid who was still paralyzed in fear behind me. She looked much too desperate to notice anything else and the cop sharp orders aren't calming her down. It was like watching a pressure tank having too much tension before exploding.

The cop's finger on his trigger twitched and I reacted. I shoot both my webs at the gun and the guy's face. I managed to blind him but was too late to stop the second bullet cut through the air. The fear of who it might hit made me jump to shield the civilians but the second buddy-cop rammed me on the side. He put his knee on my neck and put a harsh amount of strength to slam my head on the ground. Even with my super-vulnerability, I'm gonna feel that tomorrow… or now, definitely feeling it now.

There was a scream as I got my face up enough to see the lady bleeding out a lot. Her kid sobbing by her side.

Raging anger simmered within me. I lifted my feet up for leverage and forcefully pushed the officer off my back. He hit the brick wall and had him trapped with my web, then did the same with his buddy-cop for good measure.

The both of them were cursing up a storm but I paid no heed as I sat next to the kid. He was starting to have a panic attack and the lady was trying to calm him down even while keeping pressure on her leg. "Come on, baby, look at me! I'll be fine—no! Eyes up and tell me what you see!"

While I left her dealing with her son, I softly told her who I am and that I'm here to help. I examined the wound. The bullet doesn't seem to pierce through so she's risking infection with a bullet inside. What did Jeanette tell me last time? Assess the wound, slow down the bleeding, and… and…

"Pardon me, miss, but don't be alarmed, I'm trying to help." Clark appeared beside me and with a long cloth that he must have ripped from his own shirt started to tie up her thigh, just above the wound, so tight that even looking at it makes me squeamish. Though I can finally calm down, knowing someone who knows what he's doing. "I've called 911, they should be here in a minute so hold on a bit longer, miss."

"Thank you…" the lady breathlessly said, "Bless you both."

Clark then turned to me, "Spidey, do you have anything that can cover the bullet wound. Mine aren't exactly clean for this so I prefer other options."

You say that like I can magically pull out a bandage— I looked down at my wrist as an idea bloomed in my head. "Alright, but miss, I'm gonna ask you to brace yourself because this was not made to be gentle."

"What… what do you…"

I shot a web right at her wound and the lady bravely bit her lip to muffle her scream. Brian was all the more concerned but the gentle pat she gave through his raven braids, and the boy buried his face in her hair.

"I'm okay, baby. I'm okay. This nice man and Spider-Man help me. What do you say to them?"

He was reluctant to get out from the safety of her mother's wild curl but managed to look up, red eyes and lips wobbled as he hiccuped, "Thank... Thank you."

I gently reached out to him, wiping his tears away as I said as sincerely as I could, "Your welcome, Brian. You've been really brave today. Just like your mom. And don't worry, help is on the way and she's going to get through this just fine, okay?"

He nodded. Then, the faraway siren of either police or ambulance is coming in. Clark began addressing me again, "You should go now, Spidey."

"But—"

"You've done well here, but it's best there'd be less police seeing you here."

My words died at his words and looked back at the webbed officers behind me. I may not be at fault, but looking at the scene doesn't spell good for me. The last thing they need is another shoot-out. So I sling out the scene with a promise to check on them through Clark.

The rest of the day, I spend the patrol listlessly. Looking back, I was a bit in denial. Sure, before wearing the mask, I've had minimal exposure to police. I think of them and I think of their job to protect the innocents, I think of Captain Stacy's indomitable attitude against outlaws, I think of constant crime shows of them doing everything and anything to do what's right.

But that?

He pointed a gun at a kid without hesitation.

The mother did nothing wrong and she was shot unprovoked.

The police could have killed her and a kid right now could have been orphaned today.

That wasn't protecting the innocent.

That wasn't right.

That wasn't…. that wasn't anything Captain Stacy said of what police work should be.

I'm not perfect but even I'm not that reckless. Heck, I'm doing everything I can so I wouldn't kill actual crooks accidentally and how dare they—

I shook that thought away. I just met a couple of bad apples, Pete, that's all. I'm sure once the authorities know of this, those two will get their just desert.

. . .

A pair of white police officers were justified in shooting at a black 12-year-old boy, who was carrying a toy gun, and his mother. The boy is unharmed but the mother was injured. Report says that the shooting was "justified" by FBI experts. Saying the officer on duty had no reason to believe he wasn't faced with serious threat and reacted reasonably—

"Wow, Pete, what happened to your phone?!"

I blinked. The words became a blur before taking notice the radial fractures on my smartphone that look like I've pressed too hard on the screen.

"The usual," I said tightly, "I was clumsy and it fell. Again. I'm just glad the hardware is still working."

"You sure? No one breaks it or anything, right? Because you sound more upset than usual."

"Don't worry, Harry." I pocketed my phone to deal with it later, "Nothing like that happened. I can't keep relying on you to smooth things over with my bullies."

Harry didn't look like he believed me, but didn't push needlessly. "If you're sure…"

"More importantly, Harry… a bowtie? Seriously?"

"It's her birthday and I'm trying to look nice!"

"Well, if you're trying to look like Boo Bear..."

"Oh, shut up, wise ass. At least I didn't mess up the cupcake." Harry pointedly looked down at the smushed brown sugar cream all over the box after I "allegedly" trip.

"How many times do I have to say, I'm sorry! It's not like I trip on purpose." More like, I had to throw it away before saving a dog from getting into a car crash. But that's not something I can say when it was Spider-Man on the scene.

"You got shit luck, Parker. You should have prepared even for the worst scenario!"

That's… that's… that's actually a fair point.

Once we're done with our childish squabble. We took the elevator to the third floor. The nurses of Mercy General Hospital waved in greetings, fully familiar with us from our constant visits.

Harry loudly breathed, "Thanks for coming with me, Pete."

"What can I say, Harry? I'm a sucker for her charms."

"You know what I— You know this means a lot to me so... again… thank you."

"You say that every time we visit."

"And I mean it every single time. I don't have many friends I can trust as much as you."

A twinge of guilt twisted my chest for not being able to do the same. I kept a loose grin in the end, "Dude, that's what best friends do."

We arrive at the patient door; number 307. Harry knocked and the melodic voice welcomed us in.

No matter how many times I visited, I still marveled that the woman in her mid 40s could look as bright as she did. Her short blonde hair gave her a youthful complexion. In contrast to the thin pale arms that's hooked up with the IV and the various machines that make her look more like a lab specimen than a patient.

She grinned and spread her arm in silent request for a hug, my lips twitch at her childish antics but knew she deserves that much. "Hello, Harry. Hello, Peter. It's so good to see you, boys."

Harry smiled, soft and genuine but achingly vulnerable as she stepped closer to the bed-rested lady and hugged her as she wanted before kissing her cheek.

"Hey, Mom."

AN: So... the last chapter was written like... a year ago and I'm not American so those Badge and Honor Speech Captain Stacy made was based on my view of the police through movies and shows. Since the pandemic, especially since Brionna Taylor and George Floyd, I've had my eyes open to the seriousness of Police Violence that I felt guilty hyping the integrity of Police in this universe without addressing the serious work ethic that's been slipping from the eyes of society. I don't want to be part of the problem so I made this chapter not only to redeem my ignorance but to have Peter, as the resident white boy protagonist, to realize there is a systematic problem in the law and order of his society.

I thought it would make a compelling story to have him learn the problems step by step instead of being all-knowing when he's been living in a white working-class family, and hope I can do it justice.