The early morning sun bathed the rooftops of Queens in a soft, golden glow. Peter crouched on the edge of a building, his knees bent, his sneakers scuffing against the weathered concrete. His hoodie was pulled tight against the cool breeze, his face set with determination. Below, Uncle Ben stood a few stories down in an alley, watching Peter intently with a stopwatch in one hand and a whistle hanging around his neck.
"You ready, Pete?" Ben called up, his voice calm but encouraging.
Peter nodded, gripping the edge tightly. "I guess."
"Guessing's not gonna cut it. You've got to commit," Ben replied, motioning toward the next rooftop. "Clear your mind and go for it."
Peter took a deep breath and launched himself forward, his muscles tensing as he leapt. His feet landed on the opposite rooftop, but his balance faltered. He stumbled, falling to his knees with a thud.
Ben jogged up the fire escape, climbing to Peter's level with surprising ease for a man his age. He offered a hand to his nephew, pulling him up. "You're overthinking it, kid. Trust your instincts."
Peter dusted himself off, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "What's the point if I can't keep up with guys like Toomes or Gargan? They're faster, stronger… better."
Ben rested a hand on Peter's shoulder, his expression steady but empathetic. "You think I never felt that way? Back in the service, we'd go up against enemies with better weapons, better resources. But we didn't fight them head-on. We outsmarted them."
Peter raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Outsmarted them how?"
Ben smiled faintly, leaning against the edge of the rooftop. "We thought three steps ahead. You don't need to match their strength, Pete. You need to play to your strengths—speed, agility, and that brain of yours. That's how you win."
Peter sighed, looking out at the maze of buildings stretching across the horizon. "I don't know, Uncle Ben. It's just… a lot."
Ben stepped in front of Peter, his voice softening. "It is a lot. But it's not about being perfect. It's about never giving up. You've got the heart of a hero, Pete. That's what counts."
Peter looked up at him, a faint flicker of resolve returning to his eyes. "Alright. Let's try again."
Ben grinned, stepping back. "That's the spirit. Now, don't think. Just move."
This time, Peter took off with renewed determination, his feet pounding against the rooftop. He leapt, his body twisting mid-air, and landed solidly on the next building. His movements were still rough, but the progress was undeniable.
"Better!" Ben called out, clapping his hands. "Now do it again."
For the next hour, the two moved through the neighborhood—climbing fire escapes, vaulting over obstacles, and practicing quick takedowns. By the time they finished, Peter was drenched in sweat but felt a sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in days.
The bustling hallways of Midtown High were a sharp contrast to the quiet rooftops Peter had trained on earlier. He weaved through the crowd, his mind still replaying the morning's practice. His legs ached, and his palms were sore, but the soreness felt… earned.
"Earth to Parker," Gwen's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She appeared at his side, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "What's with you today? You've been spacing out all morning."
Peter blinked, shaking his head. "Just… busy."
"Busy?" Gwen echoed, her tone skeptical. "Doing what, exactly?"
"Stuff," Peter said vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, school, homework, chores…"
Gwen raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "You've been doing a lot of 'stuff' lately. You sure you're okay?"
Peter forced a smile, nodding quickly. "Yeah. Totally fine."
But Gwen wasn't convinced. Her mind flickered back to her dad's description of the hooded figure at the harbor. Agile, fast, almost inhuman. The coincidence was hard to ignore.
Later that evening, Gwen stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta as Captain Stacy walked in, loosening his tie. He set his badge and holster on the counter, sighing heavily.
"Long day?" Gwen asked, glancing at him.
"You could say that," Stacy replied, pouring himself a glass of water. "Still chasing leads on this Vulture guy. And then there's that hooded figure."
Gwen tried to sound casual. "The one from the harbor?"
Stacy nodded, leaning against the counter. "Yeah. Whoever it was, they moved like nothing I've ever seen. Fast, agile—almost inhuman."
Gwen's hand paused mid-stir, her thoughts racing. "Do you think they're dangerous?"
Stacy tilted his head, considering the question. "Hard to say. They didn't seem like they were working with Toomes, but they also didn't stick around to answer questions."
Gwen nodded slowly, her mind already piecing together clues. "Maybe they were scared."
"Maybe," Stacy said, his tone thoughtful. "Or maybe they're hiding something."
Gwen's grip on the spoon tightened slightly. "What would make someone want to hide?"
Stacy shrugged. "Could be anything—fear, guilt, responsibility. People have their reasons."
Gwen nodded again, her concern for Peter deepening. She resolved to find out the truth, whatever it might be.
Back in his room that night, Peter sat at his desk, his legs aching and his mind buzzing. The notebook in front of him was filled with sketches of techniques and notes from his training with Uncle Ben.
He glanced at the small window, the city lights twinkling faintly in the distance. For the first time in a while, he felt a glimmer of confidence. He wasn't there yet, but he was moving in the right direction.
From the other room, Uncle Ben's voice called out, "Don't forget to ice those knees, Pete. You've got more rooftops waiting tomorrow!"
Peter chuckled softly, flipping the notebook shut. "Thanks, Uncle Ben," he murmured.
As he lay back on his bed, the memory of Gwen's concern lingered in his mind. He couldn't let her—or anyone—get too close to the truth. Not yet.
And yet, a part of him wondered if he could keep up the facade forever.