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Dinner nearly did Peter in.
Between Uncle Ben praising Spider-Man in the evening paper and Aunt May insisting "no vigilantes at the dinner table,"
Peter almost blurted out his secret right there over pasta. He swallowed the confession barely and excused himself to pack.
"Amusement park tomorrow. Camera's a must," he said, tucking a beat-up DSLR into his backpack.
On Peter's bed, Sylas crunched on an apple. "What's there to photograph at an amusement park?"
Sylas glanced around and froze. A photo was taped to the wall: him, mid-blink, utterly unflattering.
"Oh, come on. You framed my worst face?"
Peter grinned. "Wall of favorites. People I care about."
Sylas's eyes slid to another photo. Liz Allan.
"So Liz makes the wall, huh?"
"Uh—yeah, okay," Peter said, face heating up as he peeled the photo down. "That one's… complicated."
"Relax, I get it." Sylas bumped his shoulder against Peter's. The nudge made Peter go pinker.
The new strength had helped Peter ditch most of his old shyness, but some habits ran deep. Without the mask, the quips didn't come as easily.
"Don't deflect. You and Missy?" Peter shot back.
"Me and—what?"
"Dude," Peter said, deadpan. "She likes you."
Sylas went quiet. Now that Peter said it… Missy had been the one inviting him out, every time. Why him? He didn't have money, pedigree, anything. Don't tell me it's love at first sight. He snorted at himself. Pull it together.
Peter waved a hand in front of him. "Sylas?"
"I'm good, You finish packing, I'm calling it."
He slipped out. Peter stared after him. "Weird vibe…"
---
Morning — Parker House
"Parker family, assemble!" Ben announced, waving a little red flag like a corny tour guide.
"Snacks and water," May said, already bagging sandwiches. "Theme park prices are daylight robbery."
Ben puffed up, saluted with mock seriousness. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
"Alright, soldier," May laughed, batting his hand away. "Watch the boys."
"Peter! Sylas! Ready?"
Bang, clatter then the duo skidded in. Peter shouldered his backpack.
"What's in there?" Ben asked, eyeing the bulge.
"Camera. A few extras," Peter said.
(Also: one red-and-blue suit, half-finished web fluid, and a sharpie sketch of a new mask.)
"A camera?" Ben frowned. "Since when do you own—"
"Borrowed," Peter said quickly. "Sylas was there."
Sylas nodded. "True."
"Alright," Ben said, satisfied. "Don't break your friend's gear."
With the car dead, the bus was their chariot. Sylas scanned the passengers out of habit, shoulders loosening only when nothing set off his danger sense.
"You okay?" May asked.
"Yeah. Just… picking seats. You two take those."
Yesterday's bus wasn't that bus, he told himself. Still, he didn't love the deja vu.
By the time they reached the park, lunchtime had crept up.
"Let's eat first," Ben said, checking his watch.
"There's a park across the street," May pointed out.
They spread out on the grass. A soft breeze, Birdsong, for a second, it didn't feel like Marvel's New York at all.
Then three fire engines screamed past, sirens shredding the calm.
"There it is," Sylas muttered, biting his sandwich. "Back to normal."
"Be right back," Peter said, abruptly standing. "Bathroom."
"Down that path, right at the fork," Ben called. "If you get turned around, find the map boards."
"Got it!" Peter jogged off, then sprinted, once he was out of sight.
He ducked into a dead-end alcove and froze.
His backpack was with Ben.
"No, no, no—" He scanned the area. A dented toy Iron Man faceplate stuck out of a trash can.
Peter sighed, grabbed it, and pulled it on. "Close enough."
---
"Anyone still inside?" a firefighter shouted through his mask.
"My daughter!" a woman cried, trying to push through the line. "Please, she's still in there!"
"Ma'am—stop—" the firefighter began.
A lanky figure in a cheap plastic Iron Man mask sprinted past him and dove through the smoky doorway.
Inside, a clear voice rang out: "This is Spider-Man! I've got the kid!"
"What?" the firefighter blinked.
"The Spider-Man?" the woman gasped, hope flaring.
Around here, word had gotten around about a web-slinging Good Samaritan. Neighborhood legend, growing fast.
CRASH!
Peter kicked through fallen shelving. "Hey! Anybody?"
"I'm here!" a small voice sobbed. "I'm scared!"
"Hang on!" Peter barreled toward the sound, lungs burning. Heat rippled down the hall.
He found a tiny girl huddled in a bathroom, smoke pouring through the doorframe.
"You're okay. I'm Spider-Man. I'm getting you out." He scooped her up, scanned the window blocked by a plank that had dropped from the roof.
Flames licked across the tiles, climbing the wooden door. The veneer was buying seconds not minutes.
THUD! THUD!
He kicked the board. It groaned, but held.
His eyes cut to the faucet.
Thwip-thwip!
Web lines yanked it free. Water geysered, hissing across the threshold. The advance of the flames slowed, steam blooming around them.
"You got this!" the girl shouted from behind his shoulder, small fists clenched against his hoodie.
"Teamwork," Peter coughed, bracing to kick again.
---
Back at the picnic blanket, Sylas tracked the column of smoke over the rooftops, jaw tight. He could feel the tug of a different current a shadow-pull pooling in an alley near the blaze, hungry and patient.
"Bathroom, huh?" Ben said, watching the path. "Kid's sprinting a marathon."
Sylas stood, casually dusting off his jeans. "Gonna grab more napkins," he said. May nodded, distracted by the sirens.
He slipped toward the park exit, eyes on the light in the shadows where the light didn't reach.
Inside the bathroom, Peter lowered his shoulder and launched one more kick.
CRACK— the board split.
"Showtime," he whispered, wrapping the girl close as smoke billowed toward them like a living thing.
He leaped for the opening—
—and the flames roared.
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