Once his absence and visible bruise were explained away, Peter thought the night was over. When he saw the tv the next morning, midway into his cereal, he almost spat out his cheerios. Lucky for him, he managed to slap his hand over his mouth before the waterworks started.

"Those kinds of villains always seem to crop up when Supers are released," his aunt sighed. "I guess they enjoy the challenge."

An image of Spider-Man, standing in front of an ATM, gun and bag in hand, was slapped next to a news anchor, but Peter couldn't register what she was saying over the sound of his own thoughts. The caption read "ENHANCED ROBBER SPOTTED IN METROVILLE."

"Robber?" He gagged, appetite dying quickly. He set his spoon into his bowl, stopping it just before it slipped under the milk's surface and placing it on the table.

"You see anyone like that, Petey, and you turn the other way," May admonished, sitting across from him. He nodded weakly.

"Yeah, promise." He didn't remember to object to the nickname, which May seemed to appreciate, smiling over at him.

"You'll be late. Finish up." He nodded, taking a few bites so she wouldn't worry, then walked, dazed, to his room, the caption floating in his vision as he grabbed his backpack.

As soon as he closed his locker, Ned was by his side, chattering incessantly about his Spider-Theories, as he dubbed them. Peter was able to bite back his tongue, but as they entered homeroom, he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Well, maybe he isn't bad at all!" He inhaled quickly after the misstep, hoping Ned didn't read too deeply into it. Ned stared for a second, stunned, but then fell right back into rhythm.

"Yeah, actually, what kind of robber wears such obvious colors? But he didn't look good either, with the mask."

"Well, maybe he has a… secret identity," Peter mumbled, sliding into his chair. Ned nodded, staring into the air with careful calculation. His eyes began to light up with the idea, nodding slowly. "Yeaah… this could be the beginning of something big."

"Bigger than you?" Flash commented, just loud enough, and Peter shot him a glare. Ned, however, shrugged it off, sitting down at his desk. Peter knew it bothered him, but wasn't sure how to fight in his defense, so they rose to monotonously recite the Pledge of Allegiance instead. The announcements video played on a TV in the corner while Peter mulled over the events, feeling a strange sense of betrayal. The first time he's come into the open, and that's his welcome? It's almost like heroes weren't made legal at all; not for the little guy, anyway. He twirled his pen, looking up when he hears a "hmph." MJ is staring at him, tilting up her sketchbook so he can see a drawing of Peter, who is apparently frowning deeply. She matches it with a similar pout. Rolling his eyes, he looks toward the teacher, denying he has ever made that face in his fifteen years of life. He hears her snort and set down the sketchbook again, finally shifting to look at the teacher.

These are the sounds he shouldn't hear, but he does. The more he tries to push them out, the stronger they seem to become. A foot taps, shaking the ground beneath it. Flash scribbles a note, and it roars like a waterfall. Someone breathes a little too loud and it sounds like the roar of plane engines in the distance. The smacking of lips, the shifting of bodies, the screech of chalk on the board, the groan of chairs scooted forward and back. With every added noise, the chaos grows, filling his ears until his head is full of angry bees, buzzing and running around and scrambling his thoughts until he can't look at the board anymore. He hides his face in the crook of his arm on the desk. Stop the noise, stops the noise-

"Peter." His head jerked up. "No sleeping in class." He opened his mouth to try and explain himself, but Flash spoke instead.

"Bus-ted." The smile was evident in his voice.

Peter huffed, wishing he could hide his face again from everyone's watching eyes, but as soon as the attention had come, it was gone. "Sorry," he mumbled, thankful to be out of the trance, at the very least.

"Smoothie Palace today, then?" Ned begged before he popped a chicken nugget in his mouth. He peered over at Peter, who was staring intently at his lumpy mac-n-cheese.

"Oh.. uh.. I.." Peter trailed off.

Ned sighed. "Stuff?"

Peter nodded.

"Again?" Ned opened his milk carton. "You know if something's wrong, we can talk, right? Is it… y'know?" He nodded his head to the side to somehow give a name to the vague suggestion.

Instantly, Peter understood and shook his head. "No, it's not about that. We're fine. I mean, May's fine. We're good."

"If you say so. But you've been zoning out big time today. There's gotta be something."

"It's… y'know," Peter tried grabbing at empty air for an excuse, "a lot of stress, lately. With school, and I was thinking of… getting a job." He wasn't wrong. Crime fighting could become a serious dedication.

"A job? Where, Delmar's?"

Peter shrugged. "Dunno yet. Just, something."

"That's nice of you, to try and help May out."

Peter tried not to grimace. Lying to her face about crime fighting? Sounds like a big help. But he couldn't help thinking… "Yeah, I want to help other people out for a change." Maybe not May, but people who might be in trouble. That counts for something, maybe.

The answer seemed to quench Ned's curiosity. "Let me know how it goes. Maybe I could work there, too, and we could be like tag team janitors."

Peter chuckled for the first time today. "Tag team janitors?"

"Yeah, I'll be like the Mario Mopper and you'll be Luigi Sweeper."

"Wait a second, when did you get to be Mario? I'm Mario."

"No, dude, you're a Luigi all the way."

"I don't even like green!"

"But you do vaguely resemble a bean pole." Ned stuck his fork in a green bean and held it up for Peter to see before sticking it in his mouth.

"Dude, you just ate me. That's weird."

"You're both weird." They turned to see MJ, who, despite having her nose in her book, must've been keeping one ear open in their direction.

"You're a stalker," Ned deflected.

"No. Just observant." Without any physical indication, it was clear she had zeroed in on the book once more, shutting the two boys out.

Peter scrunched his nose. "What?"

"Classic MJ." Ned stabbed a few more green beans, chewing thoughtfully. "To be Mario OR Luigi, we've got to be able to grow mustaches."

"Darn, you're right. Or tape felt ones to our faces."

"That," Ned raised his fork and waved it towards Peter, "is why we're best friends." Peter laughed, sticking a forkful of mac-n-cheese in his mouth, then promptly making a face as he swallowed.

"Dude, I think this is whole grain," Peter moaned, looking down in disappointment.

"How dare they desanctify mac-n-cheese." Ned shook his head solemnly. "Where does the cruelty end?"

Peter had a similar thought that evening as he munched down on an apple, his mask slid partially up his face. The apple was fine; great, actually, but the events associated with that apple?

Not so great.

He was halfway through, chomping along and appreciating the sunset, when he heard a strange thwip-thwip, like the pattering of feet on the rooftops. That's impossible, right?

The very next moment, he was grabbed by the ankle, shocked into dropping his apple, which exploded on the pavement below.

"My apple.." He moaned. Where does the cruelty end? Before he could properly mourn his lost fruit, however, he was being held upside down in the air and scrutinized by Elastigirl.

"Oh… hi… about yesterday, I can totally explain-" She shook her head. Behind her, a man appeared, massive, with a bold nose and chin.

"That's the Spiderboy? What do we do with him?"

"Woah, woah!" Peter waved his hands in front of him. "Nobody's doing anything- hey! You're Mr. Incredible! Duuude, that explains a lot. You're like a truck."

Mr. Incredible frowned, sharing a look with Elastigirl. "How old is this kid?"

".. Twenty-five," Peter attempted.

Mr. Incredible reached out a free hand towards Peter's face while she kept his legs held in the air. "C'mon, let's see it."

Immediately, Peter flipped. Literally. He twisted his body up, firing webs to link Mr. Incredible's feet, slinging him across the roof. "Sorry, sir! But not really!" Elastigirl kept her grip on his feet, no matter how much he kicked, so he tried to shoot his webs, to no avail. She seemed to have learned from yesterday, contorting so they didn't hit her mark.

After some pulling, Mr. Incredible ripped the webs, storming towards Peter. "Alright, that's it!" Peter yelped, pulling down a chunk of billboard and swinging it towards Mr. Incredible, using the momentum of the throw to twist one of his legs free, kicking the other hand so he fell to the ground, completely out of her grip, and started to run. The moment before her arms closed in on his ankles, his spidey sense fired up and he leaped, webbing up her hands, before realizing he jumped where there was no ground below him. He fell with a yelp of surprise, quickly recovering, swinging away from the building as fast as he could. Below him, he could see the Incredibile roaring below. Darn, that was fast, Peter thought, wondering how to lose him. No matter how many backways and alleys he took, the car appeared far too soon. He grabbed at his chest, suspecting there must be some kind of tracker on him, but he found nothing, just a quickly mounting fear in his chest that no matter how far he went, they'd still find him. His swinging became erratic in desperation, throwing himself to impossible heights just to get away. That's when he saw his chance. Rearing its head above Devtech Stadium, a recent and shining addition to Metroville, was a vent.

Peter didn't think.

He just dove. His body flew into the vent, sliding down at an alarming speed before he began to panic in the darkness, grabbing at the metal sides. Once he slid to a stop, who knows how far up or down, he allowed himself to breathe, shaking slightly. They couldn't follow him here, could they? But he could already envision her arms stretching down the shaft and grabbing him again, tearing off his mask, so he gingerly attached some webbing to the side and began to lower himself down, breathing shakily, his every breath amplified by the echoing metal. Once he saw a speck of light in the side of the vent, shining onto the opposite wall, he sped up his descent. When he was level, he swung himself gently, crawling across to the opening. A man was seated in the room below him, sipping coffee and talking on the phone.

"Yeah, the game next Sunday is high stakes, but we're ready. When can those new cleats come in? You know we can't go on the field with their training ones, it'll look sloppy… Thanks, Fred. Always a guy I can count on." He clicked, opening pages with his mouse as he droned on about cleats and astroturf and predictions of rain.

Just then, Peter felt something brush him, like a warm draft sliding past him. He peeled off the mask, trying to take the fog out of his lenses. "Condensation," he muttered, rubbing spit on them, but the word echoed.

"Fred… let me put you on hold." The man stood, looking up at the vent where Peter froze, yanking the mask back on his face and pressing himself against the backing of the vent. He held his breath for as long as he could, breathing slowly through his nose when his lungs began to demand oxygen. The man rubbed at his wrinkle wrought face, the stressful job he occupied evident as he squinted. He sighed, turning back to the computer, when he began to gasp, holding onto his throat. He stumbled forward, leaning onto his desk. Papers fell to the floor as he grasped for a hold on something solid, finally grabbing the solid wood of the desk.

Peter couldn't stand by and watch when the man was clearly in need. He kicked open the vent and dropped in.

"Mr.." He saw the plaque on the desk, "Mr. Derringer, sir, are you alright?" He moved around to see the man's face but was shocked at how pale he seemed. Purple marks were forming around his throat, and his eyes bulged, gasping still. "I- Are you choking- no, you can't be, uh, uh!" He scrambled to grab the phone, punching 911 and lifting the landline to his ear, tapping the floor as he listened to the dial tone. Suddenly, the phone clattered to the floor, knocked down by an invisible force. Peter felt a strong gust of wind like a slap in the face, sending him reeling back into Mr. Derringer's bookshelf with surprising force. Trophies fell to the floor, but he shook his head, clearing it of the shock. Peter scrambled back to the phone on his hands and knees, pulling his mask back to its regular position, but it flew across the room. Peter hit at the air, hoping he might hit the invisible attacker by chance alone.

"Stop it, stop it!" He jumped over the desk but was blown into the other wall. A painting fell from its nail and the frame cracked. "I'm so sorry Mr. Derringer, I hope you can replace that-" he stretched towards the phone, but it hit the wall, busting completely. Tan plastic scattered on the dark grey carpet.

A thud sounded behind him. Peter perked and turned. He'd collapsed to the floor, no longer gasping, leaving the room with an eerie silence.

Peter rushed to the man's side, feeling his neck for a pulse. He shook his shoulders gently, scanning his face for a reaction. "Mr. Derringer… please… I called 911, they should come…" He grabbed at his neck again. A heartbeat, anything… he found one, but it was weak, and he sighed in relief. As soon as he felt it, it disappeared, and Peter's breath hitched, hands shaking.

"Do I do CPR? Geez, I dunno! Uh… right, it's," he placed his hands on his chest, quietly singing, "uh, uh, uh, uh, staying alive, staying alive, uh, uh, uh, uh" over and over. Thanks, The Office, season five, episode fourteen, for composing the entirety of Peter's CPR education. No thanks, American public schooling. He kept on for what felt like hours, or at least five microwave minutes when he heard movement in the hallway. He froze in fear, then continued, more afraid that this Mr. Derringer might die if he stopped. When the door flew open again, the vents hissed with a gust of hot air moving through them, and even as the room warmed, Peter's blood ran cold.

"Freeze," declared the man opposite him, and Peter's lower half was suddenly encased in ice.

"No- no- stop, this isn't what it looks like!" Peter begged, but he didn't stop pushing at the man's chest.

"Really? Who knocked this man out? Stop pretending, Spiderboy."

"You've heard of me?" Peter perked up, then cleared his throat. "It's, ehm, Spider-Man, actually, Mr. Frozone, sir."

Frozone dragged him out of the way, sliding his iced legs to the side, and continued the CPR. "Hush up until the police get here."

"Uh.. okay… you know, I really admire all the stuff you do, Mr. Frozone-" Frozone huffed, pushing on the man's chest. "-and I really don't want this to be like last time where I get blamed for someone else's doing, because I really want you to have a good impression of me, Super to Super."

"You hush up or I'll ice that blabbering mouth." Peter sighed, looking at his legs and remembering the gravity of his current situation. Glancing upwards, he got an idea. As softly as he can, he cast a web upwards, then started to heft himself up, putting a strain on the ceiling above. Out of Frozone's plane of vision, he began to swing back and forth, slowly gaining momentum until the whoosh of air made Frozone turn-

-just in time to see the shattering of ice where Peter had swung himself into the wall, quickly scrambling into the vents, his muscles firing in panic. Ice was formed where just a moment ago, he had been suspended, and he raced through the vents, still consumed by the fear of capture. Once in the main vent, he began to climb up, bounding like a cat, until he reached the opening, and there, his spidey sense flared. He caught himself, pressed to the wall of the vent, listening over the roar of blood in his ears.

"He's in the vents. I've got to go down."

The next voice was deeper, etched with concern. "There's no way for you to stop yourself if you fell- we can wait him out."

"Bob, I won't let him slip through our fingers a third time."

It's Elastigirl, he knows. If he comes up, Mr. Incredible will be waiting to catch him- so he attached another web and started to slide down as fast as he could without risking a crash, his breath echoing like thunder.

"I can hear him. I'm going in."

"No, we can flush him out! Honey, for once in your life, listen to me-"

Peter had company now. He slid down at an alarming pace, feeling the gripping sensation of freefall nightmares where his body feels helplessly weightless against the pulling hold of gravity. Just then, his senses flared, and he brought himself into a horizontal passage before he slammed on the floor below, or what he believed must've been the end. Scrambling down the passage, he looked frantically down vent after vent, hoping to find an empty room. His breath hitched as he passed each one, wondering which might be his last, when she would find him and grab him and drag him out, blaming him for a murder he didn't attempt.

Her voice echoed down the shaft. "Spider-Man. Stop where you are."

Instead, he leapt into the room below, grabbing onto the ceiling and crawling along, only then thinking to look down, where he was met with the gaze of at least ten football players. They froze, holding various kinds of equipment.

"Hi guys." Peter's voice cracked with fear. Geez, that's embarrassing. So much for being twenty-five.

"Dude… are you the Spider Robber, from the TV?"

"I'm just passing through." He dropped in front of the door, and before one of them could dash forward, Peter yanked it open, running as fast as he could down the hallway, muttering "crap crap crap!" all the way. He glanced back over his shoulder, wracked with nerves, until he saw Elastigirl come out, running after him as her rubbery legs slowly grew longer and longer.

"I'm pretty sure you're cheating!" He ran around a corner towards a window. Without a second thought, he leapt through it, sending glass flying and cutting the fabric of his jumpsuit in what must've been a hundred different places.

"AH!" It took him a moment to remember his abilities in his absolute panic with the street approaching rapidly below. Narrowly attaching his webbing to a building corner, he flew around it, the busy metro buzzing with activity below him.

Struck with inspiration, he went three blocks to grab his backpack, quickly stuffing his tracksuit into the front pocket and pulling on his clothes. He rubbed his cheek, noticing the blood on the back of his hand. Note to self, don't crash through windows. Slowly, he slipped back into the street, walking with his best I'm-not-being-suspicious face, which vaguely resembled holding a frog in his mouth. At least, that's what May said every time she caught him. He had only passed by two stores when he saw Elastigirl zipping into view. Passerby gasped and looked ahead, still starstruck with recent events, and he followed suit, but for different reasons entirely. She flew into the alley, only to find his torn webbing from where his backpack had previously hung. He kept down the street, head low when she came back into view.

It's like he had disappeared. Which he had; he went from Spider-Man, the somebody, to Peter Parker, an insignificant face in the crowd.