The New York City night was a creature of stark contrasts. From their vantage point in Queens, the distant spires of Manhattan were a breathtaking forest of light, a promise of a world that never slept. But down here, on the residential streets, darkness pooled in the mouths of alleyways like man-eating beasts, deep and threatening. The air was cool, carrying the distant wail of a siren and the phantom scent of grilled hot dogs from a street vendor long since packed up for the night.
They walked under the intermittent glow of the streetlights. Peter, still buzzing from the day's events, was a whirlwind of words, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet street.
"…and the way Adam's fist connected, you could practically feel the impact! Was that CGI, or did you use practical effects for the close-ups? And the funding—how did you even convince a studio to give a high schooler that kind of budget? Did you show them Adam first? Because once you see Adam, you have to say yes, right?"
Aidan walked beside him, a quiet shadow absorbing his brother's boundless energy. He was listening, but his gaze was analytical, his newly-honed perception catching details Peter thought he could hide. As they passed under a flickering orange streetlight, the light caught Peter's face at just the right angle. It was faint, but unmistakable. An ugly, plum-colored bruise blooming just under the corner of his jaw.
"You got into another fight today," Aidan stated, his voice flat. It wasn't a question.
Peter's waterfall of words instantly dried up. He fell silent, his shoulders slumping as he instinctively ducked his head, trying to hide the mark that Aidan had already seen.
"I can't always be there to play bodyguard, Peter," Aidan said, his tone calm but edged with steel. He wasn't just thinking of schoolyard scuffles. A new mission from the System could come at any time, pulling him away for weeks, months, or longer. Peter needed to be self-sufficient. This wasn't just about brotherly concern; it was a matter of logistics. "This needs to change."
He remembered when Peter had first come to live with them two years ago, a small, quiet four-year-old. Aidan had just found his footing at Midtown High, and Aunt May had made him promise to look out for his new little brother. He'd taken the responsibility seriously, but his own life was a frantic balancing act of school and the System's relentless demands. He couldn't be Peter's permanent shield. It infuriated him that Peter's quiet nature made him a target, and that he refused to stand up for himself.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered to the pavement.
"Why are you apologizing?" Aidan's voice was sharp, cutting through the night. "For getting hit? Or for thinking you're a burden?"
"I… I don't want to bother you with my problems," Peter mumbled, his voice thick.
Aidan stopped, stepping in front of Peter and forcing the younger boy to look at him. He reached out and rested a hand on Peter's head. "If you really don't want to bother me, then stop being a target. You fight back. You hear me? Someone pushes you, you push back harder. You throw the first punch. If you go down, I promise I will be the one to finish it. But you have to throw it."
Peter's lips trembled, his nose turning sour. "...Okay."
"Good." Aidan's expression softened, and he ruffled Peter's hair. "Starting tomorrow, you're training with me. I'm not having my brother get knocked down by some random punk. It's embarrassing."
A genuine, watery smile finally broke through on Peter's face. They started walking again, the previous tension replaced by a new, more solid connection.
As they walked, the sight of a particularly dark alley triggered a memory in Aidan's mind, sharp and clear. He was six years old again, a scrawny kid from the orphanage. He remembered the smell of stale booze and aggression. He saw a much younger May Parker, then only in her thirties but looking barely older than a college student, cornered by a hulking drunk. Aidan, a child who had already lived a lifetime, hadn't hesitated. He'd pulled out the stun gun he'd built from salvaged parts—his first real invention—and the high-pitched whine of it charging was followed by the heavy, satisfying thud of the man collapsing.
He'd slipped away back to the orphanage before anyone could see him, but he hadn't been invisible. May had seen the crest of the Queensboro Youth House on his worn jacket. The next day, she had walked through their doors and, out of gratitude, pity, or some combination of the two, had chosen to adopt him. Four years later, little Peter had come to live with them, and Aidan's solitary existence had gained a family.
The memory faded as they reached their front door. Aidan pushed it open, and a woman with vibrant, shoulder-length auburn hair poked her head out of the kitchen.
"There you are! Dinner's almost ready, wash up. And don't think I didn't hear you coming, I saw the truck pull away."
"Need a hand, Chef May-ardee?" Aidan asked, dropping his bag and heading for the kitchen.
"You know it," May said, grinning as she handed him an apron. "You're just in time. Mince that garlic for me. I'm trying that new recipe for Cacio e Pepe I saw on the food channel, and I am determined to get it right this time."
"You sure?" Aidan teased, grabbing a knife and inspecting the fresh pasta drying on a rack. "You're not going to burn the place down? This looks complicated."
"Oh, hush, you," she said, swatting him with a dish towel. "With my genius sous-chef, it'll be perfect."
With Aidan's efficient help, dinner was soon served. The pasta was surprisingly delicious, and the three of them ate, the easy comfort of family filling the room.
"So, Ace," May said, mid-twirl of pasta. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
Aidan paused, a fork halfway to his mouth. "'Ace'?"
"Yeah, you know, because you're an 'ace' at everything you do," she said with a proud smile. "Director, scientist, big brother… you name it. I think it's cute."
"It's better than 'Chef May-ardee', I'll give you that," he retorted. "But I think I'll stick with Aidan."
"Too late, it's sticking," she declared.
"Fine," he said with a sigh. "Just don't expect me to answer to it."
"We'll see," she sang, her eyes sparkling. Peter watched their exchange with a quiet smile, long accustomed to their playful bickering. It was hard to believe May was in her forties; her skin was flawless, and in her simple tank top, she looked more like Aidan's older sister than his adoptive mother.
After dinner, they sprawled in the living room, sharing a bag of potato chips while the TV played softly.
"By the way," Aidan said, breaking the comfortable silence. "This is for you." He reached into his bag, pulled out a sleek, black bank card, and handed it to May.
She took it, her expression light and teasing. "Oh? And what's this? Your library late fees finally catch up to you?"
"Something like that," Aidan said, his eyes on the TV. "It's a million dollars."
The playful mood in the room evaporated. May frowned, the card suddenly seeming heavier in her hand. "Aidan. Where did you get this?" Her voice was low, nervous.
"You're not even going to ask if I'm kidding?" he asked, finally looking at her and seeing the genuine fear in her eyes.
At some point, the TV had been turned off. The only sound was the crack, click of Peter chewing potato chips.
"Peter, stop," May said, her voice sharp. Peter froze mid-chew, his eyes wide, and sat up ramrod straight.
May's mind was racing, her heart pounding with a cold dread. A million dollars. For a high school kid in New York City, that kind of money screamed trouble. Drugs, gangs, something illegal and dangerous. She'd raised Aidan, knew his brilliance, and saw his bright future. The thought of him throwing it all away to lighten her financial burden, of him taking some desperate, terrible risk… it would break her.
"May, it's from the movie," Aidan explained quickly, seeing the storm gathering in her eyes. "Remember? Real Steel? It grossed over a hundred million. As the director and producer, my cut was more than ten million." He saw the disbelief still warring with hope on her face. "You don't have to believe me. Check online. Right now. Search the director for Real Steel."
"I have my own phone," she said, her voice tight as she pulled it out. Her fingers flew across the screen. She'd heard of the movie, of course; it was all anyone was talking about. She found the official page, her eyes scanning reviews: "Best Family Film of the Year!"... "A hot-blooded, heartfelt classic!"... "When is the sequel?!" Then she found the crew listing. And under 'Director,' the name: Aidan Parker.
She stared at the screen for a long time, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders. She finally looked up, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. "So," she said sweetly. "How much did you say you made?"
"Uh… more than ten million," Aidan said, suddenly feeling very uneasy.
"And have you thought about how you're going to spend it?" she asked, her smile not reaching her eyes.
"Not really," he shrugged. In two days, the System would likely unlock the next world. The money was just a tool, not a goal.
"That's wonderful," she declared, her hand shooting out. "Then you can put the money with me for safekeeping. Your job is to focus on your studies. When you go to college, I will return it all to you." She wiggled her fingers. He sighed and handed over a second card, the one with the main account.
"If you want to use it, use it," he said sincerely. "I earned it for us. You don't need to save it for me."
"I trust you, honey," she said, her voice softening. "But I also know what a city like this can do to a young man with too much money and too much time. I just want to make sure you're safe." She then launched into a long, heartfelt lecture about the temptations of the world, her worry now transformed into a flood of words.
Eventually, she urged the two boys upstairs to bed. As Aidan reached the doorway, he paused. "Hey, May?"
"Yes, Ace?"
"The Queensboro Youth House… the orphanage. Donate five million to them. The old director is too proud, he'd never take it from me directly. Can you handle it?"
May's face broke into a radiant, genuine smile. "Of course, I can, my little God of Wealth."
"We love you. Good night," Aidan and Peter said, coming back for a tight group hug.
"I love you both more. Good night," she whispered, holding them close.
Later, as Aidan lay in his own bed, the silence of the room was a welcome balm. He felt the coiled spring of tension that had been wound tight inside him for years finally, blessedly, unwind. The movie was done. His family was safe. His first mission was complete. For the first time in a very long time, he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.