Ultraviolet
Peter gasps, sitting up from his bed in a cold sweat. He blinks around the room, eyes adjusting to the familiar sights of his room. Frowning and squirting, Peter looks at the objects, the strange colours attached to the normally plain oak bookshelf. Hues of what he can only describe as neon lights scribe over the ordinary wooden knots and turns. Tilting his head as he stands, Peter looks at the bookshelf, fingers glossing over the surface as he hums and frowns.
Maybe it’s- Peter begins thinking before gritting his teeth and hissing. The voice in his head was louder than he expected. Reverberated words and gasps cause his mind to spiral as he tries to process what's happening. But it doesn’t happen. The thought is instant, understanding coursing through him. Parallel processing. Somehow the spider biting him is letting him… no, giving him more processing power. Maybe it would be more accurate to say it’s more like his mind is a computer that's been given more processors. He’s not sure how many, but based on the number of voices he just heard, it's at least four or five.
“This is insane…” Peter mutters, turning away from the fluorescent lights on the bookshelf, his eyes glancing over the rest of the room at the fluorescent patterns in the natural items, “Wait… is that ultraviolet light?! Why can I… Spider. But then does that mean-, right, test.”
Looking at the ceiling, Peter reaches up, about to touch the ceiling, when something tells him the door is about to open. Lowering his arms as he turns to look at the door, he hears a soft knock, mentally taking note of the feeling.
“Peter? Are you up?”
“Ah! Yes, May, I just woke up,” Peter replies, the familiar grey-streaked auburn hair of his Aunt enters the room. Her weary grey eyes, the wrinkled crow's feet at the edges, seem to relax, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she places a hand over her chest.
“Oh, Peter. Are you feeling better? We heard about you being sick and rushed to pick you up. Once we got there, you just collapsed!”
“I’m sorry to cause you problems, May.”
“Oh, it’s not fuss, really. I was just worried because you were asleep for so long! It’s been two days!”
“Wha-! I was asleep for that long?”
“Yes, dear. You must be famished, I’ll prepare some wheatcakes for you. Your Uncle Ben and I will be waiting for you downstairs.”
“Thanks, May,” Peter replies, smiling at the older woman, “I’m just going to get changed and get ready… I’ve got to go thank Mr. Jameson.”
“Alright, dear. Don’t take too long now.” She smiles as she ruffles Peter’s hair. May steps out of the room, clicking the door closed behind her. She begins having a muffled conversation with Ben, and she walks down the stairs.
Smiling as he hears the faint chatter between the pair, Peter begins pacing the room, reaching for his glasses. Pausing as he begins to place them on his face, Peter frowns as he notices the distortion and blinding light of the ultraviolet patterns. Sighing as he puts the glasses back down, he squints. Alright, so time for a little science. Something to alter the curve of the light and make it so the patterns appear clearer.
Patting his body over, Peter frowns, his hand resting on the small bite from the spider before looking at his now incredibly toned body. The previously wirey and bony physique is replaced by… well, it’s not a complete transformation. More like he seems to have more muscle and fat on him. He looks… healthier; heck, his skin is a lot clearer. He thinks to himself as he starts pulling on jeans, a yellow polo and blue flannel. If he's gaining powers like Spider-Man, then maybe he needs to work on the muscles? He does remember how skinny and lean Spider-Man was when he was starting out. He couldn’t have been older than Peter either. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, maybe he can…
Peter is knocked out of his thoughts as he reaches for the door, a web shooting out of his wrist as it attaches to the door handle. Blinking in confusion, Peter begins pulling at the silk, fumbling with his drawers as he pulls out a beaker and tips the silk into the container. His hands grapple with the microscope and other scientific equipment as he pulls them out and begins fumbling around noisily.
“Peter? What are you up to, Bud?” Ben calls up, the sound of his feet slowly working their way up the stairs.
“It’s nothing! I just forgot about an experiment I was doing, and I’m just checking on it!”
“I see. It’s nothing dangerous, I assume?”
“Just some bacteria cultivation!”
“Alright. Your Aunt is almost ready with her famous wheatcakes!”
“I’ll only be a little longer!” Peter shouts back, carefully arranging the silk onto the microscope, pausing as he looks at the small pool of clear liquid that's developed at the bottom of the beaker.
Shaking his head as he focuses on the silk in his hands, he begins analyzing the structure, his mind running calculations as he determines the strength and amount of webbing he can probably produce. Tilting his head, he slowly presses his wrists, feeling down his forearm as he begins humming, feeling a pair of weird glands that seem to have developed between his radius and ulna. The two glands, seeming to rotate, attached to the bones as he gives a gentle squeeze, a small amount of webbing popping out of a near invisible hole that opens on his wrist where the arm connects to the palm.
“Huh… natural webs. I wonder if Spider-Man can do this too…” Peter mumbles, looking at the beaker with the clear liquid in it as he clicks his tongue. As much as he wants to analyze it, he doesn’t exactly have the equipment for it, and neither does Midtown, so he’s going to need to get rid of it. Sighing as he gets up, he grabs the beaker, covering it with a couple layers of PVC and stashing it in the back of his science locker behind his other chemicals.
Walking down the stairs, he bumps into the walls of the stairs, the fluorescent lights blinding in their hues. His eyes adjust automatically to the sunlight, the once-yellow or orange stream now looking like a beam of shifting stained glass. Yawning, Peter hits the bottom stair, seeing the face of Uncle Ben, his long, grey mullet pulled back as he reads the newspaper.
“Mornin’, Pete. How you feeling, Slugger?”
“Better. Something in the Oscorp cafeteria must not have agreed with me,” Peter replies, sliding into the seat next to his uncle.
“Jonah published another two articles on Spider-Man whilst you were knocked out. Credited your photos and everything.”
“Really? What were they like?”
“The usual. Complaining mainly about how no one seems to want to do anything about the bloke, calling him a menace and saying he endangered lives. Not that he’s wrong, but Spider-Man does use his power responsibly.”
“I think that's the problem,” Peter says, pulling a couple of wheatcakes that Mya places onto the table onto his plate, lathernig them with butter and maple syrup before cutting them up, “He was telling me that he believes a better version of the saying would be accountability.” Pausing, Peter thinks as he shoves a few bites of the food into his mouth, “Actually, Mr Osborn also had his own version of the ‘Great Power’ speech. Respect.”
“Oh, really, dear? I wonder what they’re thinking.”
“Hmm… I don’t know if I agree with either of their choices but…” Ben says, flicking the paper down as he looks at Peter, “Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?”
“Oh, right, uh… well, I kind of tried to put them on this morning, and it was… well, the world was blurry,” Peter explains, looking at the worried faces on their faces, “But it’s fine! I can use the money I got from Mr. Jameson to pay for new lenses!”
“Alright… will you be okay until then?”
“I’ll make do. My vision isn’t that bad after all,” Peter says, finishing his plate as he adds another wheatcake to his plate, “Besides, I can just grab them before I go to class.”
“If you’re sure… don’t push yourself too hard, kiddo. You only just recovered from that fainting nonsense.”
“I’ll be fine, Ben,” Peter says, standing up, “Thanks for the food, May; I’m going to head out.”
Huffing as she hugs the boy, May pulls back, waving her spatula in his face, “Alright, now off with you.”
Peter smiles, leaping up the stairs, grabbing his bag and glasses before hopping out of the window towards his treehouse. He slides down the trunk of the tree and begins running. He feels light. Like he could run for hours without stopping. Turning the corner as he keeps dashing, he feels the similar tingle from earlier at the nape of his neck, his senses screaming jump, as he leaps over a car.
Not stopping his movement, Peter keeps running, testing the limit of his new sense. His mind blurs as it seems to process information instantly. Slipping and weaving through the crowd as he lets his instincts take over guiding him, Peter can’t help but let out a laugh at how ridiculous of a situation he’s using his powers for. He’ll definitely need to figure out a better way to use his powers responsibly. Probably also figure out a way to use them whilst still being held accountable. That’s going to be a problem. Peter muses the question over as he slows down outside of the opticians, the scent of the deli shop next door to the black and orange building catching Peter’s nose, his stomach growling. He gulps as he looks at the bagel store before entering the optician's.
“Peter!” the Asian woman, Mrs. Salinger, behind a counter calls out as she sees the boy, “What are you doing here? Where are your glasses? Did your glasses break again?”
“Hi, Mrs. Salinger! Oh, no. I just… Well, I woke up and I couldn’t really see very well, everything was too bright when I put my glasses on so I was wondering if there was anything you could do.”
“Photophobia? Let’s have a quick check then, shall we?” she responds, leading Peter into a room. Carefully, she begins pulling out equipment, flicking between the different optical settings and lights as she observes his eyes. The lights are blinding, a strange, hypnotic mix as the light rattles around his skull before the woman pulls the machine away.
“So what’s the verdict, doc?”
“You definitely have developed photophobia, and while I question how, I think it’s more important we get those glasses tinted so you can see. Pass them here.”
Reaching into his pocket, Peter passes the large round frames of his glasses to the woman. He watches her as she carefully pops the plastic lenses out of the frame, humming to herself as she works. As she leaves the room, Peter fidgets in his seat, foot tapping against the floor as he waits for what feels like forever.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Salinger returns, handing him a set of glasses. The lenses are now dyed a dark green hue as she looks at him with a wry smile.
“Now, I had to put a pretty high contrast on these, and I only had green in a dark enough hue, so no complaining.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Salinger,” Peter says, taking the glasses and placing them on his face as he adjusts to the new light, the vibrant colours of the world toned down as he looks around the room, “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now, here's a medical note. I assume you’ll need one for school.”
Taking the note sheepishly as he looks at the smirk of the woman, “Right… how much do I owe you for this?”
“120, but because I like you, I’ll break even with 90.”
Fumbling into his bag, Peter pulls out the envelope of money, thumbing through the cash and taking out 120 dollars before 30 of it is pressed back into the envelope. Trying to protest, Peter reaches to hand the woman the money before he’s picked up and pushed out of the shop.
“-But!”
“Nope, now get yourself something from the deli and go to school. I could hear your stomach growling before you entered the store.”
Flushing at the comment, Peter looks down, “Alright. Thank you.”
Waving at him as he walks over to the deli, Mrs. Salinger closes the door going back to her store. The deli is a wave of scents. Fridges stocked with more drinks than Peter can name line the shelf, and a small grill sitting behind the counter sizzles away as the smell of turkey and spices fill the air. As Peter looks over the menu.
“Hey, there, Tifl, what can I get for you?” the Arabian man behind the counter asks, smiling as he looks at Peter, “Coffee?”
“Could I get the… Turkey sausage combo, oh, but squish it down real flat if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, sure,” he replies, turning to the young man behind him, barking out the order in Arabic, “Nice glasses, Tifl. You get them from next door?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Sallinger said I developed light sensitivity, so I needed the tint to protect my eyes.”
“Huh, and you choose green?”
“Uh… Not exactly. It was the only hue that was dark enough for what I needed.”
Whistling, the man turns, placing a coffee mug on the counter and pointing over to a table with various condiments and a small fridge with milk. Taking the coffee, Peter walks over to the table, adding a dash of milk and two packs of sugar before placing the lid back on the drink and sipping. Getting the now familiar sensation of the tingle on the back of his neck, Peter reaches out and grabs the burrito and hashbrown wrapped in foil.
“Damn, Tifl, with reflexes like that, I’d assume you were the Devil from Hell’s Kitchen.”
Laughing, Peter shakes his head, waving at the man as he begins walking out of the store. He unwraps the burrito and takes a bite, savouring the flavour. Smiling to himself as he quickly devours the food in three bites, he sighs, throwing the rubbish in the trash can as he continues walking towards the school.
His eyes flicker around to the colourful hues of the world around him, taking in the new spray of rich purples and blues that mix and mingle with the other hues in a dazzling neon spray. Looking at the football field, he sees Flash and Eddie discussing something with Lonnie. How he made friends with Eddie and Lonnie is beyond him, but Peter can’t help but smile as he looks at the time on his phone and notices he’s early. He can’t help but wonder if it's part of his newly acquired powers. He shrugs, continuing on his path past the practice field, spotting the familiar sight of the sleek, black Osborn limousine pulling up to the school as Harry stumbles out.
“Harry!”
“Pete? You’re actually here! Man, it’s been hell without you here. I’ve had to endure Flash’s usual antics by myself. Well, I guess Liz had my back but…”
“Anything important that I miss?”
“Hey! My well-being is important! Especially after the accident! But no, you didn’t miss much. Well, aside from the football team getting absolutely obliterated by Brooklyn Visions.”
“Damn, Flash and the crew got beaten by the science specialists?”
“Yeap. Hence, why they’re training, like, twice as hard. They ‘don’t want to be beaten by those nerds again.’”
Heading up the stairs into the school, Peter and Harry walk past the busy hallways, ignoring the gossip of the students that watch them pass, as they open their lockers. Reaching into their lockers to grab their biology textbooks, the pair close and lock the red boxes, the sound of the boxes clicking into place settling Peter’s nerves.
“So what’s with the new glasses, nerd? You faint from a little food and suddenly come back with green glasses? Someone’s trying to look cool for the ladies,” the sound of Flash’s voice rings out from behind him as Peter slips past a hand that was about to shove him into the locker.
“Seriously, Flash? The first thing you do when seeing Pete is try and make fun of him?” Lonnie asks as he shoves the quarterback in the shoulder.
“Yeah, got to agree with Lonnie here,” Eddie says, looking over Pete, “But I also agree that those glasses are fucking terrible, dude.”
“They’re for photophobia.”
“...what’s that?” the blonde quarterback says, looking to Lonnie and Eddie as the pair roll their eyes.
“Light sensitivity. Probably means that when Pete passed out on the field trip, the food caused a problem with his brain.”
“So, he’s just weak, puny Parker like always?”
“Dude, this is a serious problem,” the albino teen says, a scowl on his face as he looks at Flash, “Have some kind of empathy. He’ll probably have to wear tinted glasses for his entire life, plus if it was an emergency fix, they might have only had green for the lenses. Sorry about Flash, Pete.”
“You’re fine, Lonnie.”
Harry and Peter watch as Eddie and Lonnie pull the boy away from them, heading towards the lockers on the other side of the hall. Peter sighs, starting to walk towards the teacher's lounge with Harry quickly hobbling to keep up with him.
“You know, I’m surprised you’re childhood friends with Eddie.”
“Eh, my dad worked with his on some projects, that was basically it.”
“Still… Did you actually get photophobia?” Harry asks, looking at the glasses that sit on Peter’s face.
Waving the medical note in front of Harry’s face, Peter nods, knocking on the door to the teacher's lounge. Waiting for a muffled ‘Come in’ before pushing open the door and looking around the room. Seeing the face of Mr. Warren and Mrs. Doughty in conversation, the two silver-haired teachers are comparing notes, whilst Mr. Pettit sips on a cup of coffee.
“Mr. Parker. I assume you’re feeling better,” the broad bodied and faced man says as he places down his mug, “Why are your glasses lenses green?”
“Photophobia. Heres the medical note for it.”
Taking the note, the assistant Principal grunts as he walks out of the teacher's lounge. Peter quickly follows after him, stopping once he gets out of the door as he watches the teacher walk away, assuming the man is going to be filing it in the proper place in the school's medical system.
“Well, that went well.”
“Mr. Pettit seemed to be in a good mood.”
“Pete, the man thrives off the suffering of us students. He’s supprecharged after we lost to the Ravens.”
Laughing, the pair start walking off to their science class. The hallway melts into the background as they focus on their heated debate on which Avenger is their favourite or what powers they want. It’s mundane. A calm vision of what can be in an ordinary life, but Peter can feel the tug. The pull of his powers calling for him to do something with his life. But for now, for this day, he’s just going to be plain old Peter Parker. Smiling as he enters the vibrant science lab, the friends settle into their seats, their conversation interrupted by their collective friends. Peter’s eyes drift to the window where the light shines into the room.
The peaceful light of ultraviolet hues.