Chapter 21: "Coffee, Confessions, and Christmas Criminals"
In which Peter tells tales, Ben nearly chokes, and the Parker family learns about helicopter heists and holiday-themed justice.
Ben Parker gave Peter one last proud nod and leaned back in his chair like he'd just knighted him with the sacred spatula of justice.
"Good boy," he said with mock solemnity. "And well done on your first day. It was you, wasn't it?"
Peter sighed, the last bit of tension leaving his shoulders. "Yeah. I started today. Finished my month-long training last night."
Ben's knowing smile deepened like he'd been waiting for this moment since Peter first started walking into furniture and blaming "gravitational hiccups."
"And?" he asked, tilting his head.
Peter's eyes lit up like he'd just found the final piece of a LEGO Death Star. "It was amazing. Helping people, swinging through the city, dodging angry birds and confused pigeons—it's more exciting than I ever imagined."
Ben chuckled. Then his smile faded into something sterner.
"I see. That's good. But don't get carried away. Excitement is great—until it makes you sloppy." He leaned forward, voice low and firm. "From now on, do research. Crime patterns. Law enforcement strategies. The right time to step in, the right time to pull back. I have notes—decades of them. You'll start with that."
Peter blinked. "Wait, you have hero notes?"
Ben raised an eyebrow. "What, you thought I spent my free time knitting socks?"
Peter opened his mouth, closed it, then decided some things were better left unquestioned.
"I understand," he said instead, giving a respectful nod.
And just when the conversation was veering dangerously into responsible adult territory—
"Dear," May interrupted, sweeping into the room like a warm gust of mom energy, "stop lecturing him like it's the State of the Union."
She pulled Peter into a hug so cozy it should be sold as a weighted blanket.
"You just got home," she said, ruffling his hair, "and you haven't even eaten yet. Go take a bath, then come down for dinner."
Peter smiled sheepishly. "Got it, mom."
As he jogged up the stairs, Jessica watched him go with narrowed eyes and a smirk growing by the second.
Oh no.
That was the face of mischief.
The face of chaos.
The face that said somebody was about to regret relaxing.
Ten minutes later, Peter was soaking in the tub, eyes closed, the world finally quiet. The water was warm. His muscles were finally unclenching. Life was—
SLAM!
The bathroom door burst open like a SWAT team raid.
Peter's eyes shot open in panic. "Jess, wait—!"
SPLAT!
A bucket of bright pink paint poured down like judgment from the gods of practical jokes. It coated Peter's hair, his chest, the water—it even managed to hit his left ear, which felt personally offensive.
Jess stood in the doorway, doubled over in laughter, her arms crossed like a supervillain mid-monologue.
"You should've seen your face!" she howled. "You looked like someone just told you Batman was real and had a vendetta against bathtubs!"
Peter stared at her. Just… stared. Like a flamingo caught in a snowstorm.
Then—without a word—he stood up, dripping pink like a crime against Crayola, stepped out of the tub, and with swift precision...
SLAM!
He booted Jess out of the room and slammed the door.
"You're too childish!" Peter shouted through the door, his voice muffled but still full of barely contained laughter.
Jess lay sprawled in the hallway like she'd been ejected by a pink paint-powered cannon.
Paint dripped from her hands. Her hair was frizzing from leftover bath steam. But none of that mattered because her grin?
It stretched ear to ear.
"…Totally worth it," she whispered with the satisfaction of a goblin who had completed her mischief quota for the day.
Downstairs, Ben sipped his tea. "Should we… go check on them?"
May shook her head, smiling softly. "Nope. They're bonding."
Ben paused. "With paint?"
"Apparently."
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The Parker living room glowed with that post-dinner golden hour kind of warmth—the kind that made you want to wrap yourself in a blanket burrito and declare war on productivity.
May was humming to herself as she wiped down the kitchen counter, the scent of cinnamon tea still lingering in the air. Ben sat in his recliner with a cup of coffee and the patience of a man who'd seen a lot, but wasn't ready for whatever Peter was about to say next.
Peter, meanwhile, sat on the couch with a smirk that could only mean one thing: Story time.
Beside him, Jessica Jones was curled up like a cat that had fought twelve dogs that day, then demanded dinner and a foot rub. She nudged him with an elbow. "So? How was Spider-Boy's first official shift in the big leagues?"
Peter stretched dramatically. "You mean besides the part where I almost stole a helicopter?"
CHOKE.
Ben sputtered mid-sip, coughing into his coffee like it had personally betrayed him. "You WHAT?"
Jess slapped her forehead. "Peter…"
Peter raised both hands. "Okay! Okay. That came out wrong. It wasn't stealing. It was, um… emergency borrowing. I gave it back."
Ben stared at him like he was reconsidering fatherhood entirely.
"Let me rewind," Peter said, cracking his knuckles like a narrator about to launch into a Broadway retelling of The Life and Crimes of Idiots I Fought Today.
"So first thing this morning," Peter began, "I drop down into this sketchy alley where three very loud and very stupid men are holding an illegal pharmacy conference."
Jess squinted. "Loud? As in—?"
"Oh, like soap opera loud," Peter said. "They were practically screaming their crimes into the void like it owed them rent money."
Ben shook his head. "Never underestimate how dumb street criminals can be."
Peter leaned in conspiratorially. "So I sneak in, super stealthy, and land right behind them. You know, full Batman mode—minus the brooding and dramatic cape billowing."
He lowered his voice for effect. "And I go, 'Hey, fellas. You guys wanna hear a really scary story?'"
Jess burst into laughter, imagining Peter's face.
"One of them screams. Like, high-pitched horror movie scream. Drops his gun and everything. Another guy freezes like he just realized his life choices led to this moment. And the third guy—let's call him Tough Guy #1—he tries to puff up like, 'Who the hell do you think you are?'"
Ben muttered, "Classic."
Peter made a face. "So I go, 'Buddy, you really don't wanna know the answer to that.' Then I pull out my phone, start recording, and let them keep talking—names, deals, dates, everything."
Jess leaned forward. "And then?"
Peter puffed out his chest with theatrical pride. "I wrapped them up like I was gift-wrapping chaos. Tied 'em up with webbing, gave 'em a candy cane for the aesthetic—"
Jess: "You did not—"
Peter: "Okay, no candy cane, but mentally? Festive."
May peeked in from the kitchen, giggling. "Peter, please tell me you didn't threaten them while pretending to be Santa."
"I was tempted," Peter said. "But no. I whispered—'If I see you idiots again… I'm going to make sure you regret it.'"
Jess whistled. "Someone's dramatic."
Peter grinned. "Wait, it gets better. I showed them the video. Told them if they messed up again, I wouldn't just give it to the cops—I'd forward it to their boss."
Ben blinked. "You used their own fear of their criminal hierarchy against them?"
Peter nodded proudly. "They begged me not to. I told them to be good little boys, kiss the sidewalk, and rethink their life goals."
Jess smirked, leaning into his shoulder. "Look at you. Spidey with a side of strategy."
Peter shrugged modestly. "I like to keep it educational."
Ben laughed. "You're going to make every vigilante in the city look lazy."
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Peter Parker had never considered himself a comedian, but at this moment—legs stretched across the couch, half a cookie in his mouth, and the entire Parker family laughing until they wheezed—he was starting to reconsider his career path.
"Then," he said dramatically, "I had a lovely run-in with the NYPD."
Jess froze mid-sip of her tea. "Oh no."
Ben narrowed his eyes. "Peter… you didn't punch a cop, did you?"
Peter held up his hands. "Hey! I'm not that chaotic." He paused. "…But they did shoot at me."
CRASH!
That was the sound of May Parker dropping a spoon in the kitchen.
"They what?" Jess exclaimed.
"Relax, relax!" Peter said, waving his arms. "I'm fine! They thought I was robbing a bank or something. I was just doing my usual wall-crawling thing when suddenly—sirens, shouting, and pew pew pew!"
Ben buried his face in his hands. "Oh lord…"
Jess looked like she couldn't decide whether to panic or laugh. "And… you caught the bullets?!"
Peter nodded proudly. "Yup. All three. Right out of the air. And before you ask, yes—I was very cool about it."
Ben muttered, "Please tell me that's where it ends."
"Oh-ho-ho, nope!" Peter grinned. "Next, I webbed the guns right out of their hands."
Silence.
"…You WHAT?" Ben asked slowly, as though afraid the answer would break his soul.
"I liberated them," Peter explained. "And then, get this—I stood on a rooftop holding their guns, looked down at them and said, 'So… are we done shooting superheroes today, or nah?'"
Jess slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, while May let out an audible groan from the kitchen.
Ben blinked. "You… held a police officer's weapon."
Peter nodded solemnly. "With great power comes great pettiness."
Jess was crying now. "What did you do with the guns?"
"Oh, I webbed them to a flagpole," Peter said, grinning. "Left a sticky note that said, 'Shooting at superheroes is rude.'"
Ben looked like he aged ten years in ten seconds.
"And that's not even the best part!" Peter said excitedly. "So I'm swinging around after that, right? Feeling all cool and dramatic—when I spot a police helicopter flying low. Like… temptingly low."
Jess leaned in, suspicious. "Peter…"
Peter held up a hand. "Let me finish. I looked at it. It looked at me. For one brief moment… we had a connection."
"Peter…" Ben warned.
"And I may have thought about stealing it."
Ben groaned.
"I didn't!" Peter added quickly. "I just… considered the pros and cons."
Jess narrowed her eyes. "What stopped you?"
Peter smiled sheepishly. "I realized I don't know how to fly a helicopter."
"THANK YOU," May shouted from the kitchen.
Jess face-palmed. "I swear, I'm going to hide all your Spider-Gear inside a filing cabinet labeled 'Tax Forms: Do Not Open.'"
Ben sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're going to make national headlines one day."
Peter looked way too proud of that. "Only if the chopper idea ever works out."
By the time the story had wound down, the Parker household was in stitches. Even May, who had started the evening deeply concerned, was now wiping tears from her eyes between giggles.
Ben leaned back in his chair, chuckling. "You know, Pete… for all your insanity, you did good."
Peter smiled, the kind that was warm and boyish and honest. "Thanks, Uncle Ben."
Jess, curled up beside him, yawned and rested her head on his shoulder. "Well, Spider-Boy… sounds like day one was a wild success."
Peter leaned his head against hers. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
The clock ticked softly in the background, the last cookie crumbs vanished from the tray, and the house settled into a quiet stillness—the kind that only came after laughter had drained every last drop of chaos.
Tomorrow would bring more trouble.
More rooftops.
More helicopters Peter would absolutely not steal.
But tonight?
Tonight, they were home.
And that was enough.