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"How long was I out?" Sylas shook his head. Clarity snapped into focus and so did his vision. He wasn't nearsighted, but now he could make out a fly clinging to the windowpane across the room.
"Did it work?" He grinned.
Heart thumping, he stepped to the wall, pressed his right hand to the paint.
"Okay… breathe." Left hand followed, He climbed.
"Cool." He was upside down, stuck to the wall like, well… a spider.
Dropping lightly, he straightened his shirt, grabbed the doorknob and it tore off in his hand.
"Crap, forgot." Like Peter in the stories, he couldn't quite modulate the new strength yet.
"Guess I need practice." He flicked a thought.
Two shadow ninjas spilled from the dark, eyes glinting red.
"Fix the knob," Sylas said, nodding at the toolbox under the bed.
They bowed, fetched the kit, and got to work.
Sylas stepped into the hall and heard Uncle Ben's voice. "Peter! What did you do?"
He hurried to the bathroom. Peter stood over a shattered faucet, water geysering.
Ben knelt with a wrench, already patching.
"Sorry, Uncle Ben, I—I barely turned it," Peter stammered.
He'd meant to rinse off. A gentle twist and the handle had snapped clean.
"Sylas, you and Peter use the downstairs sink, grab breakfast, or you'll be late," Ben called.
"Got it." Sylas shot Peter a look, and they retreated.
While washing up, Sylas kept a careful touch on the tap. No sudden breaks this time.
They finished breakfast and headed for the door.
"Peter, your glasses!" Aunt May called, passing them over.
"Thanks, Aunt May," Peter said, but he didn't put them on. He'd tried that morning everything went blurry with them, crystal clear without. His eyesight was back?
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On Street
"Hurry! Bus!" Peter spotted the stop ahead as the coach pulled in.
He sprinted. "Wait!"
"Whoa," Sylas muttered, impressed. He dialed his speed down, chasing without showing off.
The driver glanced in the mirror, did a double-take a kid was actually gaining on him. Peter drew even at the right side window, waving.
The driver slammed the brakes. Passengers lurched forward, cursing.
"What the hell!"
"Are you crazy? That's dangerous!"
Ignoring the complaints, the driver cracked the door, staring. "How'd you do that?"
"Thank you! My brother's behind me," Peter said sheepishly.
A winded Sylas jogged up a beat later, panting by choice. "Hah… made it…"
Peter grinned then the bus went oddly quiet. Everyone was staring, Sylas slid behind Peter like a human shield.
Peter offered an apologetic smile and led Sylas to a seat and spotted Liz Allan.
She flicked him a glance, then turned back to the window.
"Dude, how'd you run that fast?" Sylas whispered.
Peter shook his head. "I don't know."
...
Midtown High
"You're not late? Miracles happen," Missy teased from the seat behind Sylas.
He shrugged. "Could still cloud over."
"Doubt it," she said, eyeing the spotless blue sky.
...
Peter barely heard any of the first period. He kept staring at his hands, mind drifting, until Ned jabbed him at lunch.
"Hey, earth to Peter. You never zone out in class," Ned whispered.
Peter blinked. "What?"
"Forget it, Food," Ned said, leading him to the cafeteria.
Trays in hand, they were scouting seats when Peter's brain flashed a warning a tingling spark. He pivoted.
Clatter!
"Argh!" Flash Thompson sprawled on the floor, lunch splashed all over him.
He'd tried to shoulder-check Peter from behind. Peter's sidestep sent Flash off-balance; the tray detonated across his shirt.
"Oh. My. God," Ned gasped, hand over his mouth. Peter stared too, stunned at his own reflex.
"Are you kidding me?" Flash snarled, pounding the tile, then jabbed a finger at Peter. "You looking to die?"
"Maybe clean up first?" Ned offered, eyeing the gravy down Flash's front.
Flash glared and stormed out, fuming.
"That dodge was sick," Ned said as soon as he was gone.
"I… don't know," Peter muttered, hustling Ned to a quiet table. The gawking was unbearable.
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Hallway
Peter checked the locker where he kept the camera Sylas had given him, then shut it carefully. He treasured the gift.
"Parker!" Flash barreled up, furious.
Peter paled and closed the locker. "W-what is it?"
"You made me look stupid." Flash swung.
Time slowed. Peter saw the punch coming like a lazy wave and leaned back; the fist smashed the metal door with a bang.
"Ahh!" Flash yelped steel lockers hurt.
"Hit him!"
"Get him back!"
"No way!"
A crowd formed instantly.
"Flash, listen—" Peter tried.
Another punch. Another effortless slip, then another and another, None touched him.
Flash hesitated, confused. Peter popped into a backflip and tapped a kick under Flash's chin.
Flash crumpled.
"No freakin' way," someone breathed. The hallway buzzed skinny Peter had just dropped Flash.
"Your brother?" Missy glanced at Sylas, impressed. "He's got moves."
"Of course," Sylas said lightly. "He's been holding back."
He and Missy had been crossing by, drawn by the commotion just in time to see the finish.
Teachers arrived moments later, breaking it up.
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Thanks for reading!