Peter was 20. He'd been Spider-Man for a quarter of his life, but it got harder with every year that passed. Not only had the criminals wised up to his patrol times and fighting style, but his fame was attracting bigger baddies, the government was on his back about the Accords and some days he wondered if maybe New York City would be better without Spider-Man.
When he voiced this one day after dinner, May paused what she was doing to come sit across from him.
"What do you mean, Peter?"
He sighed. "I just... I feel like being Spider-Man has taken over my whole life. I'm too busy for a girlfriend, my attendance is awful and most of the time I'm injured or tired enough that classes go over my head."
"Is this about your grades?"
Peter winced, but answered honestly. "I'm not sure." His grades hadn't been the best coming out of Midtown, so he hadn't been able to get to his first choice colleges. The one he attended now was decent enough, but he was struggling to keep up. He certainly wouldn't be able to work at the standard needed to achieve any of his dream jobs. "My life just feels like a bit of a mess, and I'm not sure when it started to derail."
"But you think it's to do with Spider-Man?"
"Maybe. Originally, he was a way of using my powers for the greater good, because I feel a responsibility to do what I can to protect the little guy. But these days it feels like most of the attacks are caused by me rather than stopped by me."
May nodded slowly. "So you want to quit Spidey? Or college?"
"I don't know," Peter groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Both? Neither? I still want to do good, but the way I'm going I won't be able to do that as either a scientist or a hero."
"Maybe there's a third option you're not considering."
Peter paused, peeping through his fingers at his aunt's thoughtful expression. "What do you mean?"
"Well, normal people want to help others too, and there are routes they can take to do that."
"Are you suggesting I start working for a charity or something? I just... I feel like with my powers I can do more, so I should do more."
"And that's a decision you have to make. But if you feel you can do more good physically, there are ways there as well."
"What, like the police? Or... the army?"
May shrugged. "It's your life, Peter. I can't make the decisions for you any more."
"Are you... encouraging me to drop out of school?"
May smiled slightly at that. "I just want you to be happy and fulfilled, and I will support you in whatever it takes for you to achieve that. Whether that be moonlighting in spandex or dropping out of college to reach your full potential, it's up to you and I'll love you whatever you choose to do."
"This is... a lot."
"Sleep on it, huh? No need to rush things."
Three weeks passed. Now that he'd thought about stopping, Peter spent less and less time as Spider-Man. His classes just didn't hold the same interest for him as they had when he was younger - maybe his dreams of being a scientist or engineer had died with Mr Stark. Without really ever thinking about it, he came to a decision.
As promised, May was by his side through the whole process. She signed the paperwork to let him drop out of college, and gave her approval when he applied to the armed forces. He'd put a lot of thought into it since his initial choice, and came to the conclusion that being a police officer would make it hard for him to use his powers without being noticed, and he wouldn't be doing anything for the people that he hadn't been doing as Spider-Man. On the other hand, the chaos of a battlefield would be the perfect cover for some superpower usage, and he'd done the research. After a year of army training and field work he could apply to join a special ops team. That way he could use his powers to benefit many of his people, not just a few New Yorkers.
Peter had gotten a place in military training. His bags were packed, his kit prepared. All he needed to do now was say goodbye. He and Ned has grown apart a little over the years, but they still video called occasionally. Peter told him what he was doing, and his friend wished him the best of luck.
"Hi New York. It's me, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. This is a message to say... well, goodbye. I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back. I think I'm doing more harm than good these days, so don't expect to see me around. I'm not abandoning you, never think that. I just want to help in different ways. And without me, you're going to have to look out for one another. Be a little more brave, a little more kind. Take a moment to help someone who's struggling, and every day will be a little brighter." He made a peace sign at the camera. "I'll miss you."
Peter took a deep breath, and sent the video.
Eleven months later Peter was woken by the loud ringing of an alarm. He and the other recruits leaped out of their bunks and changed into their uniforms within seconds. By the time the sergeant came in to do the morning inspection, their beds were made, teeth brushed and clothes neat. She nodded in appreciation, and they filed in an orderly manner outside the bunker to do drills.
Overall Peter had been doing well at training. He'd never handled a gun before, but the awkward angle of webshooters had made his aim impeccable so he picked that up quickly. He had experience at fighting and great instincts, which made a lot of things easier, but it was still a gruelling process and he counted himself lucky for making it this far into his year of training.
As he finished the press-ups and moved onto the crunches, Peter glanced at the other recruits. There wasn't much time for socialising, but he knew most of the other male soldiers well enough. There was Greg, a friendly man several years older than him who had three children. Ronald, a quietly determined boy a similar age to Peter and probably the closest thing he had to a friend. Arnold was the fastest runner but not great with a gun. Jonah was their unofficial team leader, mostly because he was a natural at understanding what role suited each person best. Peter had to admit the teamwork side of things was one that took him a lot longer to get used to, having grown to be almost fully independent in battle. And then there was Graham. He had disliked Peter since day one, rightfully labelling him as a nerd and then being annoyed when Peter proceeded to usurp him in training anyway.
Over breakfast, they were given their instructions for the day. Peter found that very little shocked him these days (he'd watched a billionaire superhero he'd come to see as a father die on a battlefield after rewriting reality with magic stones from different timelines and killing aliens), but he wasn't expecting the sergeant to tell them they were going on a mission - a real one. She gave them the details, then left them to discuss strategy.
Jonah took charge, and soon they were gathered around a sheet of paper where they managed to come up with a decent plan. They needed to infiltrate a house suspected of being a stronghold for malicious spies. Arnold would be their scout, Ronald and Jonah would search for the spies, and Peter and Graham would take out any opposition, as they were the best at handling firearms. Greg would be the backup.
So far, the mission was going well. They'd been dropped off a mile out from the safehouse and hiked closer until they could establish a perimeter and sneak closer. Peter wasn't pleased to be stuck with Graham, especially considering the other man was built like a truck and didn't have a subtle bone in his body. He hefted his gun, sending an equally displeased look back at Peter before continuing to advance. Peter could hear Arnold's footsteps nearing the house, but couldn't see their scout. That was good.
They got into position and waited for the signal, breaths steady. Graham may not have liked Peter, but he understood the importance of the mission and wouldn't do anything to sabotage him. A yell of alarm came from inside the warehouse, and then Arnold's skinny frame was flying through a window, curling and rolling painfully into the landing. A figure appeared in the shattered window, rifle aimed at the injured soldier. A shot rang out, and the figure fell back with a cry. Graham nodded in grim satisfaction, gun braced against his shoulder and still aimed at the window. With a single glance at each other they were both moving low to the ground around the house, so their location wasn't given away by the shot. Meanwhile, Ronald ran forwards to help Arnold to his feet and behind some shelter whilst Jonah and Greg rushed into the house. Two shots rang out. Then there was silence. Graham and Peter exchanged an uneasy glance.
"What's going on in there?" Peter asked quietly over the comms.
It was a relief to hear Greg's voice crackling back. "There's nobody here. Just the one guy, and he's not a problem anymore."
The intel said there was a meeting happening. There should have been loads of people around.
"It's a set-up," Jonah realised. "The dead guy's holding some kind of trigger."
"A bomb?"
Faintly, Peter became aware of a quiet beeping. He swore, and Graham looked at him. "What?"
Keeping his movements to a minimum, Peter nodded at a large bomb hidden behind a crate right next to them. Graham repeated the curse.
"What's wrong?" Someone asked over the comms.
"We found the bomb," Peter breathed. "Looks like it failed to go off."
"It's huge," Graham added. "Get out of here, quickly. We'll follow once you're out of range."
Both men stood there for what felt like an age, barely daring to breathe. Peter's senses were going crazy. The bomb could go off at any second.
"Maybe if I jump on it you'll be protected from the blast," Graham said once the team told them they were out of range.
"Are you crazy? Start backing away."
"We're not arguing over which of us gets to live. You're a better gunman anyway."
"Graham, back away. I think I know how to disable it, but if it goes wrong there's no point in both of us dying."
"What?" Graham was shocked but finally backed away to a slightly safer distance. "How did you learn to do that?"
"Shush, I need to focus." Slowly, tuning himself into his senses, Peter crept closer to the incendiary and knelt before it. It had been years since he'd had to do this, but Karen had instructed him on how to safely dismantle explosives so many times that he was sure he could figure it out. "Okay..." He eased out a couple of wires, careful not to jostle the machine as he rearranged the tech. Finally, he stepped back, letting out a relieved sigh. Graham was staring in begrudging admiration.
After that day, Peter and Graham got along a lot better. They made a good team, and Peter had too admit he was actually pleased when he heard the other man was also signing up for the special ops training. Unfortunately none of the others did, but they all passed their year of training and went off to join the army, promising to keep in touch. Graham and Peter moved to a different location and met a whole new group of people. The training was tough but interesting, and they pushed through. Soon they were fully qualified and out in the field, proving themselves. Peter and Graham switched teams as was customary, but usually stayed together. They made quite a name for themselves in just a year - any mission they were sent on got done with efficiency and very few casualties. Peter also got a rep for surviving insane injuries.
"Seriously, do you have no self-preservation?" Graham complained as he entered the medtent, notoriously one of Peter's most-visited places.
"Knew you'd find me," Peter grinned, trying to sit up. The nurse pushed him right back down, but the movement of the blankets had exposed the size of Peter's wound.
"Geez, man, there's a hole through your stomach. How are you still fighting? How are you still alive?"
Peter's smile faltered a little. Graham still didn't know about Peter's powers. There was a specialist team for mutant or enhanced soldiers (often referred to as the Freaks when the sergeants weren't listening), but Peter hadn't applied for it in the same way he'd declined a position on the Avengers - they only went on the highest-stakes missions. Peter wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Or bloody, he amended, looking down at the red bandages.
"Lucky, I guess?" He'd had to take the bullets - they would have hit one of the new recruits otherwise. "What brings you to visit?"
"Maybe I thought this was really the end." At Peter's sceptical look, Graham sighed. "We have a visitor."
"Oh?"
The nurse came back and helped prop Peter up without jostling the wound. "Make it quick," she told Graham firmly. He raised his brows and went outside. Peter's heart skipped a beat when he saw who followed him back in.
"Colonel Rhodes," he gasped. "It's an honour, sir."
"I suspect the honour is mine. Parker, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you be taking leave to recover? From the way the sergeants talk, they won't be happy to see you go."
Graham stifled a snort.
"It looks a lot worse than it is, sir. I'll be back in action by the end of the week."
"You're aware it's a Thursday, right?"
"Yes, sir."
The Colonel turned to Graham, brows raised. Peter's friend shrugged. "He probably will be. Peter seems to be able to survive anything."
"Forgive me if I was rude, colonel. I seem to be missing some blood and my head isn't completely in the right place."
"No offence taken. I'm sorry for the inconvenient timing, but I'm here to commend the pair of you for your valiant services for this country. Your reputation precedes you, although I must admit I thought they were exaggerating your propensity for extensive injuries."
Both Graham and Peter were stunned and delighted. They received their medals in a short ceremony that evening. It was the first of many, and it definitely wasn't the last time they saw Colonel Rhodes, either. But that was another story.