FFN seems to be fully breaking. It's been a bit better over the past couple days (or perhaps I've just gotten used to it), but I've heard some people have been having significant levels of issues on trying to read new chapters. I'm crossposting over on Ao3 under the same username and story title for those who also use that site, though I have it set so that it can only be viewed while logged in. Maybe in the future I'll change it to be public, but as far as I know having readers be required to log in can help with AI skimming and the like.

Morning came with the slow steady awakening of a day off. Cindy hissed as she cracked her eyes open, clenching them back shut and throwing a hand over them. Bright. It was far too bright. Had she gotten drunk last night? No, she was well past those years. Plus, she didn't even remember making any sorts of calls to drop her off home, and if she had driven home inebriated she was going to sell her motorcycle as soon as she was able, convenience of transportation be damned.

Soft breathing drew her attention. "Pete?" she asked blearily. God, her voice felt and sounded like shit.

"Take it easy," he said quietly, leaning forward and moving a glass of water to her lips.

"I can do it myself," she hissed, affronted by the idea that he deemed her that sick.

She heard him shake his head. A moment later, "No, not this time. Do you remember what happened?"

She tried to open her eyes once again, wincing yet again and hissing in displeasure. "Please tell me it's not as bad as my mind is making me think."

"Its a fifty-fifty split, to be honest. Now drink. Slowly."

She sighed and let him help her, sitting up so that he wouldn't spill water all over her— apparently nearly bare— front. For being tap water, it tasted amazing. The texture of it, the way her vocal chords felt more alive even after the first couple sips. "I didn't drink last night, did I?" she asked after clearing her throat.

"You got bit," he answered.

"Yeah, no—" Slowly, she opened her eyes, forcing herself to get used to the brightness. Everything was so... so...

"Took me a while, too," Peter said. He moved, slowly, like a normal human would, and held out a pair of sunglasses she wore for more casual days. "Should also wear some earbuds the next couple days, too. Takes a couple days for your body to get normalized. At least for me it did." He shrugged apologetically, as if he had any fault in the matter.

"Did it feel that shit for you, too?"

He chuckled. "Pretty much. Like you were both too hot and too cold, and being exposed or being under a blanket didn't help at all, right?"

She nodded, gesturing for him to give her more water.

"Don't be mad, but I called Doctor Octavius already. Told her that the stress from everything finally caught up to you and made you sick. She cleared you for the rest of the year." Peter leaned forward and stared at her. "Take advantage of it. It'll suck, but you'll need exposure therapy after today. If the spider effected you the same way it did me, every single one of your senses got turned up to thirteen." He made a face. "Honestly, probably a good thing this happened after everything. Imagine having our kind of vision when you were dealing with it all?"

Cindy entertained that thought for all of three seconds before she violently shoved it away. The very thought of the past few weeks alongside her memory was a repulsive one, and for a brief moment she nearly hurled at the idea of having to be in a lab with all those chemicals alongside her enhanced smell. "God, I smell like shit," she muttered.

"You have an enhanced sense of smell?" Peter's nose twitched a few times before he tilted his head. "Huh, guess we'll need to figure out what other differences we have."

"Alright, Pete, out. Let me get ready for a shower."

He shook his head. "As much as I wish otherwise, you'll need to stick to a towel bath." He held out a yellow, unsharpened pencil. "Catch this?"

She did. It snapped almost the second— moment even— she tried to grip it.

"Imagine that with a door handle. Or a faucet." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Why do you think I changed so many things during that bout of 'clumsiness'?"

"You're not the one to wash me," she said after a moment. "I refuse to be babied that much."

He chuckled once again. "Completely fine with me. I'm not too sure I could handle that either. I'll go get a bucket prepped. You just practice moving around a little and get used to your new senses, alright?" Peter rose and left her room, closing her door with a gentle but so very noticeable click.

Cindy pulled her sunglasses off and dragged her hand down her face. "God, Pete. You live like this?" Now that she didn't have a face to distract her, the rumble of engines and cries of birds was almost ear piercing. Like a shop whose clerks had gotten inured to music the wrong side of loud whereas a customer would be forced to plunge into its volume without any warning. With her shades off, even colors seemed stronger. More saturated.

She took a breath and so very intently moved her legs off the bed, keeping the thought of 'normal human' centered in her mind. Standing up felt easy, yet at the same time felt like she had done so with a smoothness she only felt when she was on the rink. She took a step, and then another. It was like her body had somehow become better. Ages ago, a Flash game had come out where you controlled a runner, but in order to move you had to control his legs in four parts. Two keys for each leg, moving them by calves and thighs respectively.

The her of before felt like that. An uncoordinated mess just playing at being smooth. The her of today— every step felt like she was a figure skater from the Olympics doing a perfect run. No mistakes, just pure and utter grace and perfection. It was infuriating, knowing that not less than ten hours ago she was essentially a newborn babe.

She let out a slow breath and sat back down, mindful not to just 'fall' down and accidentally break the legs of her bed. Over and over she did so. Stand. Sit. Stand. Sit. Here and there she would walk around to the other side and do the same thing. It was almost maddening being stuck in this tiny room, but Peter's words rang true. The last thing she wanted to do was to try to open her door and instead leave a palm shaped indent in it. Better to wait for her brother to get her and help her get ready to bathe herself.

Peter knocked at her door, just a little louder than she appreciated, but through no fault of his own. "Cindy? Everything's ready." He turned the knob and opened her door slightly, allowing her the grace to exit through her own strength.

"Be there in a second." If merely standing and sitting was an ordeal, gathering a change of clothes was an entirely different story. The first handle she attempted to use was left with a tiny imprint of her hand. The second drawer took far too long to open, and the third was no better. When she went to open her door fully, it was with the mantra of 'feather light', and the speed at which she opened the door felt frustrating. "How did you handle it the first time?" She grumbled.

"Slowly, and just doing tiny movements," Peter answered. "By the way, Uncle Ben already headed out. Said he got used to volunteering, so you don't need to worry about worrying. I'll warm something up for you while you wash up."

She only spent a few seconds in the bathroom before she went back to her room, leaving a tiny imprint of her hand on both handles. As soon as she returned, she turned her phone light on while turning the main light off. A significant improvement to her senses doing their best to give her a migraine.

She sighed and began to remove her clothes, frowning at how she could feel each fiber brush against her skin. A memory came back to her, of Peter rubbing his fingers across clothes when they had gone shopping a few months back. "Was that why...?" With another sigh of annoyance, she dropped the garment and stepped into the shower. The soaked towel did her no favors in terms of texture, but with the markings she had left on the door handles, she had no desire to replace every single fixture of the shower.

An enhanced sense of smell was a partial lie, though. More an exaggeration. Enough to make her frown as she held the bar of soap she normally used. She could smell the individual parts of the bar, even if she couldn't name them. The same went for her body; obviously she had gone feverish during the night, and the sweat had clung to her like muggy air. After her ministrations, the odor had lessened, but she could still smell it in her hair, and with only a single bucket to clean herself with, all she could do was accept her fate.

Cindy held back yet another sigh and began to towel off, her frown deepening at the way the fibres dragged along her body. For a brief moment the idea of buying higher quality clothes flitted through her mind, but that was swiftly stopped by the knowledge of all her bills. The sigh came back with a vengeance, and this time she acquiesced to its demands, letting out a long breath, stopping only once the smell of her mouth hit her. "Ugh, everything's going to piss me off today, isn't it?"

/ - /

After their first serving, bulgogi had become a firm 'no' for the rest of the meal. While ordinarily both she and Pete enjoyed the dish, at the moment, her nose was far too sensitive for the sugary sweetness it emanated during cooking. Peter chuckled at her as she pulled off another few cuts with her chopsticks, barely giving them a moment to rest before she started to eat. "I'm so glad my suffering brings you amusement, Peter," she said between bites.

"You know, I was able to get away with things because I was always snacking on things, but the two of us probably can't go to any AYCE places together." He picked off a few thin cuts of pork, setting them to rest in his bowl before putting some more meat on the grill with a pair of tongs. "Lots of trail mix stuff. Lots of butter and fats in general." He paused mid-bite, staring down at the grill for a few moments before looking up. "We'll probably be cooking up a major storm. Think Uncle Ben will let us get a deep freezer for the garage?"

"Probably. Worst case scenario we start paying more for bills." Cindy set her chopsticks down and leaned back. While the general fatigue and warbles of starvation had disappeared, she still very much had lingering feelings of 'hunger', and every movement had her so very aware of the way her muscles tensed and relaxed. "I'm not going to be able to make as many 'fun' purchases as I used to in the future, am I?"

Peter hummed ambiguously as he plated a few more slices for her, moving to signal down their server before placing the last of their current order. "Honestly that depends on you. You'll probably have to eat more in general just because of our metabolisms and how it relates to our immune systems and how easily we bounce back from injuries, but unless you plan on doing things the way I've been doing it, you shouldn't need to consume as many calories as I've been."

The walk to the Korean barbecue place had been slow for more than one reason. On one hand, she had to relearn how not to end up at a walking pace that would equal most people's jog. On the other, essentially every other street she had stopped to stare at the texture of buildings; to move up close and trace the patterns in trees or watch the way the sun sparkled off the leaves of bushes. She let out another sigh, biting back the groan of frustration at the realization yet another annoyed exhalation had escaped her lips.

"How long did it take you to 'be normal', Pete?"

"Don't ask questions whose answers you won't like, sis."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"To stop being worried about breaking things? About two weeks. To learn how to 'be normal'? About a month and a half." Peter thanked their waitress as more plates were placed down and their grill changed out, her brother moving things around to optimize the space used. "Exposure therapy is really what you'll need. Just keep throwing yourself at stuff until you relearn your body." He waited a moment before grabbing a piece of fat he'd cut off from a previous order, rubbing it around the plate to grease it up some. "I'd say we hit up the various sports venues we visited when we were helping me out, but honestly I'm a little scared that either of us will forget to hold ourselves back."

She grunted in irritation. Not too long ago, in her haste to feed herself, she had snapped yet another pair of chopsticks. Admittedly, this was probably the best place for her to relearn the finer concepts of precision. Too much force in her grip and she'd embarrass herself and have to have Peter ask for another pair. Too little, and she couldn't pick up even a modicum of rice.

"Hey, sis?" Peter shifted in his seat and leaned forward, safe from the heat of the grill.

"Mm?"

"Do you think you'll end up joining me out in the field or something?" he asked quietly.

"Not sure." She placed her arm on the table, wrist facing up. Conspicuously, at least for them, her skin was smooth. There was no circle denoting the appearance of spinnerets, and the various things they'd tried (including thinking really, really hard) hadn't resulted in any webs. Neither of them had tried to test the limits of her Spider Sense (it was there. Fledgling, but there all the same) and a very brief test in her room proved she could stick to walls (and currently lacked the muscles to maintain such), but the idea of trying to be a vigilante without an easy way to traverse the city or way to neutralize enemies didn't appeal to her, especially when considering that she very much wanted a social life still. She rubbed her forearm slightly, feeling slightly off at not having the tiny but noticeable resistance that Peter's arms had. "I can't say the idea of risking my life sounds ideal."

"It's not about risking your life, Cindy," Peter responded. "It's about trying to save others." He turned over a few pieces of meat before divvying out ones that he deemed properly cooked. "I'm not saying that you have to do the same, but I personally feel like I have a responsibility. I have this ability to save people. To stop muggings, to stop shootings; I know I need to maintain my own life, but in some ways, I really am like a surgeon or trauma doctor. If I'm not there, what happens to those who could have used my help?" The hissing of the meat rang out for a few moments before Peter spoke up again. "Not that I'm saying I have a hero complex or anything," in a much quieter voice: "though technically speaking I probably do— but I have these abilities. Whether it's because of a total accident or not, I have a noblesse oblige to use them to their fullest potential."

/ - /

Noblesse oblige. A sort of archaic term used to describe the responsibility those in power had for those they were in charge of. These days it could be used to explain why multi-millionaires with excess physical cash donated so much to charities, or why celebrities spoke up about certain subjects when some of their followers would prefer they stay silent on the matter. It was the sort of thing doctors had to go through during their residencies. If you had the ability to save lives, how do you justify going home and not spending that time doing so?

I landed awkwardly on a parapet, forced to crouch down and stabilize myself with both hands. While curfews had been let up, the gang war was still recent enough that people weren't going out as much as they had the month prior. Crimes had also dropped down slightly, though that was more in the sense of armed robberies. The pains of Christmas had meant there were more muggings than usual, both for physical cash and actual purchases, and I had found myself hanging around the bigger stores more often than not.

The past 36 hours were honestly a little stressful. When Cindy had asked me to help her up, I was expecting her to be accidentally drunk or drugged or literally anything else. There had been a buzz in my stomach almost around the same time I heard her roll up, a buzz that had only gotten stronger when I saw her and turned into— excitement?— when I put her arm over my shoulder.

It was our Spider Sense. A whole town over, I knew where my sister in all but blood was. Something about what that spider had done to us had connected us in some way. I passingly knew it was something that was supposed to happen. Kin recognizes kin; if anyone else were to be bitten and turn into one of us, I was sure that I'd have this exact same reaction. But to have this sort of mental compass of where she was in a similar way that I could always tell where north was based off referencing shadows or landmarks?

I sat down on the ledge and let out a breath. It really wasn't a guarantee that she would join me in my Superhero'ing. Cindy had a life. She had college to worry about, her internship at Oscorp; had friends to try and regularly meet. She wasn't like me, where the worst I had to worry about was making sure I was staying on top of college level studies so I could do essays or other academic projects people commissioned me for. She wasn't like me who could afford to read through physical books instead of digital mediums because I didn't have any other pressing demands.

But even so: as someone who had approximate future knowledge, was it within my right to make her web shooters? It was an idea I'd floated around a couple times for myself. My organic webbing could only be used so much within a given time frame; if I had made myself some external web fluid, I'd be able to don the costume for much longer periods of time. The sciences were there, too. The handful of times I'd spent within Oscorp's R , I'd spent a few minutes here and there looking at the various experiments they had going on. Advanced aerosol components meant to be cheaper than conventional materials; gas based propellants to try and further improve fire extinguishers and other such devices; they even had one scientist looking into developing a steel cable alternative based around spider webbing.

I'd done the theoretical math myself, too. Nozzle size; voltage required to propel the web fluid among other mechanisms; designed ways to replace the battery, fluid container, and propellant; iterated different firing mechanisms to try and outdo my own personal web shooting abilities. I'd even improved the base web formula that Doctor Garfield had created, testing it on a cracked physics simulator I'd copied off one of Cindy's friends.

It was stronger than the white strands of my personal webbing. More tensile, more resistant. Better than the original in every way, losing out only because it wasn't able to be combined with whatever my black strands were made from. The moment Cindy chose to join me, the only issue I'd have in getting her set up would be sourcing the material to make the web shooters themselves. 3D printers at the lab would have logs of the projects created, but theoretically speaking I should be able to Macgyver a lower tech version. The synthesized web fluid was surprisingly easy to make, though I wasn't sure if that was just because of who I was or if it actually was that easy. The hard part was tailoring it to a specific user for maximum efficiency— the propellant as well.

I let out an annoyed grunt and pulled out my notebook from my pocket, jotting down a memo for myself to return to the web shooter idea. Whether or not Cindy needed it, it really wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to create a working pair for myself. "But should I utilize a watch frame or come up with something else?" I muttered, lazily looking down the street where my Spider Sense was pulling me.

This next set of chapters will be released on a three week schedule. To that extent, next chapter will be released March 26th.