There are a lot of things you can do when you're a six-year-old with god-tier powers and too much free time.
You can, for instance:
Create a small thundercloud that follows Jenkins around raining only on him.
Telekinetically hover your cereal into your mouth like you're too royal to chew.
Summon a mini-volcano in your bathtub because you're curious about lava.
But today, I had a new goal.
And yet, here I was.
Hovering three feet off the floor in silk pajamas, spinning slowly like a sentient ceiling fan.
"Jenkins," I called dramatically, "I've achieved boredom-induced levitation. The next phase is chaos."
Jenkins, my long-suffering butler/bodyguard/sanity filter, didn't look up from his tablet. "Master, I beg of you—no more lava in the bathtub."
Meet a Marvel character without exploding anything.
Spoiler: I still exploded something. Just… later.
"Jenkins," I declared, "I require field research."
He didn't even blink. "Field research, Master?"
"Yes," I nodded gravely. "I must breathe the air of the commoners."
"You mean—leave the penthouse?"
"Affirmative."
Jenkins pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must I remind you that last time you 'breathed the air,' you released a swarm of flying slinkies?"
"That was art."
"They dive-bombed a yoga class."
"Modern art," I corrected.
Eventually, with much reluctance and a GPS tracker duct-taped to my back, Jenkins let me go.
I didn't walk, of course.
Let's just say I got creative with the subway, one confused cab driver, and a suspiciously accurate flock of pigeons. I ended up in Queens, leaping between rooftops like a sugar-high ninja.
That's when I saw him.
A skinny kid, sitting cross-legged on the edge of a roof, fiddling with a battered laptop. Hoodie too big, sneakers too small, posture that screamed "future therapy sessions."
I squinted.
Brown hair. Big, thoughtful eyes. That unmistakable "I've never known peace" expression.
Could it be?
Peter Parker.
My inner comic nerd tried not to scream.
He wasn't Spider-Man yet. No spider bite. Just a brilliant, anxious kid with more brains than lunch money.
I should've left him alone. Let destiny do its thing. But I'm six, impulsive, and allergic to normalcy.
So, naturally, I made an entrance.
"Hey," I called, hopping onto the rooftop like I belonged there. "Does your laptop run Doom?"
Peter flinched so hard he nearly yeeted the thing off the roof. I lunged and caught it midair, handing it back with a sheepish grin.
"W-where did you come from?" he asked, wide-eyed.
"Behind that chimney," I said smoothly. "Been watching you hack that motherboard like a pro."
He narrowed his eyes. "That's creepy."
"I'm six. Creepy is kind of my brand."
Peter blinked. "You're… really six?"
"Mentally thirty. Spiritually caffeinated."
He gave me a cautious look. "You from around here?"
"Penthouse near Stark Tower," I said, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeves.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're rich?"
"I have a butler named Jenkins and a closet bigger than this rooftop. Draw your own conclusions."
He stared at me for a second. "So, what, you're like a child tech prodigy or something?"
"Let's go with 'eccentric genius' who may or may not be conducting rooftop surveys of neighborhood nerds."
Peter flushed. "I'm not a nerd."
"You're literally running diagnostics on a DIY laptop using six different coding languages. I'd knight you if I had a sword."
He actually smiled at that. Score one for Team Chaos.
We sat in silence for a bit, watching the pigeons try to form a union.
Peter finally asked, "So what do you do all day?"
"Mostly avoid boredom. Test gravity in fun ways. Bake cookies shaped like historical figures. Y'know—normal kid stuff."
He gave me a slow side-eye. "You're really weird."
"Thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week."
Peter chuckled. "You know, for a rich kid, you're not as annoying as I expected."
"And for a future superhero, you're not as broody as advertised."
He paused. "Future what?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "I said nothing."
Peter looked at me suspiciously. "You're weird and mysterious."
"Again, thank you."
Just then, a pigeon dive-bombed from the sky. I ducked, but Peter wasn't as lucky.
"Ugh! Why me?" he yelled, wiping his hoodie sleeve.
"Pigeons sense anxiety," I said wisely. "It's how they navigate."
Peter groaned. "Great. What's next? A lightning bolt?"
"Probably," I muttered, thinking about the random weather glitch I'd left in Brooklyn.
"So, uh…" he asked after a moment. "Do you go to school around here?"
"Nah," I said quickly. "I'm homeschooled. Sort of. With lasers."
He blinked. "What?"
"Again. Nothing."
I stood up, brushing invisible dust from my pants. "Anyway, I should go. My butler gets twitchy when I vanish for more than thirty minutes."
"Anyway," I said, standing. "It was nice meeting you, Peter."
He froze. "Wait… I didn't tell you my name."
"Didn't you?" I offered an innocent grin. "You must've mumbled it earlier."
He stared at me. "You're super suspicious, you know that?"
"I prefer 'mysteriously delightful.'"
Peter smiled despite himself. "Well… thanks for not being a total weirdo."
I gave him a salute. "Likewise, Spider-Kid."
"Huh?"
"Nothing!
Peter stood too. "Wait. Will I see you again?"
I grinned. "Probably. I tend to appear when it's most inconvenient."
"Sounds about right."
I turned to leave, then stopped and pulled something from my pocket. A tiny gadget—shiny, round, and softly beeping.
"What's that?"
"Something fun," I said, tossing it to him. "Put it on your laptop. You'll thank me later."
He stared at the gadget. "This isn't gonna explode, is it?"
"No promises."
With a casual wink, I vanished from the rooftop in a ripple of light.
I said bike skid—very dangerous on these rooftops. Anyway, bye!"
And with that, I turned and vanished down the fire escape.
As I walked away, I whispered to myself, "Day one: don't reveal powers. Day two: figure out how to smuggle radioactive pudding to school."
Behind me, Peter sat there, confused, mildly covered in pigeon droppings, and unknowingly destined for greatness.
And me? I was already planning our next encounter.
Spoiler: It involves invisible paint, four squirrels, and exactly one banana peel.
Back in the penthouse, I landed with a soft thud, startling Jenkins into nearly dropping his teacup.
"Back already?" he asked.
"Made a friend," I said, plopping onto the couch. "Didn't destroy a building. Didn't summon mythical creatures. Only mildly freaked out a pigeon."
Jenkins nodded slowly. "Progress."
I leaned back, feeling oddly proud of myself.
Peter Parker. Pre-Spidey. Pre-tragedy. Still just a kid who wanted to make the world better, one hacked school server at a time.
I wouldn't interfere. Not yet. But maybe… just maybe… I could help, quietly. From the sidelines.
After all, even heroes need friends.
Especially the ones who don't know they're heroes yet.