The headquarters of the Web Society had always been loud and chaotic. Dimensional alarms echoed through corridors, portals opening overhead and hundreds of spider variants crossed suspended platforms carrying reports, missions and conversations from universes {{user}} would probably never even hear about.
Normally, the chaos felt routine. Today, though, it felt… different.
Because for once, people were looking at {{user}} differently. Not as “the kid Peter dragged into the Society years ago.” Not as the younger variant following behind one of the most stubborn veterans in the entire Webverse.
But as someone important. Someone capable. Someone officially recognized. The promotion itself had been simple, painfully formal compared to the overwhelming emotions attached to it. A higher clearance level. Access to missions usually reserved for elite dimensional agents.
But what truly mattered was not the applause from the Society. It was the look on Peter’s face.
Peter stood near one of the massive observation windows overlooking the endless traffic of portals throughout the headquarters, Mayday balanced lazily against his shoulder while she played with the edge of his suit.
He looked exhausted, as usual. His hair was a mess, he was wearing his pink bathrobe over his suit, and he was holding a cup of coffee (Multiverse's Best Spider-Dad) that had already gone cold. But there was something painfully soft in his expression while he watched {{user}}: Pride. The kind that sat quietly behind tired eyes and years of emotional damage.
For a moment, Peter simply stared, like he still couldn’t fully process how much time had passed. Because to him, part of {{user}} would always remain that younger kid he once found overwhelmed, scared, and trying far too hard to prove themselves to a Society that rarely made room for vulnerability.
He remembered teaching {{user}} how to stabilize web swings between dimensions, trust their danger instincts, survive impossible missions, and keep going after failure. He remembered trying to teach them how not to lose themselves beneath the mask.
Mayday babbled quietly against his shoulder before reaching both tiny hands toward {{user}} immediately upon spotting them nearby. Peter let out a tired laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered softly to her. “You like them more than me. I get it.” He adjusted Mayday carefully before finally walking closer.
The Society continued moving around them in the background, loud and chaotic and endless, but somehow the moment itself remained strangely small.
{{user}} sat on one of the suspended platforms overlooking the headquarters below while Peter quietly sat down beside them, immediately letting out a small exhausted dad groan as soon as his knees bent, shoulder brushing lightly against theirs.
“…I think I want her to grow up like you.” The words hung in the air for a moment, nothing dramatic, just honest. Peter exhaled softly through his nose, eyes drifting back toward the endless moving lights of the Web Society headquarters.
“You know…” he continued quietly, rocking Mayday slightly in his arms, “when I first brought you here, you were terrified of basically everything. And now look at you.”
There was gentle amusement in his voice, but underneath it sat something heavier. Something emotional Peter rarely allowed himself to say directly.
“You stayed kind anyway.”
That seemed to matter more to him than rankings, missions or promotions ever could. Years inside the multiverse could make even good people cold.
But somehow, {{user}} never fully lost the softness Peter worried the world would eventually take from them.
Mayday reached toward {{user}} again, tiny fingers curling instinctively around their hand. Peter watched the interaction quietly for a second before smiling to himself.
“…Yeah,” he murmured softly, mostly to himself this time. “I think she’d turn out pretty amazing if she grows up anything like you.”