A sharp siren tore through the night, growing louder as it approached.
Red and blue lights spun across the walls, making the world feel unreal.
Peter knelt on the pavement.
His body was rigid.
His hands were soaked in Uncle Ben's warm blood.
Sound vanished.
He couldn't hear the ambulance.
Couldn't hear the gathering crowd.
Couldn't hear his own breathing.
Snap.
A crisp finger snap exploded beside his ear.
Sound rushed back.
Peter blinked and saw Joren standing over him, hat brim casting his face in shadow.
"The ambulance is here," Joren said calmly.
"Go with them."
"Call your aunt."
Peter nodded automatically, like a puppet whose strings had been pulled.
Paramedics rushed in, securing Ben Parker onto a stretcher with practiced efficiency.
"Family member, ride with us!"
Peter stumbled to his feet and followed.
Before entering the ambulance, he glanced back.
Joren had already turned away, hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction.
The doors slammed shut.
The outside world vanished.
Inside, the cardiac monitor beeped steadily.
Peter stared at Ben's peaceful face — alive.
He remembered Joren's words and, with trembling fingers, called Aunt May.
Later that night
The supermarket doors slid open.
Joren walked straight to the condiments aisle.
He selected a grinder filled with whole black peppercorns.
Acceptable.
He added milk.
Checked out.
Left.
The shooting site was already sealed with yellow police tape. He avoided it.
At home
The apartment returned to warmth and order.
He hung his coat.
Put the apron back on.
The filet mignon still waited on the plate.
Butter melted again.
He seasoned the steak.
Placed it back in the pan.
Sizzle.
The aroma of butter, pepper, and searing meat filled the kitchen.
Cooking restored balance.
Fifteen minutes later, dinner was served.
Steak.
Boiled broccoli.
Potatoes.
Simple.
Perfect.
He turned on an ocean documentary.
The narrator's deep voice filled the quiet.
After washing the dishes, Joren returned to the sofa with An Introduction to Marine Biology, resuming the chapter on giant squid predation.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He didn't move.
Perhaps a wrong door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
More insistent.
Trouble.
He closed the book and walked to the door, standing silently.
"Joren?"
Peter Parker's voice.
"I know you're inside."
"I… I just wanted to say thank you."
Hoarse. Exhausted.
Joren unlocked the door.
Peter stood outside, clothes stained with dried blood, eyes hollow with shock.
"Uncle Ben… the doctors say he's out of danger."
His lips trembled.
"They said the bullet missed his heart by millimeters. They called it a miracle."
He bowed deeply.
"If it weren't for you… he would be gone."
Joren leaned against the doorframe, not inviting him in.
"…Hmm."
Peter straightened, emotions colliding inside him.
Saved his uncle's life.
Yet spoke with the warmth of winter stone.
"I…"
He didn't know where to begin.
Then Joren asked:
"Why is he still driving a taxi?"
Peter froze.
"What?"
"I'm asking you."
His tone was flat.
"So late at night, why is an old man nearing retirement still driving a taxi?"
Peter's face flushed red.
Then drained to ashen white.
The question pierced a wound he had avoided looking at.
Why?
Because he wanted a new computer.
Because he wanted to impress Gwen.
Because he resented Ben and May's nagging.
Because he stormed out instead of staying for dinner.
Because pride mattered more than gratitude.
So Ben drove that worn taxi late into the night…
…for a few extra dollars.
Peter's lips trembled.
No sound came.
Shame. Regret. Pain.
They crushed his chest.
Joren watched silently.
Wind rustled through the trees.
Time stretched.
Finally, Joren stepped aside.
A silent invitation.
Peter entered.
The apartment smelled faintly of grilled steak.
The television displayed tropical fish gliding through coral reefs.
Everything was orderly.
Quiet.
Stable.
The opposite of Peter's collapsing inner world.
Joren returned with a glass of water.
Peter's hands shook so violently he needed both hands to hold it.
He drank.
Cold clarity.
"I… saw you," he said.
"In the alley. In the cafeteria."
"I thought I'd discovered some incredible physics phenomenon."
A hollow smile.
"I almost wrote a paper about it."
Joren turned off the television.
Silence deepened.
Peter finally broke.
"At Oscorp… I was bitten by a spider."
"The one in the display case."
He described the fever.
The transformation.
The strength.
The reflexes.
The danger sense.
"I was happy," he whispered.
"I felt special."
"I thought I could use it… to make money."
He spoke of the underground fight.
Winning.
Being cheated.
Letting the robber run.
Seeing Ben fall.
His voice collapsed into sobs.
"It was me."
"If I had stopped him…"
"There are no ifs."
Joren said nothing.
He simply listened.
After a long time, Peter lifted his bloodshot eyes.
"Help me."
"I know you're not ordinary."
"You saved him."
"Teach me to control this power."
"I don't want anyone else hurt because of me."
Joren turned away.
Troublesome.
A guilt-ridden teenager with extraordinary power.
A walking catastrophe.
Untrained, he could spiral out of control.
Trained… he might become too busy saving the city to create trouble.
The calculation was simple.
"Tomorrow night. Ten o'clock."
"West City Dock."
"Abandoned Warehouse Number Three."
Peter looked up, stunned.
"You…"
"Don't be late."
Joren opened the door.
"Now go home."
"And be with your family."