Chapter Text
Introduction: Peter Parker’s life had always felt like a mix of ordinary days thrown together with little moments of happiness—and the shadow of what he had lost. His mom had died when he was four, leaving a quiet, aching hole in the house and in his heart that nothing could truly fill. But he still had his anchors: his dad, Richard, who always made him feel safe even when the world seemed confusing; Aunt May, whose warmth could patch any scraped knee or broken heart. Who was his second mom in a way; and Uncle Ben, whose calm presence made the chaos of life feel manageable.
Peter Parker was a lot of things, but he was not mentally unstable. Of course people around him thought differently. Ever since Mary Parker died when he was four, Peter found himself zoning out at random times, having mood swings, shouting at his teachers and peers. When confronted with a therapist, Richard was told Peter was “mentally unstable” and they should always expect the impossible from him. Peter on the other hand always tried to show he was normal. No one ever believed him. Not even his family…
It was a sunny Thursday afternoon, and Peter had bid goodbye to his best friend Ned and raced out of school, backpack bouncing against his shoulders, searching the crowd until his eyes found his dad, leaning against the curb with that familiar smile. “Hey, Pete!” Richard called, waving. Whenever with Peter, Richard always tried to act like his son was normal. It kept him sane in a way.
Peter ran the last few steps, and his dad lifted him into a twirling spin, laughing. “Whoa! Careful! You’re getting heavier every week! I think you’re secretly in grade 8, not 3.”
“I’m not!” Peter giggled, wriggling in his dad’s arms.
“You sure? You’re like a tiny weight champion!” Richard said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Come on, ice cream?”
Peter’s eyes lit up. Ice cream with his dad was one of the small but perfect joys of his life. They walked to the little shop down the street, chatting about school and homework.
The little bell on the shop door dinged as Peter ran in, followed by a smiling Richard.
“MR.CHEN MR.CHEN! I GOT ANOTHER A+!!” Peter halted to a stop in front of the tall, intimidating but soft hearted man, who crouched to Peter's height and ruffled the kids hair.
“I knew you would kid.” He smiled. “Now, what flavour of ice cream would our smart boy like?” he asked, standing back up and exchanging a greeting nod with Richard.
“Bubblegum” He grinned up at him
“Of course, kid”
Mr.Chen, to Peter's surprise, grabbed a large sized cone and scooped not one but two scoops of bubblegum ice cream into it.
As Peter happily ate away the treat, Mr.Chen and Richard had a conversation.
After finishing his ice cream, Peter thanked Mr.Chen and walked out with his dad.
“That was yummy.” he said, linking his sticky hand with Richards.
“Yeah. Two big scoops huh?” Richard smirked
Peter was about to say something when he saw it.
A small puppy, golden and bouncing, chasing a butterfly with unthinking joy. Peter’s heart leapt. “Wait! Come back!” he called, sprinting after it without hesitation.
Richard hurried after him, concern etched on his face. “Peter! Wait! Don’t run too fast! Peter stay with me!”
Peter barely noticed the alley darkening around him as he ran. Shadows stretched along the walls, the sounds of the city fading behind him. The puppy vanished around a corner, and Peter skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “Whe-Where’d he go?!”.
Richard came to a stop right behind his boy, panting. “Don’t ever run like tha-”
Then the man appeared.
He seemed to materialize out of the shadows, tall and still, radiating a coldness that made Peter’s stomach flip. Before either of them could react, a strange force gripped them. Peter could move his lips, could speak, could breathe—but nothing else obeyed him. It was the scariest feeling Peter had ever had.
“Who-who are you?” He whispered, terrified.
“You… have something in you I need.” the man said, voice low and cruel.
Peter shook his head, trying to keep his voice steady despite the terror. “I… I won’t give it to you.” Which was a pretty stupid-ish reply, since Peter had no idea what the man was talking about.
The man’s lips curved into a thin smile. In a blur of motion, he separated Peter from his dad with an invisible barrier. Peter could see his father struggling, reaching for him, but there was nothing he could do. And then, before Peter’s wide eyes, the man stabbed Richard straight in the heart. the “best dad ever” shirt Peter had gotten him now a dark red color. His father crumpled, and Peter was trapped, screaming, pounding on the invisible wall, tears streaming down his face.
“No! Dad! Please! Don’t—!” His voice broke. “Please! Please! Wake up! Don’t leave me!”
The man disappeared, and the invisible barrier was gone. Peter speed crawled to his fathers body, not noticing the bloody knife right next to him. He grabbed his dads shoulders and sobbed. “Dad…” he whispered.
Aunt May and Uncle Ben appeared at the mouth of the alleyway, breathless, confusion written all over their faces. They had just been taking a walk. They had just heard screaming. They had no idea what they were about to see.
May froze first.
Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as her brain tried — and failed — to understand the sight in front of her. Richard. On the ground. Blood. So much blood. And Peter — little Peter — kneeling there, shaking, his hands stained red.
“R-Richard…?” she whispered, like maybe saying it would make it untrue.
Ben didn’t move at first either. His eyes darted between the body, the knife on the ground, and the trembling kid who looked absolutely shattered. He took one unsteady step forward.
“Peter?” he said softly. “Buddy… what… what happened?”
Peter lifted his head, desperate, eyes shining with panic. “I–it wasn’t me! I swear— it wasn’t— it wasn’t—”
His words came out broken, strangled, nothing that made sense to two adults already drowning in shock and fear.
The scene didn’t look right. Nothing looked right. And in their terror and confusion, something twisted.
The therapist’s warning — the one they never wanted to believe — slammed into their minds like a hammer.
“He’s mentally unstable. Always expect the impossible from him.”
Ben’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He didn’t step closer. He didn’t step back. He was stuck in the middle, paralyzed by instinct screaming at him to protect Peter and instinct screaming at him to protect everyone else.
“Pete…” he breathed, voice cracking. “Just— just come here, okay? We’ll… we’ll figure this out."
May’s eyes were glassy, unfocused. She wasn’t seeing the truth — only the horrible image in front of her.
The distant wail of police sirens echoed down the street.
Ben suddenly snapped into motion. He scooped Peter up, the kid limp and unresisting, and backed away from the body. His face was pale, terrified, devastated.
He didn’t look at Richard again.
He didn’t dare.
They just took Peter and ran.
And in the shadows, the man—Ri—watched, a thin smile on his face, knowing the game had only just begun.
They got home, and the door slammed behind them, sealing Peter into a space that should’ve felt like safety but now smelled of misunderstanding and quiet accusation. He drifted down the hall like his feet weren’t really connected to him and slipped into his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
The room looked exactly the same — posters of science experiments, messy stacks of schoolbooks, little Iron Man sketches taped crookedly to the wall — but it all felt wrong. Distant. Hollow.
Peter couldn’t stop shaking. His breaths came in sharp, uneven pulls, like his body had forgotten how to slow down. The alley replayed behind his eyes in flashes — the invisible wall, his dad reaching for him, the sound he never wanted to hear again.
It wasn’t just fear. It felt like the world had cracked open under him and left something cold stuck in his chest.
“Peter…” Ben stood at the door. His face looked older all of a sudden — exhausted, worried, scared.
Peter looked up, eyes wide, lips parting like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Every word he needed was stuck, trapped behind the panic twisting inside him. He wanted someone to understand. He wanted someone to believe him. But there wasn’t anyone. Not right now.
Ben stepped inside slowly, like approaching a scared kitten. He sat beside Peter, and the kid flinched without meaning to.
Ben’s hand settled gently on his shoulder.
“Peter…” He hesitated, eyes flicking away for a second — confused, shaken, unsure. “I don’t know what happened in that alley. I don’t know what… got into your mind.”
Another long pause. He swallowed hard.
“But I know you’re still in there. I believe that.”
Peter closed his eyes. That wasn’t what he needed. Ben was supposed to ask. Ben was supposed to listen. Ben was supposed to look at him and see the truth — not a story that fit someone else’s expectations.
Because that’s who Uncle Ben had always been.
Peter opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again — nothing. How was he supposed to explain it? He’d chased a dog, a man appeared out of nowhere, used something like magic, separated him from his dad, and then—
It didn’t even sound real to him. How would it sound to anyone else?
“I’m gonna give you time to… think this over, okay?” Ben murmured. He gave Peter’s shoulder a small squeeze and got up.
Peter watched the door close. The soft click felt louder than anything else in the house.
And then his body folded in on itself. He slid off the bed, curled into a tiny ball on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. The room felt too big, too quiet, too wrong. His breath hitched as he sobbed, small and shaking, wishing everything would just stop hurting for even one second.
“Maybe I should just die.” Were the shaky words that left his lips as he cried himself to sleep on the floor.