𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄, 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄. Of course, the change would be gradual, so spread out that it could hardly be traced back to the flutter of her eyes as she blinked up at the bright lights shining down into her eyes, but if one were to to put back the fallen dominoes from the picture that was the rest of her life, they would find that the road ultimately led back to the steady beeping of the machines, the needles in her arm, and the crick in her neck from the way she was resting on the hospital bed.

With heavy eyes and a soft groan, Phoebe sat up, her movements sluggish and stiff, her elbows shaking as she looked around her room, finding it empty. She fell back before she could find a clock, groaning as a dull headache began to form, which wasn't a good sign, especially while in a hospital room.

Of course, she immediately began to panic, so many questions running through her mind that she could hardly keep track of what they were, all blending together to form a glaring red sign that flashed one defining question: What happened?

Looking around, she found her backpack and phone sitting on a table, and her stomach dropped; did her father find her burner phone? She hoped that his intense struggle to be a good father had been strong enough to keep him from snooping through her things, especially her phone, as some of her texts had yet to be deleted, and she didn't always text Gabriel with the burner phone when it came to specifics on her past life and their nightly endeavors.

The thought of him finding the texts made her sick, and she wondered if she could get up without needing to call someone for assistance. She had no idea why she had an IV, but she wasn't about to try and take it out; that kind of pain would be excruciating.

Fortunately, she wasn't left to her own devices for long, a quick knock on the door alerting her to someone's arrival, the door opening without addition preamble, and she had never felt simultaneous relief and panic until that moment, seeing her father and Sonny walking through the door, their eyes downcast rather than directed towards her.

In the split second she had to look at them without any eyes on her, Phoebe noticed how tired they were, how ragged. She couldn't quite see Sonny, following after her father, but she could see that her father hadn't shaved—he was still threatening to grow a mustache, but remained clean shaven regardless, so seeing him with stubble shocked her—and he had bags under his eyes so dark it was as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

Maybe he hadn't. Phoebe still didn't know how long she had been out, but by the looks of the flowers that rested on the table in front of her, as well as the flowers in Sonny's hands, she had been there a while; the table was nearly full.

The thought terrified her beyond belief.

All this in a split second as, when Sonny walked out of the shadows of the door, he looked up, catching sight of Phoebe who was trying to sit up, looking at them with a rather neutral expression, looking everything like the tired young woman she was, but awake and alive.

"Sunshine!" he cried, throwing up his arms, and Jameson turned to look at him, following his gaze only to shout, his entire body freezing before shocking back to life.

"Phoebe!" he cried, rushing over towards his daughter, reaching over the sides of the bed to hug her, and she laughed, hugging him back, and it was as if she hadn't been hurt at all.

"Hi, dad," she whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes when she realized that he had started crying, holding her so tight she wondered if he would ever let her go, "It's okay, dad, I'm still here. I'm okay."

Then she remembered Sonny, her eyes widening as she realized she had forgotten her lie, but the young man just smiled, waving her off with a wink, and she relaxed, questions popping into her mind, but they weren't pressing enough for her to try and pull away from her father, not yet at least.

"I'm so glad you're okay," the man whispered, sniffing softly as he tried to gather himself, finally pulling away, "The nurses said that you'd wake up but you were unresponsive and would just go back to sleep after a minute or two. You weren't in a coma, thank God, but you might as well have been, and they still don't know what happened or what's wrong with you. They said you're in perfect health."

Sonny snorted behind him, taking his eyes. "Yeah, because it's totally normal for people to start bleeding profusely."

Phoebe tilted her head, unable to help the smile that played on her lips. "Well, I mean, some people do about once every month, Sonny—"

"Do not get smart with me, Sunny, you scared me half to death, it's a good thing I didn't take you home, who knows what would've happened if you were alone," the young man cried, and it was a wonder that he hadn't been fired by her father on the spot; it seemed that Jameson still held onto some semblance of logic during a crisis, not blaming Sonny for what had happened.

Still, Phoebe had to take a moment to think, piecing together everything that her father had said, furrowing her brow. "So there's nothing wrong with me?"

"Nothing they can figure out," her father corrected, "There is obviously something wrong. They wanted you under observation, but they observed nothing, and I trust they're doing everything they can, I just wish they could do more. I mean, they searched for anything, they had their theories, but everything is fine. They said that it probably wouldn't happen again, but I'm not so sure yet."

Phoebe nodded, trying to remember if something like this had ever happened before, back before she had Jameson, back before she had run away, before her mother died; if it had, she didn't remember, and she couldn't remember much about the facility doctors anyways; after the initial tests when she was young, too far to remember, they didn't see the doctors beyond annual check-ups, and she wasn't the one asking the questions.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, looking back towards the flowers in Sonny's hands, realizing that the man had yet to hug her, though she figured it would be hard, what with her father standing in the way; she hoped he would have wanted to, given the chance.

"Three days, not counting the day we brought you here," Sonny explained, moving to set his bouquet amongst the others, moving to stand on the other side of her bed, resting his hand on the boundary that kept her from rolling off.

She raised her eyebrows, staring at the array of flowers that littered the table. "But then—"

"You've got a lot of people you care about you, Phoebe," Jameson laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, resting his hands on his hips, "The ones that people gave to me at the office are at home, they're waiting for you in your room. I thought, um, if—when you got home, you'd like to see something pretty."

Phoebe smiled up at him, then looked over at Sonny who was smiling down at her, and she tried not to blush, looking away instinctively, turning back to her father as he continued. "Besides, most of them came to see you here themselves, so they brought their own flowers. Then your school friends dropped by, they were really worried about you. I didn't know you were friends with Betty."

It took Phoebe a moment to remember who Betty was, gasping softly before shaking her head. "Uh, no, I'm not. Not really, I just talked to her before I went to the nurse. She thinks you're great, dad, she wants to be a reporter. She dropped by?"

"She came with her mother and brother," he explained, sharing a look with Sonny, the two chuckling slightly, "She's just her, honestly, I wouldn't want to cross her. But she made you a card and brought you flowers, and she got lots of your classmates to make cards as well. She put it in the announcements for everyone to keep you in their thoughts. You've got a real powerful friend, Phoebe."

She laughed, looking down at her hands; she had never thought of making another friend besides Gabriel, it had been a wonder that he had agreed to be her friend at all, she couldn't imagine having another one; she hadn't had any friends in middle school, it wasn't a wonder why, so the prospect of having another friend was nice.

"Gabriel stopped by too," Jameson continued, "He's been by every day to bring your homework and to just check in. All your things are together, I haven't touched them since you were brought here."

In an instant, all of Phoebe's fears melted away and she relaxed into the bed, all the tension dissipating from her body; at least she didn't have to worry about that. She looked up towards the two men, feeling her eyelids grow heavy, and she yawned, whining when she tried to stretch, only to find her body sore.

"I'm gonna call the doctor, I think she wanted to know when you woke up..." Sonny began, reaching for the remote by her side, and Jameson coughed, looking rather embarrassed that he hadn't remembered either.

"So when they clear me I can just go back to school, right?" she asked, watching as her father pulled up a chair, Sonny moving to do the same.

The man laughed heartily, throwing his head back as the door opened, the doctor stepping in, and he worked to compose himself, shaking his head as he sighed, chuckling as he spoke.

"Oh, not a chance."

º º º

"Gabe, I swear, it's like my dad is trying to kill me himself."

Phoebe groaned, her phone pressed up to her ear. She had never understood what Sonny meant by 'stir crazy' until she was well on her way herself. She was never one to be particularly antsy, but after almost two weeks of being trapped at home, she was ready to jump out the window just to see something new.

Laughter filled her ears and while she knew that it was all in good fun, she couldn't help but scowl, her words coming out in screams far too heated to be taken as anything but as they were. "Nine days, Gabriel! Nine days! I can't stand it anymore, I know he's just worried about me, but I'm dying over here, I can't even go to the office!"

Fortunately, Gabriel didn't take it personally that she was screaming; what she did to deserve him, she didn't know, because for all that he was a pain in her neck, he was the best friend she could ever have, and she was thankful to have him; after all, they did have matching Halloween costumes just two weeks prior, and everyone thought their marionette and marionettist costumes were clever, especially with how in sync their movements were if they wanted to show off.

Still, Phoebe had a temper and Gabriel wasn't above stoking it.

"Why don't you just lemme tap into his cameras, boss, he won't know, you said that he just checks over your night footage to make sure you're alright, he won't notice anything, there's not much for you to do anyways, it's easy," the boy offered, the same offer he had been proposing ever since the cameras were installed; they were his speciality, after all.

The cameras had been something she and her father had negotiated, and it had been a rather tense discussion. Jameson was more than happy to give Phoebe her privacy, and the two often had conversations regarding the situation, her asking for more freedom or him negotiating opportunities to tighten his hold, and while they sometimes fought, they tended to compromise as fast as possible.

The cameras, however, were, as he called it, "a necessary, temporary, evil." After Phoebe had been discharged, they had told them both to monitor her closely, from her eating to her sleeping to her diet. Everything had to be closely considered, lest it be a clue as to what had happened, and while Phoebe knew well that there was no use trying to understand something done by the facility, her father didn't know, and he had taken the instructions to heart.

When she tried to tell him he was overreacting, he hadn't been able to control himself before bellowing, "I thought you died! In case you weren't aware, Phoebe, blood doesn't just pour out of people's mouths and ears like a fountain unless something is seriously wrong! So don't tell me I'm overreacting, you are my daughter!"

Phoebe hadn't wanted to cry, but she did, and though he apologized for yelling—he always did—he wasn't going to budge from the cameras. He had to go to the office but she wasn't allowed to go with him, so regular check-ins via text were frequent and he only turned them on during the day if she didn't respond within a minute. But at night he kept them on constantly to have evidence in case something went awry, checking up on her in person every few hours, which meant she couldn't go outside nor stay up too late to digitally follow Blue Screen on his rounds.

Whatever ounce of control Phoebe had was ripped from her in an instant, and she knew her father would give it all back as soon as he was confident she was well, and she appreciated that he was so trusting, but that didn't negate the fact that she was suffering in her room, unable to do anything about the suffering of others.

"He checks up on me, you know that, I can't risk anything," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes before glaring at the camera that rested on her TV stand; her father decided to make her aware of the placement of all the cameras, if only as a reminder that he wasn't trying to invade her privacy; that was just a byproduct.

"Well, that's why I'm here, boss, I'm your eyes and ears. And every other body part until you get out, I guess," he said, and Phoebe wasn't sure how she felt about him using her nickname when they weren't on their excursions, but it wasn't so overt as to bother her too much.

"Well, Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?" she snarked, though she felt rather proud of herself for the reference.

John had been ecstatic to watch Lord of the Rings with her and had begged their father to make sure that no one else showed it to her until he was able to, and it had been an enjoyable experience when he finally did, surprising her when he first came back home.

"That's actually why I called you, I've got some...I don't have an adjective for it, but I've got news," he declared, and Phoebe perked up, feeling rather uneasy about his lack of an adjective.

"What is it?" she asked, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, "Hold on, Gabe, someone's here."

Setting her phone aside, Phoebe climbed off her bed, making her way towards her closed door. She had worked to not use her senses to anywhere near their high capacity, instead working to hear as average people did, hoping that would help, so she refrained from checking to see if they were her father's footsteps.

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long, his loud voice ringing through the house, passing the wood of her door. "Phoebe, your friend dropped off some homework for you!"

She frowned, opening the door and stepping out into the hall, walking towards the stairs. "Gabe? But he dropped off all of my books and stuff already, I've just been getting my homework from my teachers."

"No, it's your friend, uh, Pablo? Short, glasses, talks a lot. He said he got our address out of the school's directory, I didn't know that was so readily available," he explained, handing her the stack of papers held together by a paperclip.

"Peter Parker?" she asked, still getting used to the boy's name, raising her eyebrows when she flipped through the papers, her jaw dropping, "He took class notes for me again. These are all the notes I was missing since I got to the hospital, Mr. Jewells just said to look for the lectures online but I hadn't done any of it yet..."

If her father caught the admission of procrastination he paid no mind, instead choosing to flip through their mail, snapping his fingers. "That's his name. He came to visit you at the hospital, Sonny said he was the one who rode with you in the ambulance. He brought so many flowers I thought he was gonna fall over. I think he grabbed them from someone's garden."

"Oh," Phoebe hummed, not quite paying attention, too busy reading over his notes, floored by how well he understood the lecture, even if his handwriting did take some getting used to; she couldn't help but feel bitter as she read over them.

"You've got some good friends," her father commented, glancing over to his daughter, a smile playing on his lips, "You know, I think he really likes you. He wanted me to tell you he misses you in class. Well, that everyone in your class does."

"He's not my friend," Phoebe said, not fully registering all that her father said, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I really appreciate what he did, but we don't, you know, hang out or anything. We just know each other. He's a little annoying, honestly, but I guess I can't really say that now. He's not so bad."

Her father snorted. "Clearly. Anyways, are you hungry? I left early to come check on you, but I didn't have time to pick anything up, and I don't feel like cooking. Take out?"

"Sure, you pick, I'm fine with anything," she said, making her way back up the stairs, pausing to give him a smile before continuing along her way, hoping that Gabriel wasn't messing with her phone to pass the time.

Closing her door, she jumped back onto her bed, putting her phone back up to her ear. "Sorry, I'm back, what's the news?"

"What happened?" Gabriel asked first, because he was a busybody and cared for Phoebe much more than he let on, "Everything good?"

She hummed, glancing over Peter's notes one last time before tossing them to the side, landing by the foot of her bed. "Yeah, we're good, dad was telling me that—" she paused, remembering herself before finishing, "He just wanted to say hi and stuff. Now what's the news?"

She didn't normally keep things from Gabriel, but the notes were insignificant and she would much rather talk about his news than spend an extra five minutes talking about Peter Parker, where she would no doubt get side tracked talking about her now complicated feelings towards the freshman, for whom Phoebe now couldn't find an adjective for; he couldn't be annoying, but she wasn't keen on being too complimentary either.

"Yeah, okay," he began, sounding rather excited about the whole thing, "So you know how I watch the camera feeds and stuff and set up all those systems to keep an eye out for others like us, make sure that we're all accounted for?"

"Yeah..." she drawled, her stomach turning, "I don't like where this is going."

"See, this is why I didn't have an adjective, I knew you wouldn't find it exciting," he huffed, and before she could interject, he continued, "I caught sight of someone. I got some alarms two days ago, but I finally got traction and clear images now. They operate in Queens, they stopped a car jacking just a bit ago, they swing around on these rope things. No one's got footage of them yet—'cept me, of course. There are some tweets asking around, but nothing major. I'll keep an eye out for them, let you know when I get more."

Phoebe let out a heavy sigh; she had so much she wanted to say, but she didn't have the energy to try and get it all out; either way, Gabriel already knew, he had heard it many times already, so there was no use wasting her breath.

"Keep me in the loop," she said, sighing as she sprawled out on her back, "You're gonna need to be a really good everything, Gabe. You got some big shoes to fill, and I don't think I'm getting out any time soon."

º º º

As predicted, Phoebe didn't get out any time soon. It took almost a full week before her father finally relented, and it had taken an all out screaming match for him to finally cave. To call it an ordeal would be a severe understatement.

By that point, Phoebe had lost any semblance of patience. Placed on unofficial house arrest, it was a wonder that her father hadn't gotten sick of her either, the man in a state of constant worry of whether she would be okay, and no amount of proof could seem to dissuade him, the doctors still unsure of what could have been the cause.

Of course, she wasn't entirely isolated, Gabriel stopping by every other day to bring her anything she needed, as well as to simply hang out, the two working together, the boy explaining anything she didn't understand simply by looking at her textbook. Sonny dropped by whenever he could, as well, telling her about his work now that he was back to it, her father's ban lifted, though it was hard not seeing them every day like she was used to.

Because she was trapped at home, to say she was missing out was an understatement.

"There's a saying that stuff always happens when you miss school," Gabriel said one day, laying on his stomach, the two sprawled out on her bed, the boy's hands glowing blue as he worked on his essay, his hands free to snack on the chips Jameson provided.

"What did I miss today?" she asked, no longer surprised when Gabriel pulled up the tab on his phone where he documented the gossip and events that occurred between his visits.

"There was a fight, then some other kid who wanted in punched Principal Morita in the face, thinking it was the Asian kid, so that's...cool," the boy said, scanning over his list, trying to decide which was the most important, "Uh, some people are trying to figure out why you've been gone so long, do you want me to broadcast something because people are starting to think you died."

"No, let them think I'm dead, considering I'll never be let out again, I might as well be," she grumbled, shoving a handful of chips into her mouth, "It's hard going from walking places and going on rounds to just staying home. I'm just climbing the stairs over and over until I get tired to try to stay balanced."

"What are you gonna do, the doctors are never gonna figure anything out, he can't keep you here forever," Gabriel asked, and she sighed, shaking her head, falling back against her pillows.

"How's the new guy?" she asked, because there was nothing she could do from her position, so the least she could do was stay up to date.

"Eh..." Gabriel began, reaching towards his laptop, a playlist of videos appearing as he turned it to face her, "You saw the YouTube videos I sent you?"

"Yeah, he's starting to trend, people are calling him Spider-Man," she said, thinking back to the few tweets that she had read, "Said he gave himself the name."

"Fish is pissed about it," Gabriel laughed, and Phoebe couldn't help but laugh as well, unable to keep from laughing about Infinity Fish's nickname alone, "But, you know, it's smart. The guy works in the daylight, none of us do that."

"Yeah, 'cause we could get caught that way. But he is good at what he does, quick reflexes, seems strong? The sticking on walls part is interesting, but useful. I just wish I could get to him, he's trending online and I don't want that to affect anything," she said, tapping her pen against her notebook, stomach churning at the thought.

"You take this way too seriously," Gabriel snorted, closing out of the videos, clicking his tongue as he shook his head.

"Because it is serious," she snapped, startling them both, and she immediately sobered, "I'm sorry, Gabe, that wasn't fair. But it is serious, these are lives, not just ours, but other people's, we need to take it seriously. I just need to talk to him and make sure he gets that."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm gonna go talk to him later tonight," he said, laughing when Phoebe nearly fell off the bed in shock, "God, I'm so glad I waited to tell you. But, yeah, I've been monitoring him and I'm pretty sure he'll show tonight, though I think he's gonna stay in Queens, that's his turf."

"He territorial like the Devil?" she asked, thinking back to the last time they got a little too close to Hell's Kitchen, "Well, you just tell me when you talk to him. Don't try to, you know, say my spiel, you just recon and see what he's like, get a vibe."

"Trust me, boss, none of us want your job," Gabriel snorted, and Phoebe grinned, sticking out her tongue as she shoved him with her foot.

She appreciated everything Gabriel was doing—if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't lost it in the third day of her exile—but being forced to sit and wait was unbearable. She couldn't help but feel as though she was letting the world burn while she sat and did nothing, and monitoring the newcomer from behind a screen made her severely uncomfortable; she had a responsibility to make sure that he knew what was at stake, what he had to do; for his sake, and New York's.

Stuck at home, it was like she was slacking off.

"He's cute, I can tell you that much," Gabriel had said when he came by the next day, "Real excited, talked his mouth off about how great he thought I was, and Fish and Bee. I couldn't get a word in edge-wise, and it took forever for him to get back to the point, he went on so many tangents, but he's got the right idea, said he wants to take care of people and do the right thing, and now that he's got these powers he feels like he actually can. Didn't really say what they were, but he did say he was like a spider. I stopped him before he could reveal anything about himself, told him about the secrecy bit. But I got a good vibe from him, boss."

Phoebe relaxed, if only by a margin, slumping against her pillows as she worked on a PowerPoint presentation to argue for her immediate release back to the outside world. "Well, that's good. I mean, I still want to talk to him, he's really getting traction, but it's concentrated in Queens so hopefully things can get sorted out easy. He territorial?"

"Nah, he's just young," he snorted, shrugging, "Said he doesn't wanna get caught and stress out his family. I didn't tell him about our tunnels or our convening just yet, wanted you to make that call after you talked to him."

"Thanks, Gabe," she sighed, letting her laptop slide onto her sheets as she groaned, rubbing at her eyes, "Hopefully dad'll let me leave when he sees my points."

Gabriel climbed onto the bed, peering over at her screen, and snorted when he saw what she was working on, fighting back a grin as he looked at her. "If you use the spin transition, there's no way you'll lose."

It seemed Gabriel was right about that, despite his teasing, as Phoebe didn't lose. Not by the end of it, anyways. She had brought up her PowerPoint to her father after their dinner of pasta alfredo and garlic bread, a favorite of theirs. He had offered her Chips Ahoy, but when she declined, he immediately demanded to know what was wrong; ever since he introduced it to her, Chips Ahoy was her go to snack.

"What's wrong," she began, pulling up the PowerPoint on her laptop, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, already upset, "Is that I've been kept prisoner here for over two weeks, and I'm losing my mind."

Jameson sighed, already used to the argument. "The doctors—"

"Aren't going to give you anything else because they're not gonna figure out what's wrong with me!" Phoebe finished, stomping her foot, "I get that it was scary, dad, I know it was, it happened to me! But forcing me to sit around and wait for something you're never gonna get is not the way to keep me safe, I can't just put my life on hold every time something happens."

"Phoebe, it's not as if I do this to you every time you stub your toe, this is serious, I just want to make sure that we're not being complacent about this," he argued, and it was clear he was fighting to keep calm, but Phoebe wasn't interested in doing the same.

"I was fine after what happened, and it's not complacent to continue living, I can just monitor myself, the cameras are excessive and I can't just stay home forever!" she cried, and she had left links in the various slides of her PowerPoint, but she had already forgotten to use it, "Why aren't you sick of this yet, dad, none of us are benefitting! You're not getting any sleep, you're coming home early, you're worry about nothing now."

"Nearly dying is not nothing!" he bellowed, his resolve cracking, "You might not be worried, but I am! You're my daughter and my responsibility. We don't know what's happening, but I'm trying my best."

"I know you are," she pressed, because she was angry, not blind, "But that's the problem, you're trying too hard, it's fine."

"It is not fine!" he screamed, and it was a strange sensation to have his frustration directed towards her, rather than a new story, but she didn't have much time to mull over that as he continued.

"You are my daughter, it's my job to take care of you, I have to! I wasn't there when it happened the first time, by the time I got there they were asking questions to Hewitt and I had to give our information over the phone! I am not letting you get hurt again, especially if I'm not there. I'm not trying to hurt you with this, Phoebe, I'm not—"

He cut himself off before he could finish, and Phoebe could only wonder what he was going to say, just watching as her father seemed to crumple under the weight of his own thoughts that she couldn't read, his head in his hands, and they had never fought before, but she wasn't quite sure if this could be considered a fight, despite the yelling.

With a sigh, he raised his head, still avoiding her gaze, staring down at his hands as if to remember that they were still his own, repeating the words she had heard so many times, "I'm not a hero, Phoebe. I'm not sure I'm a good man. I'm just trying my best."

But before Phoebe could respond, tell him that he was a good man, that she knew he was trying his best and appreciated it, another sentence was added, a sentence that didn't sound new to him, but was never uttered aloud, at least not to her.

"I...am not...my father."

She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know what to say so she simply maneuvered around their dining table, climbing into his lap the way she had never been able to before, but had done once when he had come home after a long night at the office to find her sobbing because she was sure he had abandoned her after hearing that no one had wanted to come to her birthday party in the eighth grade, and he had held her in a way that felt so nice, but in a way that said she was far too big for it, and that had hurt him in ways she hadn't understood then, but could begin to understand now.

He hadn't been there for her at any time. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. But she was still his daughter, and the responsibility was still there, as was the guilt. Her father wasn't a hero, but he was a good man. But good men made many mistakes, even while trying their best.

"It's okay, dad," she whispered, throwing her arms around him neck, awkwardly seated in his lap, and it was a wonder he had been able to pull himself up from his position leaned forward in his chair, the weight of the world pressed on his shoulders and neck, but he hadn't wanted her to fall, and he was her father; she always came first.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," he told her later, when he appeared in her doorway later that night, finding her awake and watching YouTube videos of Spider-Man, feeling sick at yet another night doing nothing.

"I know," she said, making sure he couldn't see the videos for fear of him going on another rant about vigilantes; he didn't seem in the mood to do that now.

The man sighed, running a hand over the stubble that seemed to persist despite her insistence to shave; he called it stress stubble. "I'm sorry I went overboard. I just...I feel like I'm too lax with you sometimes when it comes to parenting, I don't want to control you, but then I feel like I'm not doing my job as a parent. With this, I thought I could make sure you knew that I still cared and wasn't just letting you run around and do whatever you wanted."

"I know you care," she said, sitting up, "And you don't let me do whatever I want, you still tell me when I should and shouldn't wear things if it's not gonna be appropriate and you set curfews if I ever go out. I just don't make too much of a problem for you."

The man laughed, making a face as if to disagree, and she smiled; at least they wouldn't be tiptoeing around each other for the next few days. It had been strange, yelling at him, she wasn't used to losing her temper, especially not with him; there wasn't much reason to.

"You're a good dad," she said, because she couldn't get his words out of his mind; she never did about either set of her grandparents, though she hadn't thought much enough of them to care.

Her father didn't respond to that, though he gave her a tense smile which slowly melted away, his lips parting into a sigh, turning to look at her doorframe, tapping his fist against it, sighing once more before he spoke. "You can head back to school tomorrow, and I'll take the cameras out tomorrow. And I'll stop checking up on you in the middle of the night. But you have to tell me if anything happens, and you still need to get your blood tests."

"Okay," she said, nodding earnestly, and she would've agreed to anything if it meant that she could get back to living her life and doing what she needed to, "I can do that."

Her father smiled and there was no disguising the exhaustion that seemed to radiate off him in waves, and the bags under his eyes were so dark that she was reminded of his hair when he was younger, the pictures dotted around the house, nothing like the graying salt and pepper before her now.

"Get some sleep, dad," she said, beating him to the punch, and he let out a weak laugh, nodding as he walked back to his room.

Phoebe lied awake in bed for half an hour more, before finally drifting off to sleep, waiting until the sounds of her father snoring lulled her off, letting her know that she was finally free; and so was he.

º º º

Getting back to normal was easier said than done.

Because she had been brought her homework, she wasn't far behind in class, though she had missed a few quizzes and one test, but her teachers were more than happy to accommodate, asking how she was doing; she didn't know what else to say other than she was fine.

The cafeteria was still as loud as ever, but she was able to handle it much better than she had the last time she had been there, though it was still louder than it had been a year prior; whatever had happened, she had hardly been able to remember what it was like without needing to try a bit harder to shove everything back into white noise.

But, try as she might, it was still hard to push away the sounds of Peter Parker's constant fidgeting. Remembering his name was still strange, what with having called him Perry-Paul for so long, but it was much easier referring to him only by one name, though she hardly thought of him at all, save for in class.

He had waved when she first stepped through the door, looking pleased to see her, and she just glanced at him with the same smile she gave Mr. Jewells when he greeted her, and she made her way to her seat without another word, listening as he continued to take attendance, making a brief comment about whether anyone knew where "Cin" had gone off to, as all he had known was that her parents had pulled her out of school without any explanation.

Phoebe had thought about thanking Peter for his notes—he had stopped dropping them off directly, but instead had slipped them into Gabriel's locker, though it was a wonder how he knew that it was his—and she had him to thank for not falling immensely behind in the class, though she didn't quite know what she was to do now. Kind as he was, she wasn't interested in being his friend, though it had much more to do with herself than him, and she hoped he didn't expect anything in return.

Fortunately, he hadn't gone up to speak to her after class, save for his, "Welcome back, Phoebe," that he had managed to stammer out as he walked off, and he hadn't tried to interact with her afterwards. It relieved her, and she went back to her usual life.

But while school was an easy enough transition, her night life was another creature altogether.

She hadn't gone out immediately after, wanting to make sure that her father wasn't going to try and come in. He hadn't, but she didn't lock her door just to be sure, afraid that he would question her for locking it again soon after being allowed to once more.

When she finally deemed it safe to do so—it was only two days, she was rather impatient—she made sure that she went through her usual rounds. They hadn't convened in some time, but there was no reason to, so she simply focused on doing what she needed, checking up on the problem areas, which Blue Screen monitored in her absence, and they merely checked to see if there were any larger issues they needed to attend to.

She wanted to find Spider-Man, wanted to talk to him as soon as possible, but she did have responsibilities in Manhattan and Queens was just too far to reach in the time she had. While she couldn't fight against the uneasiness of leaving him be, she forced herself to regain her bearings, making sure Gabriel was still keeping an eye on him and his patterns, figuring to just talk to him when she had the chance, that he would be fine for a few more days.

She wished she hadn't.

Phoebe knew all about responsibility, it was the sole reason she was still off doing the nightly excursions she was so tired of, so ready to give up, and she knew better to put things off to a later date, as there were always consequences. But hindsight was 20/20, and she couldn't help but feel as though it was her fault when she heard of the news story that rocked not only the Daily Bugle, but Midtown High as well.

Spider-Man had let a robber go. Then Peter Parker's uncle had died.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

( 07.13.17 ; 08.02.19 )

This chapter wasn't one of my favorites, and it upsets me that it's Ch. 7 since that's supposed to be a really important chapter, but I guess this was important, but we didn't meet Spider-Man personally in this one, but I guess that's fine...I'm not unhappy about this, but I'm also not thrilled, especially since it's so long. Whatever, we can deal with it.

I know, I know, Jameson should have a mustache, and he's gonna get it, but I kinda wanted to give a meaning as to why, and I might not go through with it because I'm not entirely sure of how it'll go through, but I do like the idea so I'm just gonna still stick with the general theme then hope for the best, so he'll get his mustache, but it'll probs not be in this book, so deal with it.

Also, in my book How to Write a Marvel Fanfic, I linked a very comprehensive MCU timeline that has specific dates of events and is so precise that I try to hold true to it as much as possible. While I can't always do that, I did try very hard, and that is why I decided to move the story's positioning further on in the calendar than initially placed; fortunately, I had made sure to never indicate what month it was to avoid issues if I had to retcon, so here we are because the timeline stated Peter Parker was bitten on November 7th and he started being Spider-Man on November 14th (in Lonely Hearts, another Peter Parker fic of mine, I said he was bitten in October.)

I was going to have the video of him stopping the car from crashing into the bus included here, but the timeline said that it was released on May 3rd, so I just decided to put a pin in it and wait, so it'll be mentioned, it's just not mentioned now.

So yeah, fun facts! I'm linking the timeline here as well because it is honestly just the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life and I feel silly for doing all the math work myself when they had already done it. (I'm pleased to note I was correct about everything, so here's my flex)

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!