"We have an obligation to use our powers to make this world a better place," Peter continued, his voice gaining conviction as he warmed to the theme.
"So?" Ben propped himself up against his pillow, regarding Peter with an expression that was difficult to read.
Peter shifted uncomfortably under his cousin's scrutiny, sensing skepticism where he'd expected enthusiasm.
"So we become heroes," Peter said, his excitement building as he began to pace the small room. "Like Iron Man! We could choose appropriate codenames—Human Spider, maybe? Or the Spider Duo? What do you think?"
"If you want to be a superhero, go for it," Ben replied, turning onto his side to face away from Peter. "You have my blessing. But count me out."
The dismissal was gentle but firm. Ben harbored no cynicism toward heroism itself—Peter's idealism was admirable, even noble. But Ben simply didn't share that particular passion. He had other priorities, other responsibilities that took precedence over cosmic do-gooding.
"Count you out?" Peter's voice cracked with disbelief. "But we're a team! We got these powers together—doesn't that mean something?"
"It means we both have enhanced abilities," Ben said pragmatically. "It doesn't mean we're obligated to use them the same way."
He sat up again, meeting Peter's eyes with serious intensity. "What exactly do you think you'll gain from being a hero?"
"Gain?" Peter seemed taken aback by the question. "It's not about personal gain. It's about helping people, making a difference—"
"That's a nice sentiment," Ben interrupted, "but it's not what you were just talking about. You mentioned fame, admiration, people cheering for you. That sounds like personal gain to me."
Peter's cheeks flushed. "Well, sure, it would be nice to be appreciated. To be someone special instead of just... nobody."
The admission hung in the air between them, raw and honest.
"Here's the problem with that thinking," Ben said, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Even if you become the most beloved hero in the world, they won't be cheering for Peter Parker. They'll be cheering for Spider-Man."
"But Spider-Man is Peter Parker," Peter protested, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
Ben's expression grew deadly serious, and Peter felt something primal stir in his chest—the same biological alarm that prey animals experienced when confronted by apex predators.
"No," Ben said with absolute finality. "Spider-Man can never be Peter Parker."
The intensity of Ben's stare was overwhelming, as if he'd suddenly transformed from beloved cousin into something far more dangerous.
"Think about this logically," Ben continued, rising from the bed and placing his hands on Peter's shoulders. Despite Peter's enhanced strength, he found himself completely unable to resist as Ben guided him to the desk chair. "Do you honestly believe you could pull a Tony Stark? Stand in front of a room full of reporters and announce, 'I am Spider-Man'?"
Ben's voice took on a mocking inflection as he mimicked Tony's trademark arrogance.
"Tony Stark can afford that kind of transparency because he's Tony Stark. He has billions of dollars, private security, political connections, and enough technological firepower to level a small country. Even without the armor, no street-level criminal could meaningfully threaten him or his loved ones."
Ben's grip tightened slightly, demanding Peter's full attention.
"But what do you have? What's protecting Mom and Dad, Your family when every psychopath you've ever defeated decides they can't hurt you directly, so they'll hurt the people you love instead?"
The blood drained from Peter's face as the implications sank in. In his mind's eye, he could see Uncle Ben and Aunt May—helpless, vulnerable, targeted by criminals seeking revenge against a hero they could never directly reach.
"They'd become targets," Peter whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
"I'm glad your brain is still functioning," Ben said with grim satisfaction.
He'd seen this pattern play out across countless timelines and comic iterations. Spider-Man's secret identity wasn't just a convenience—it was a life-or-death necessity. Every time Peter's identity was compromised, the people he loved paid the price. Gwen Stacy, Aunt May, Mary Jane—the list of casualties was both extensive and heartbreaking.
"I understand," Peter said, nodding vigorously. "You're right about the secret identity. But that doesn't change the fundamental truth—I still need to help people. With great power comes great responsibility, right?"
Ben studied his cousin's face, seeing the determination that no amount of harsh reality could diminish. Peter Parker would become Spider-Man regardless of the obstacles or consequences. It was as inevitable as gravity.
And maybe that was okay.
Peter had spent his entire life being overlooked, dismissed, ignored. He was the kid who got shoved into lockers, whose romantic interests never even noticed his existence. The opportunity to become someone special—even if that someone had to remain secret—might be exactly what he needed.
"If you're really committed to this path," Ben said, moving to his desk and pulling out a stack of draft paper, "then you're going to need proper equipment."
"Wait a minute," Peter said, his eyes widening as Ben began spreading out detailed sketches. "You said you didn't want to be a superhero."
"I don't."
"But you secretly designed an entire costume and even came up with the name Spider-Man?!"
Ben paused in his preparation, suddenly aware of how this might look from Peter's perspective.