The morning of the second day of my unplanned vacation began not with an alarm clock (oh, the bliss!), but with a phone call. The sharp trill of the old flip phone pierced the silence of the room, making me wince. Who the hell was calling this early? I fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, still not fully awake, the dull ache in my ribs and on my cheekbone a souvenir from Flash. The school's number flashed on the screen. Seriously?
"John Smith," I croaked into the receiver, trying to sound more awake than I felt.
"Mr. Smith? This is Mrs. Davis, Principal Morita's secretary. The principal is asking you to come to the school immediately. He's waiting for you in his office."
"Right now?" I glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. "But I'm suspended."
"Yes, Mr. Smith. Right now. It's important. They're waiting for you."
The line went dead. Here we go again. What now? Did Flash wake up and file a police report? Or did his daddy, some local big shot, decide to personally explain to me why it's not nice to hurt his golden boy? Fine, if I have to, I have to.
As I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (I chose a decent one—it was a meeting with the principal, after all), I mulled over the possibilities. Yesterday's victory didn't seem so sweet anymore. It was one thing to put a dumb jock in his place, another thing entirely to deal with his influential parents. Though, what kind of influence could the Thompsons possibly have? His dad was some mid-level manager, and his mom was a housewife with the ambitions of the Queen of England. But who knew what kind of connections they had in this city of wonders?
I got to the school surprisingly fast—the morning rush hour was over. The hallways were empty and quiet; classes were in session. The usual school buzz was replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by my footsteps. I took a breath outside the principal's office and knocked.
"Come in!"
Principal Morita's office was as stern and impersonal as it had been yesterday. The principal himself sat at his desk, looking exhausted. But this time, he wasn't alone. The Thompsons were seated in the visitors' chairs. Mr. Thompson was a large man with a receding hairline and a sour expression, a carbon copy of Flash thirty years from now. Mrs. Thompson was a polished blonde with a predatory gaze and pursed lips, decked out in designer brands that seemed beyond her husband's pay grade. She shot me a look as if I were a cockroach that had just scurried across her Persian rug. Flash wasn't with them—probably laid up at home with his broken nose.
"Ah, Mr. Smith. Come in, have a seat," the principal's voice was tense. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, Eugene's parents."
I nodded, taking the offered chair across from the furious couple.
"We've called you in, Mr. Smith," the principal began, clearly uncomfortable, "regarding a rather unpleasant matter. Eugene's parents are… ah… extremely concerned about yesterday's incident."
"Concerned?" Mrs. Thompson shrieked, cutting the principal off. Her voice was sharp and grating. "My boy is at home with a broken nose and a concussion! And this… this hooligan," she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me, "is walking around free! Principal, you must expel him! Immediately!"
"Mrs. Thompson, please, calm down," the principal tried to interject.
"We will not calm down!" Mr. Thompson chimed in, his face turning red. "Our son is the star of the school team, the school's great hope! And this… this scum of the earth," he sneered, glaring at me, "cripples him in front of the entire school! We will not let this go!"
I listened to the torrent of accusations in silence, keeping my expression as impassive as possible. Inside, I was seething. Scum of the earth? Seriously?
"We demand that this… Smith," Mr. Thompson practically spat my name, "pay for all of Eugene's medical bills! Every last cent! And compensation for emotional distress! Otherwise, we're suing! Him, and the school that allows this to happen! We have witnesses! The whole bus saw him provoke our boy!"
Ah, so that's what this was about. Money. How banal. And how predictable. They figured an orphan living in an old house was an easy target. Squeeze him for some cash and vent their anger at the same time. Right.
"Sorry to interrupt your emotional monologue," my voice was calm, almost ironic. I looked directly at Mr. Thompson. "But before you start throwing around threats and insults, don't you want to hear the other side of the story? Or is a lynch mob the default setting here?"
The Thompsons stared at me, clearly not expecting such audacity. Principal Morita looked surprised as well.
"First," I continued, holding up a finger, "about the provocation on the bus. Yes, I engaged in a verbal exchange. Because your 'golden boy,' Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, was once again bullying Peter Parker. Humiliating him, trying to trip him. And this happens all the time. Ask any student who rides that bus. It's called 'bullying,' and as I recall," I shifted my gaze to the principal, "the school rules strictly forbid it. Or am I mistaken, Mr. Morita?"
The principal cleared his throat. "No, Mr. Smith, you are not mistaken. The school has a very strict anti-bullying policy."
"Exactly," I nodded. "I merely pointed out to your son that his behavior was unacceptable. Quite politely, I might add. In response, he resorted to direct threats and challenged me to a fight after school. Again, there are plenty of witnesses. So who provoked whom? The one who defended someone weaker, or the one who constantly attacks and is the first to suggest solving things with his fists?"
Mrs. Thompson opened her mouth to object, but I pressed on, not giving her the chance.
"Second, the fight itself. Yes, I accepted the challenge. It may not have been the wisest decision, but your son left me no choice. And, as you can see from the result, he didn't come out on top. I was defending myself. Yes, I broke his nose. But it happened in a fight that he himself initiated. The school rules," I looked at the principal again, "I believe there's a clause about self-defense. Or am I wrong again?"
Principal Morita looked increasingly flustered. "Er… yes, there is a clause about self-defense, but the use of excessive force…"
"Excessive?" I scoffed. "Excuse me, Mr. Morita, but Eugene Thompson is nearly twice my size and is an athlete. What kind of force could possibly be excessive against such an opponent? I used the means available to me to stop his aggression. And judging by the fact that he's at home now instead of continuing to beat on me, I succeeded."
Mr. Thompson's face turned purple. "How dare you—!"
"I dare, Mr. Thompson. Because I'm speaking in facts, while you're operating on emotions and threats. You talk about medical bills? Fine. Let's talk about them. But then let's be consistent. If I have to pay for Eugene's nose, then who's going to pay for my bruises?" I pointedly touched my aching cheekbone. "Or for his years of bullying Peter Parker? We could probably bill for emotional distress for that too, don't you think?"
I saw the principal flinch internally. A lawsuit against the school over bullying was a scandal he definitely didn't need.
"And finally," I addressed the Thompsons again. "You're threatening a lawsuit? Please, go ahead. But be aware, in court, all the witnesses will be heard. And the picture that emerges might not be the one you're imagining. The story of the 'school star' who systematically torments a classmate and then gets his due when he finally picks on someone who fights back isn't likely to win him any popularity contests. Or enhance your reputation as caring parents. Quite the opposite, in fact. Think about it."
I leaned back in my chair, looking at the stunned Thompsons and the pale principal. Silence hung in the office. Mrs. Thompson opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping on the shore. Mr. Thompson was breathing heavily, his fists clenched.
"Mr. Morita," I finally said in a calm tone. "I understand this is an unpleasant situation. I am willing to accept my punishment for participating in a fight, which has already been done—I'm suspended for a week. But I will not be paying for the medical treatment of a person who provoked the conflict and attacked me. And if Mr. and Mrs. Thompson decide to go to court, that is their right. I am prepared to defend my position."
The principal looked at the Thompsons, then at me. His eyes were filled with a clear mix of bewilderment and a desperate desire for this conversation to end.
"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson," he began cautiously. "I understand your outrage, but… Mr. Smith has made some valid points. The school will conduct an internal investigation into the bullying allegations against Eugene. As for yesterday's fight… both students have already been punished. I suggest we don't take this to court. It won't do anyone any good."
Mr. Thompson shot up from his chair. "This is outrageous! We won't stand for this! Let's go, dear! It's clear what kind of school this is!"
He grabbed his wife's arm, threw a withering glare at me and the principal, and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Mrs. Thompson followed, huffing indignantly as she left.
The principal sighed wearily and rubbed his forehead. "Well, Mr. Smith. You certainly know how to create problems. And how to solve them, I have to admit."
"I was just defending my rights, Mr. Morita."
"Indeed… Alright, you're free to go. Your suspension stands. Try not to get into any more situations like this."
"I'll try, sir. Goodbye."
I walked out of the office with a deep sense of satisfaction. Outplayed. Annihilated. If not with fists, then with words.
In the hallway, I came face to face with Gwen. She had clearly been waiting for me.
"John! What happened? I saw the Thompsons, they stormed out of there like they'd been scalded! What was that about?"
"Oh, you know, Gwen," I smirked. "A little legal spat. They wanted to shake me down for Flash's medical bills and threatened a lawsuit."
"What?!" Gwen's eyes went wide. "And what did you do?"
"What else? I laid it all out for them: who the instigator was, who the victim of bullying was, who was defending himself. I reminded them about the school rules and the witnesses. Long story short, they left with nothing but a slammed door. I think they'll back off now."
"Wow." Gwen shook her head. "You're just a walking problem, Smith. But an effective one, I'll admit."
"I do my best," I shrugged. "Alright, I'm heading home. Since I've got a vacation, I might as well use it. Clean up, do some homework… they didn't suspend that, unfortunately."
"Okay. Be careful. And… call me if anything happens."
"Will do. Good luck with your classes!"
I walked out of the school, breathing in the Manhattan air. A week of freedom! I could read, watch movies, maybe even try to mess around with some local tech—see if I could improve anything. The thoughts flowed easily, pleasantly.
The day flew by. Cleaning, laundry, sorting through the clutter of this body's parents' old things—it turned out there was plenty to do. The homework was surprisingly easy.
The next day started peacefully. I almost forgot that Peter and Gwen's class had a field trip to Oscorp today. The Oscorp. Norman Osborn's corporation, which would become the source of so many problems for Spider-Man in the future. I wondered if Osborn himself would be there. Or just his scientific achievements.
I was minding my own business when, around noon, the phone rang again. An unfamiliar number this time.
"Hello?"
"John? John, it's Gwen!" My friend's voice was frantic, bordering on panic.
"Gwen? What's wrong? Where are you? You have the field trip…"
"We're… we're at the hospital! With Peter!"
"What?! What happened to Peter?" My heart skipped a beat.
"We were at Oscorp, in the genetics lab… Something… something bit him! A spider, I think! He collapsed, he got really sick… The teachers called an ambulance, they canceled the trip… We're at St. Luke's Hospital now! He's really bad, John! He's burning up, he's delirious… I'm so scared!"
A spider. Oscorp. The hospital. It all fit. It was starting. My best friend had just gotten his superpowers. But the path to becoming a hero was paved with pain and suffering.
"Gwen, calm down," I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible, though a chill ran through me. "I'm on my way. Which hospital? St. Luke's? Okay, I'll be there soon. Hang in there. And keep me updated."
"Okay… Hurry, John!"
I ended the call, my heart pounding. I had to go. I had to support Gwen and find out what was wrong with Peter. What if he didn't survive? Or turned into a six-armed spider-monster? I still hadn't figured out which Marvel universe I'd landed in… Comics or MCU? Or some chaotic mix of everything?
Meanwhile, at St. Luke's Hospital...
May Parker paced nervously in the corridor outside the emergency room. Her face was pale, her hands trembling. Beside her, leaning against the wall, was Ben Parker. He had an arm around his wife's shoulders, trying to look calm, but the anxiety in his eyes betrayed him completely.
"Oh, Ben, what is it? What's wrong with our boy?" May's voice cracked. "A spider? He's never had an allergy! What if it was poisonous? In those labs… they have all sorts of chemicals, genetics… What if it's dangerous?"
"Easy, May, easy," Ben held her tighter. "Don't work yourself up. The doctors here are good, they'll figure it out. The important thing is he's being looked after. His teacher said he was bitten during the tour… Maybe it was just bad luck. A regular spider, and Peter had a reaction…"
"A regular spider in an Oscorp genetics lab? Ben, don't be ridiculous!" May looked at her husband with tear-filled eyes. "What if it's something serious? What if… what if something happens to him? He's all we have!"
"Nothing is going to happen to him, you hear me, May?" Ben looked her in the eyes. "Peter's a strong kid. He'll pull through. We have to have faith in him. And pray. The doctors are doing everything they can. We need to be strong. For him."
The door to the room opened, and a doctor in a white coat stepped out. May and Ben rushed toward him.
"Doctor! How is he? What's wrong with our nephew?"
The doctor rubbed his forehead wearily. "The patient's condition is stable but critical. High fever, delirium. We've taken samples, we're trying to identify the cause of this reaction. The symptoms resemble a severe allergic reaction or a viral infection, but… there are some anomalies. His body is fighting, but it's not yet clear what it's fighting. We're doing everything we can to bring the fever down and support him. You'll need to be patient."
May let out another sob, burying her face in Ben's shoulder. Ben nodded to the doctor. "Thank you, doctor. Can we see him?"
"Not just yet. Let's wait for the test results. They should be ready very soon."
Ben nodded tiredly, placing a hand on May's shoulder. Their faces were a mixture of fear and helplessness.
A little further down the hall, Gwen Stacy stood with Harry Osborn, who looked no less alarmed.
The phone in Gwen's hand buzzed. She jumped, saw John's name on the screen, and quickly answered, pressing the phone to her ear.
"John? Where are you?"
"Walking down the hall of your ward now, Gwen," John's familiar, calm voice came through the line. "Trying not to confuse these hospital labyrinths with the set of a horror movie. How's Peter? Any news?"
Before Gwen could answer, the door to the room opened again. The same doctor who had spoken to May and Ben came out. This time, there was a faint smile on his face and a look of clear relief. He walked over to the waiting Parkers, and Gwen and Harry listened intently.
"Mr. and Mrs. Parker, I have good news," the doctor said. "We've received the results from the advanced blood work and toxicology screens. We found no dangerous venoms, toxins, or known viruses. It appears to have been an extremely powerful, but atypical, reaction to an unknown insect bite. Your nephew's immune system launched a massive response, hence the fever and delirium. But the crisis has now passed. His temperature is dropping, and his vitals are stabilizing. I think he should be waking up soon. He's young, strong—his body fought it off."
May gasped, pressing her hands to her chest. Ben squeezed her hand tightly, a smile appearing on his face as well.
"Oh, thank God! Thank you, doctor! Thank you!"
It was at that exact moment that John rounded the corner. The bruise on his cheekbone was still visible, but he had a determined look on his face. Seeing him, Gwen couldn't hold it in any longer. The pent-up tension and fear of the last few hours broke through.
"John!" she sobbed, running to him and hugging him tightly, burying her face in his jacket. "He's going to be okay! The doctor said he's getting better!"
I was slightly taken aback by such an emotional outburst but hugged her back gently, patting her on the back. "Hey, easy, Gwen, it's okay. I told you, our Peter is a tough nut to crack. He'll pull through."
Gwen pulled back a little, wiping her tears with her sleeve. I looked around—Aunt May and Uncle Ben were still talking to the doctor, and standing awkwardly nearby, shifting from foot to foot, was Harry Osborn. He looked, to put it mildly, lost and morose—pale, disheveled, and clearly worried. The situation needed a bit of levity.
"Hey, Harry," I looked at him with a slight smirk. "Why the long face? You need a stress-relief hug, too? Gwen, care to share?"
Harry blinked in surprise, then a faint smile flickered across his face. "Thanks, John, I… I'm okay. Just worried about Peter. And I feel guilty that this happened at our facility…"
His words were cut off by a nurse who peeked out of the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Parker? Your nephew is awake. You can go in."
Aunt May and Uncle Ben immediately hurried inside. Gwen, Harry, and I exchanged glances.
"Can we go in, too?" Gwen asked the nurse.
"Just for a little while. He still needs his rest," she nodded.
We cautiously followed the Parkers into the room. Peter was sitting up in bed, still pale, but conscious. His eyes were open, though his gaze seemed a bit dazed. May and Ben were already hugging him, showering him with questions and words of love.
"Peter! Oh, my boy! How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay, Aunt May, Uncle Ben…" Peter's voice was weak. "Just… a little dizzy. And everything feels… weird. What happened? Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Pete," I said, stepping closer. "A spider bit you on the field trip to Oscorp. But don't worry, the doctors say you're already on the mend."
"John? Gwen? Harry?" Peter looked at us in surprise. "You guys are here too? What about the trip…?"
"They cut the trip short when you got sick," Gwen said softly. "The main thing is that you're okay."
"Yeah, Peter, we were all really scared," Harry added. "I'm sorry this happened… on our property."
Peter managed a weak smile. "It's cool, Harry, it's not your fault… I'm… I'm fine."
The doctor did another quick check-up, asked Peter a few questions about how he was feeling, and tested his reflexes. Convinced that the patient was indeed recovering and his life was not in danger, he authorized his discharge.
"He'll need rest at home for a couple of days, plenty of fluids, and observation. If his fever spikes again or any other worrying symptoms appear, contact a doctor immediately. But I think everything will be fine."
While May and Ben gathered Peter's backpack and jacket and filled out the discharge paperwork, Harry Osborn approached them with a guilty expression.
"Mr. Parker, Mrs. Parker… I want to apologize again for what happened. It's unacceptable for an incident like this to occur on Oscorp property. I've already contacted my father, and we… we would like to fully cover all medical expenses and perhaps offer full compensation for… for the inconvenience and distress caused."
Uncle Ben immediately shook his head. "No, no, Harry, absolutely not! We don't need any compensation! The important thing is that Peter is okay. We couldn't possibly…"
"Excuse me for interrupting, Uncle Ben," I decided to put my two cents in, seeing that a good man's pride might cost his family some well-deserved support. "But I think you should accept Harry's offer."
Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Harry all looked at me in surprise.
"Look at it this way," I continued, addressing the Parkers. "Oscorp is a massive corporation. What happened was their responsibility, a lapse in their safety protocols during a tour. They almost certainly have insurance for this kind of thing. For them, it's a standard procedure. For you, it's a way to cover not just the hospital bills, but also maybe lost work days," I glanced at May and Ben, "and just the general unpleasantness. This isn't charity; it's the company acknowledging its responsibility. Besides," I lowered my voice slightly, "who knows if Peter might need additional check-ups in the future? It's better to have a financial cushion, just in case. Accepting compensation in a situation like this is normal and right."
I saw Ben and May thinking it over. My arguments sounded reasonable. Harry looked at me gratefully.
"The boy is right, Ben," May said quietly. "It really is the company's responsibility. And… we could use the support."
Ben sighed. "Alright, son, you've convinced me. Harry, thank you for your concern and your offer. We… we accept."
"Great!" Harry visibly brightened. "I'll give you my father's assistant's contact information. He'll handle all the formalities as quickly and discreetly as possible."
Soon, all the paperwork was sorted, and Peter, supported by his aunt and uncle, was ready to go home. He still looked weak, but much better.
"Thanks for being here, guys," he said to us as they were leaving.
"Hang in there, Pete! Get well soon!" Gwen said.
"Yeah, Parker, don't slack off," I added. "And maybe lay off interacting with insects. Especially the eight-legged kind."
The Parkers hailed a cab and left. The three of us remained in the hospital parking lot.
"Hey, can I give you guys a lift?" Harry offered. "My driver's waiting. Where to?"
"I'm heading toward Hell's Kitchen," I said.
"And I'm going to Queens, but I can ride with you guys first," Gwen replied.
"Perfect, let's go," Harry gestured, and a sleek black sedan with tinted windows pulled up smoothly. A driver in a sharp suit opened the back door for us.
The car's interior was stunningly luxurious and comfortable. Soft leather, perfect silence, the faint scent of expensive cologne. Gwen and I settled into the back seat, and Harry sat next to us.
"Thanks again, John," Harry said once the car was moving. "You really helped with that conversation about compensation. I didn't know how to convince Uncle Ben, he's so… proper."
"Anytime, Harry," I smirked. "A little pragmatism never hurts. Besides, the Parkers are good people; they can use the help. And for your corporation, it's pocket change."
"Yeah, I guess…" Harry sighed and looked out the window at the passing streets. "My father won't be happy about this incident. Security at Oscorp is his thing."
"Your father… Norman Osborn, right?" Gwen asked cautiously. "He must be a very powerful man."
"Yeah, powerful," Harry nodded, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "And very… strict. Demanding. He's always busy with work. Especially… especially after my mom died."
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't know…" Gwen looked at him with sympathy.
"It's okay," Harry forced a weak smile. "It was a long time ago. It's just… I feel like he's grown even more distant since then. He threw himself into his work, his projects… Sometimes I think Oscorp is more important to him than I am. He demands that I measure up, be the best at everything, the heir to the empire… And I… I'm not always sure I want that. Or that I can do it."
A silence fell over the car. I looked at Harry and saw not just a rich heir, but a lonely kid who desperately needed his father's attention and approval, only to receive demands and coldness. The world of big money and big corporations had its dark side. And from the sound of it, the Osborn family was right at its epicenter.
The car glided smoothly through the streets of New York, carrying us away from the hospital walls and toward an unknown future. Peter had his powers. Harry had peeled back a layer on his complicated life. And I… I was just an observer. For now.