EPILOGUE
He went back to a different school, of course. Going back to Midtown would be much too complicated for his bashful teenager’s brain to take. Everybody would be crowding around him wondering why he was gone for so long, asking why his clothes are all so expensive when he used to wear the same three sweaters and ragged sneakers everyday, interrogating him until he wants to pull his own hair out.
Going to a different school made more sense, anyway. They applied him for a tidy-looking, reasonably equipped school closer to the Tower so that he could take his bike there in the place of public transport. Tony suggested having someone drive him in one of his cars to make a good impression, but Peter has always been one to favour the low-key kind of reputation when he’s not wearing the mask. Expensive cars get you popularity and he doesn’t really want to be popular, you know?
He wears his favourite outfit on his first day. That one he wore when he met up with May that one time in the plucky little breakfast cafe. Those customised yellow vans, black jeans that are a little baggy around the knee and a yellow hoodie that match the shoes down to the shade. Clint ruffles his hair and tells him how good he looks as he’s using Nat’s hairdryer in front of the mirror. Bruce informs him that he looks like a bumblebee. He doesn’t know whether or not to take it as a compliment, so he thanks the doctor anyway.
The school day… is okay. That’s all he can say about it. No one really paid attention to him when they didn’t have to. The girl he sat next to in chemistry called him ‘adorable’ - Clint choked on his protein shake when he heard that one from Peter later - and he ended up getting her number by the end of the period. Platonically, of course.
Later that same day, maybe three hours after he got home from school, Peter meets Nick Fury through a screen. They talk about Spiderman things, like how great it is that they know who he is now, and how good it is to see the neighbourhood dweller ‘looking healthy’, and whether or not Spiderman will be running missions with the Avengers anytime soon.
Not until he’s at least eighteen, he’s told. Bummer.
He can’t say he minds, though. Tony designed him a brand-spanking-new suit and he gets to go back to being Spiderman - as long as he’s home by twelve, Sam tells him - and the public are absolutely ecstatic. People squeal when they see him swing through the middle of the streets. They shout greetings at him as he passes. He sees himself on the news, sometimes, usually with some cheesy headline like ‘Spiderman is BACK!’ or ‘Our neighbourhood hero returns!’. Even the police are kinder to him; shaking his hand, thanking him for his help, telling him how glad they are to see him around again. The positive attention is definitely uplifting. He really did miss this.
He still meets up with May on Sundays, too, in the same little cafe. Their relationship will never quite be the same, but it’s building gradually, and it’s never been awkward. Peter buys them both waffles and coffee and they sit and talk about anything and everything for hours and hours until their cups are empty and their plates hold nothing but crumbs and smudges of toffee sauce. It’s… it’s nice to be able to catch up with her again, even if he can’t quite bring himself to call her ‘Aunt’ anymore.
Peter thinks about all of this as he sits in AP American Literature one slow Thursday morning. Thinks about that day Clint bought him his chicken mayo sandwich in that rundown corner store. Thinks about the time the Doombots came crashing through the windows while he was watching Star Wars and eating Sam’s Cheetos. Thinks about the day that Tony and Clint coached him through a panic attack. Thinks about all of the wild breakfast conversations he’s overheard.
He sits, and stares out of the window, and thinks about how everything is great. Absolutely fucking perfect.