His Curse His Responsibility
Peter sat in his dorm room, staring blankly at the wall. His fingers tapped idly against the desk, his mind lost in a whirlwind of thoughts that refused to settle.
Susan Storm.
The name alone irritated him. Not because of her—but because of himself. Because the moment he saw her, he acted like a complete idiot. He had practically gawked at her, let himself slip for just a second, and now? Now, she probably thought he was some perverted college kid.
He sighed, running a hand down his face.
What the hell was he doing?
It wasn’t just Susan. It was the fact that, for even a second, he let himself want something.
That was dangerous.
Peter knew better than anyone—the second you let someone into your life, the universe finds a way to take them away.
Aunt May.
Ned and MJ, whose futures were damaged because they were associated with him.
Tony—who trusted him, who left him EDITH, only for Peter to hand it over to the wrong person.
Stephen, who told him his problems existed because he refused to let go of his double life.
And all the villains who used his kindness and hesitation to hurt people.
It all pointed back to one common factor: himself.
“SIR, YOU’RE OVERTHINKING AGAIN.”
Peter exhaled, rolling his neck as ERIC’s voice filled the room. “Yeah? Well, what else is new?”
“PERHAPS A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE WOULD HELP. YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE A CURSE, BUT IF THAT WERE TRUE, WHY WOULD MORGAN STARK LOVE YOU LIKE A BROTHER? WHY WOULD DAREDEVIL TRUST YOU? WHY WOULD YOU CONSTANTLY STRIVE TO HELP OTHERS?”
Peter clenched his jaw. “That’s different.”
“IS IT? OR DO YOU ONLY FOCUS ON THE BAD, IGNORING THE GOOD?”
He huffed, shaking his head. “Not in the mood for therapy, ERIC.”
“ACKNOWLEDGED. HOWEVER, IF YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT SUSAN STORM, YOU SHOULD NOT DISMISS THE POSSIBILITY OF GETTING TO KNOW HER.”
Peter scoffed, leaning back. “Not happening.”
ERIC didn’t argue further.
Silence settled in the room.
Peter exhaled sharply and stood up. “I need to clear my head. Time for a workout.”
Avengers Compound – Gym
Peter arrived at the compound, slipping in unnoticed. The place was mostly empty, except for the sound of a TV and the unmistakable scent of beer.
Logan.
Sure enough, there he was—feet propped up, a beer in hand, watching some old Western movie. He glanced at Peter lazily, taking a swig of his drink. “Hey, kid.”
Peter gave him a nod. “Hey.”
Then, without another word, he headed straight for the gym.
The second Peter started, he went hard.
Calisthenics first—pull-ups, push-ups, core work. His muscles burned, but he pushed through.
Then came the punching bags.
These weren’t normal punching bags. They were designed for people with superhuman strength.
And yet, within minutes, Peter had torn through two of them.
Still, he kept going. His fists slammed into the next one, each hit harder than the last.
He could hear Aunt May’s screams.
He could see MJ and Ned looking at him, not knowing who he was.
He could hear Tony’s last words.
He could feel the weight of the world crushing down on him.
The final punch cracked like a gunshot—sending the bag flying into the wall, embedding itself deep into it.
Peter stood there, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding—healed within seconds.
“…Shit.”
He turned his head slightly.
Bucky Barnes was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
Peter rolled his shoulders, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Something you need, Tin Man?”
Bucky’s expression remained unreadable. “Wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”
Peter scoffed, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just… daily life problems.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Well, your ‘daily life problems’ just put a hole in the wall.”
Peter grabbed a towel, rubbing his hands. “Guess they should make stronger walls.”
Bucky exhaled through his nose but didn’t push further. Instead, he motioned toward the exit. “Come on. You need a drink.”
Peter hesitated. “Drinking with a 100-year-old war veteran huh? Sounds like a terrible idea.”
Bucky smirked. “Even better—I got Logan waiting.”
Peter chuckled dryly. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”
Peter leaned back in his seat, beer in hand, as Logan downed another bottle like it was water.
“You punch like a guy with a lot of issues, kid,” Logan remarked, lighting a cigar.
Peter snorted. “Thanks, old man. Really needed that insight.”
Bucky took a sip of his beer. “Look, I don’t know what the hell’s been eating at you, but… whatever it is, it’s clearly messing with you.”
Peter just shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Logan exhaled a puff of smoke. “You say that, but you look like someone who carries the weight of the goddamn world on his shoulders.”
Peter tapped the bottle against the table. If only they knew.
After a moment, he sighed, standing up. “I should go.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Already?”
“Yeah. Got college shit to do.”
Logan smirked. “Bullshit. You just don’t wanna admit you’re a lightweight.”
Peter smirked back. “Oh, please. I could drink both of you under the table.”
Bucky chuckled. “Yeah? Next time, we’ll put that to the test.”
Peter grabbed his jacket. “Looking forward to it.”
And with that, he walked out, heading back to ESU. Peter sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
ERIC’s voice filled the silence. “YOU SEEM LESS TENSE.”
Peter exhaled. “Yeah. Guess beating the shit out of things helps.”
“AND TALKING.”
Peter scoffed. “Right.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, but his mind drifted back to Susan.
He hated that.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her.
But he was.
And that scared him.
Peter let out a slow breath as he slipped on his mask, the familiar fabric stretching over his face. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.
A workout in the gym helped, but it wasn’t enough. The only thing that truly calmed his mind was swinging through the city, being Spider-Man.
With a leap, he shot a web and took off into the night. It’s a good thing that New York was never quiet, he thinks when would the city that never sleeps will finally experience a quite night and chuckles.
Within minutes, Peter had already stopped a couple of muggings, helped an old lady cross the street (yeah, he did that sometimes), and even pulled a drunk guy out of traffic.
The usual.
Then, as he perched on the edge of a building, scanning for more trouble, he heard a scream.
His body reacted before his mind did.
Launching off the ledge, he swung toward the sound, narrowing his eyes. The scream came from a dark alley.
His stomach twisted. He knew this scenario.
When he landed, the scene made his blood boil.
A girl—barely in her twenties—was backed against the wall, terrified. A man loomed over her, one hand pinning her wrist, the other trying to yank up her skirt.
Peter didn’t hesitate.
THWIP!
A web shot out, yanking the bastard off her and slamming him against the alley wall. Before the guy could even process what was happening, Peter descended on him like a goddamn nightmare.
A punch to the gut.
A web to the mouth to silence his screams.
Then another punch—harder.
“You like cornering women in dark alleys, asshole?” Peter hissed, slamming the guy into the concrete. The man struggled, but Peter’s grip was unbreakable.
He punched him again. Not enough to kill—just enough to make sure this bastard wouldn’t forget tonight.
By the time he was done, the guy was barely conscious, face swollen and bleeding.
Peter took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, he turned to the girl. “You okay?”
She nodded shakily, eyes wide.
He offered her his hand. She hesitated before taking it, and he pulled her up gently.
“H-He just came out of nowhere—”
“You’re safe now,” Peter assured her. “Cops will handle the rest.”
He webbed the guy to the wall, leaving a message for the police before turning back to her.
“Need me to walk you home?”
She shook her head. “No, I—Thank you, Spider-Man. Really.”
He nodded. “Be safe.”
And with that, he swung away, leaving the alley in silence.
Back in His Dorm – The Email
Peter landed on his dorm balcony, stepping inside as he pulled off his mask. He was exhausted.
He tossed the mask onto his desk, exhaling. “Alright, ERIC, what’s up?”
“YOU HAVE AN EMAIL FROM REED RICHARDS.”
Peter paused. “Wait. Reed Richards?”
“AFFIRMATIVE. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO READ IT?”
Peter sat up, already opening his laptop. “No need. I got it.”
He clicked on the email, eyes scanning the screen.
From: Dr. Reed Richards
Subject: Internship Acceptance
Mr. Parker,
After reviewing your project submission and your performance during the interview, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Baxter Building internship program. Your work on the nano-fiber weave is fascinating, and I’d like to discuss it further with you in person.
You are to report to the Baxter Building in two days. Your university has been notified, and arrangements have been made to accommodate your schedule. Please review the attached details for your onboarding.
Regards,
Dr. Reed Richards
Peter blinked.
He read it again.
Then again.
Then, he smirked.
“Holy shit.”
“CONGRATULATIONS, SIR.”
Peter leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He actually got in.
For a second, all his stress, all his worries, everything that had been weighing on him—it all faded.
He glanced at the screen again, his eyes narrowing at one part.
Reed wanted to meet him personally.
Peter exhaled, rubbing his temples. It made sense. His project wasn’t exactly small.
He had submitted a lightweight nano-fiber weave, enhanced with a non-Newtonian polymer matrix.
In simple terms? It hardened on impact but remained flexible under normal movement.
It was highly durable and had potential applications in aerospace, military, sports, and hazardous environments.
Something a lot of industries would kill for.
And now, Reed Richards wanted to talk about it.
Peter huffed a small laugh. “Guess I did something right.”
ERIC’s voice chimed in. “YOU ALSO GET TO MEET SUSAN STORM AGAIN.”
Peter froze.
Then scowled. “Not necessarily.”
“STATISTICALLY SPEAKING, IT IS HIGHLY LIKELY. SHE IS THE HEAD OF THE CHEMICAL AND BIOCHEMICAL DEPARTMENT, AND YOU WILL BE WORKING AT THE BAXTER BUILDING.”
Peter exhaled sharply. “So? She’s way above my level. I’m just an intern.”
“YET YOU WISH TO SEE HER AGAIN.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “Shut up.”
“DENIAL DETECTED.”
Peter groaned, rubbing his face. “Not happening. Look, she’s… she’s Susan Storm. One of the most brilliant scientists in the world. And I’m just some kid from Queens who accidentally made a fool of himself in front of her.”
ERIC was silent for a moment.
Then, “IF I MAY REMIND YOU—SHE LAUGHED AT YOUR ANTICS IN A POLITE AND GENUINE WAY. AND SHE CALLED YOU HANDSOME.”
Peter froze.
His mind replayed the moment. The way she had giggled when he stuttered. The way she had called him handsome.
And before he could stop it—he blushed.
“…She did not.”
“SHE DID. SHALL I REPLAY THE AUDIO?”
Peter jumped up. “No, no, no! That’s enough, ERIC. We’re done here.”
“UNDERSTOOD. HOWEVER, IT IS INTERESTING TO NOTE YOUR PULSE SPIKED JUST NOW.”
Peter groaned, flopping onto his bed. “I fucking hate you.”
“I EXIST TO SERVE.”
He sighed, staring at the ceiling.
He wouldn’t let himself think about her.
Wouldn’t let himself hope.
But as much as he denied it, a small part of him wanted to see her again.
And that part scared him.