{First few chapters are partially written by AI, but after chapter five I will be doing the majority of the writing. I mostly did it this way to help me get started as I have trouble making up my mind. Anyway, give it a chance while I try to comprehend where the hell this fic is going lol.}
The city woke slowly that morning, grumbling like an old machine warming up in the chill of early spring. In the Parker apartment, tucked above a laundromat in Queens, the smell of burnt toast drifted through the kitchen, mingling with the faint hiss of eggs on the stovetop and the creak of wooden floorboards under tired feet.
Benji Parker sat at the small kitchen table, knees pulled up, notebook open, pen in hand. He wasn't writing—just watching the ink swirl in slow circles where the pen rested. Across the room, Peter was already animated, half-dressed, narrating an imagined conversation he would have later that day with Liz Allan if she happened to notice he existed.
"—and then I'll just casually say, 'Oh, yeah, Oscorp? I've been keeping up with their neural interface patents. Big deal, really.' And she'll be like, 'Peter! You're so mysterious and brilliant!'"
Benji didn't look up. "You said that exact line last week. She looked at you like you were selling her discount hard drives."
Peter paused in the middle of his shirt-buttoning. "You heard that?"
"I'm across the hall, not deaf."
Uncle Ben's voice cut in as he flipped an omelet: "He's got a point, Pete. If you're going to shoot your shot, at least use new material."
Peter groaned and slumped into the chair across from Benji. "Why do I even try?"
"Because you're allergic to subtlety," Benji replied dryly, finally setting the pen down. "Also, good morning."
Ben, smiling to himself, placed two plates on the table and ruffled both boys' hair in one go. "Eat up. You'll need energy today. Big day at school, remember?"
Peter's eyes lit up again. "Yeah! Xavier Academy kids are coming."
Benji raised an eyebrow. "Is that today?"
"You really don't pay attention to announcements, do you?"
"I pay attention," Benji said, quietly pushing his eggs around. "Just not to what everyone else thinks is important."
The halls of Midtown High were noisier than usual.
Students clustered around the lockers, the stairwells, the main entrance—buzzing with rumors, stories, and a low hum of curiosity. For a bunch of teenagers used to the same teachers, same tests, same cliques, a student exchange with Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was as close to an alien encounter as they could imagine.
Benji drifted through the halls like a shadow. Not invisible exactly, but rarely engaged. He watched, listened. Noticed things—like how Flash's smirk always came a half-second too early when he was about to trip someone, or how Gwen Stacy fidgeted with her pen whenever she was pretending not to stare at Peter.
Peter, meanwhile, was already immersed in the whirlwind of introductions. "Hi! Peter Parker, Midtown's finest underappreciated brain. Welcome to public school, where the lunch pizza is a health violation and nobody listens when the fire alarm goes off."
The Xavier kids didn't look impressed, but one of them—a tall, pale boy with silvery-blond hair and sharp green eyes—grinned anyway. "Quentin. And this is Illyana, Cessily, and—well, he doesn't talk much, but that's David."
Illyana, a blonde with eyes like cold steel, looked around like the school was a museum of human failure. "Charming."
Peter elbowed Benji as he approached. "This is my brother. Benji."
Benji gave a small nod. "Benjamin."
Quentin tilted his head. "Twins?"
Peter smiled. "I got the looks, he got the brain."
Benji added, "And the patience."
There was a flicker in Quentin's expression, something perceptive. He didn't respond, just filed the comment away. David, the quiet one, gave Benji a lingering glance—then looked away as if satisfied.
Classes passed with a dull rhythm. History. Calculus. Chemistry. Mr. Harrington tried his best to teach with two schools' worth of students, but by fourth period, the novelty had mostly worn off.
Benji sat at the edge of class, jotting formulas in his notebook. His thoughts wandered from neural conductivity to a half-finished schematic for a conductivity amplifier he'd been building at home. He wasn't thinking about mutants or spiders or destiny. Just circuits and patterns and how quiet the world felt when you let everything else drop away.
That was when Cessily sat beside him.
She didn't say anything at first. Just looked over his sketches, brow raised.
"Spider-silk capacitor?" she asked.
Benji blinked. "What?"
"You're designing for tension and conductivity," she said. "That lattice—if it's supposed to stretch, you're compensating for recoil. Something modular."
He stared at her, then cautiously nodded. "You into bio-tech?"
"I'm into people who draw smarter than they talk."
He didn't smile, but something in his posture eased.
Lunch was loud. The cafeteria was louder.
Peter was at the center of a half-baked debate about whether mutants were stronger than Avengers, and Flash was trying to prove he could lift more than Quentin using cafeteria chairs. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
Benji sat a few tables away, tray untouched, tapping his finger to a soft rhythm against the plastic. He scanned the room, reading expressions. Picking up scraps of conversation.
Across the room, David was staring at him again.
This time, Benji stared back.
David smiled faintly and nodded once, like he'd just confirmed something. Then he turned and whispered something to Illyana.
Benji looked away.
By the time the final bell rang, the day felt like static. Charged, strange, uncertain.
Peter had already raced ahead to try and walk MJ out, leaving Benji to walk home alone. He didn't mind.
The streets of Queens were calm in the early evening, washed golden in sunlight. He took the long route, the one that passed by the old bookstore and the community center with the cracked basketball court. His thoughts weren't loud, just steady. Focused.
He knew Peter was excited for Oscorp.
He knew something was changing—maybe not in the air, but in them.
Still, right now, he just wanted to make it home before Uncle Ben started worrying.
Back at the apartment, Benji opened his bedroom window to let the evening breeze in. He pulled out his notebook again, circling one of the sketches from earlier.
He didn't notice the spider on the ceiling—one with a faint electric shimmer along its legs—crawling just out of view. If he did, he'd be able to see just how...'unreal' it was.
But he'd never be able to see it anyway,
It was a very skilled weaver, afterall.