A Thread of Fate - a Spiderman OC story

ִ ࣪✮🕷In Rhythm and in Sync🕷✮⋆˙

It's been a week since that night in the alley, and things have changed, but not in the way I expected. Miles and Gwen are still in the background, checking in now and then, but most of the time, it's just me and Jesse trying to figure things out. We've been working together to form some kind of plan to help me control my powers, but it's been slow going. My powers are unpredictable, glitching out whenever I'm stressed or overwhelmed, which is, like, all the time these days.

Tonight, we're back in Jesse's room. He's at his desk, scrolling through articles online while I sit cross-legged on his bed, trying to focus on keeping myself grounded. My nerves are frayed, as usual, but Jesse's been trying to help me stay calm. He's always been better at the whole "chill" thing than me.

"Maybe you just need to relax, man," Jesse says, glancing over at me. "Like, find a way to stop thinking about it for a bit. You're always so tense, and I think it's making the glitching worse."

I groan, rubbing my temples. "Easier said than done. I can't exactly turn off the constant feeling that someone's watching me, or the fact that my mom's still missing."

Jesse nods, biting his lip, clearly thinking about what to do next. Then, without saying anything, he reaches for his phone, taps a few buttons, and suddenly the room fills with the soft, familiar notes of Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide."

It's one of those songs that takes me back instantly—back to moments in time where things were simpler. My mom used to hum it while she cleaned, or sometimes she'd sing it softly to herself while cooking dinner. Her voice was calm, gentle, like Stevie Nicks', and the melody always had this strange way of grounding me.

I glance over at Jesse, raising an eyebrow. "Fleetwood Mac?"

He shrugs, offering a small smile. "I figured it might help. Isn't this your comfort band or whatever?"

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. "Yeah... my mom used to play it a lot."

Jesse doesn't push the conversation further; he just leans back in his chair and lets the music play. The soft strumming of the guitar, Stevie's voice—calm, powerful, but gentle—it fills the space like a balm over the raw edges of my mind.

And then... something strange happens.

As the song flows, I feel a shift inside me. My body, which usually feels like it's buzzing with unstable energy, suddenly calms. I focus on the rhythm of the song, letting it settle into my bones. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the glitching doesn't feel jagged or electric. It doesn't feel like I'm being yanked out of one place and slammed into another.

Instead, it feels smooth. Like water trickling through a creek. I phase. Not glitch. Just... move, like I'm part of the song. My body shifts, and I'm standing in one part of the room, then the next, in perfect sync with the music. It's not violent, not chaotic—it's like I'm flowing through the space, my body responding to the rhythm of the guitar and Stevie's voice.

I blink, not sure if I'm imagining it. My breath catches in my chest, but the feeling isn't panic. It's wonder.

"Jess..." I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Are you seeing this?"

Jesse's eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open slightly. He stands up slowly, like he's afraid he'll disrupt whatever is happening. "Dude... you're... phasing. But it's, like, smooth. What the hell?"

I nod, too stunned to say much. For the first time since I got these powers, it doesn't feel like they're controlling me. It feels like I'm in control. The glitching, the thing that usually makes me feel like I'm being torn apart and reassembled in a flash—it's not glitching anymore. It's graceful, like I'm moving with purpose.

The song continues, the familiar lyrics wrapping around me like a blanket:
"Well, I've been afraid of changin'
'Cause I built my life around you..."

I glide across the room, the glitching reduced to a soft, almost natural phase in and out of space. It feels like a dance, like I'm part of the song itself. My heart, which had been racing, starts to slow, the anxiety easing out of my chest for the first time in days.

But then the lyrics hit me. The ones that remind me too much of my mom.

My body stops phasing, and I freeze in place, the air around me suddenly feeling too thick. "I built my life around you..." The song loops in my head, and all I can think about is how much I miss her. The way she'd hum these songs while doing the most mundane things, like folding laundry or dusting the bookshelves. How her voice was so soothing, so effortlessly calming. How she made everything better just by being there. And now she's gone.

I don't even realize I'm tearing up until I feel the wetness on my cheeks. It's not the kind of crying that makes you choke or sob—it's soft, quiet, but relentless. The tears just keep coming, slow and steady, like they've been waiting for this moment to escape. I try to wipe them away, but more replace them, until I give up, letting them fall.

I'm not sobbing, but the pain in my chest is undeniable. It's like every moment I've spent trying to hold it together is unraveling all at once, and I can't stop it.

Jesse steps closer, his voice soft. "Nate... you okay?"

I shake my head, trying to speak, but my voice catches. I rub my face again, feeling embarrassed even though I know I shouldn't. "I just... I miss her, man. My mom. She used to sing this song all the time."

Jesse doesn't say anything for a second, just lets me cry. He knows me well enough by now to understand that sometimes there aren't words that'll fix it. Instead, he sits down beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine, offering quiet comfort without making a big deal out of it.

The song continues in the background, filling the room with its bittersweet melody.
"Time makes you bolder
Children get older
I'm getting older too..."

The words hit harder than I want them to, but I don't stop the tears this time. I just let them fall, missing my mom so fiercely it feels like it's crushing me from the inside out. The fear of losing her for good, of never hearing her hum along to Fleetwood Mac again, is suffocating.

And yet, through the grief, there's something else. That brief moment of control, of being able to phase with the music instead of glitching out. It's small, but it's there. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I wasn't being ripped apart by these powers.

But the thought brings more sadness, because it's my mom's music that did it. Her  voice, through Stevie's, that calmed me down. And right now, that's the thing I need most—the one thing I can't have.

Jesse sits with me in silence as the song ends, the room settling into a heavy quiet. The only sound left is my quiet, steady crying. It's not ugly or loud, just a soft release of everything I've been bottling up since this all started.

I miss her. More than I can put into words.

And I just want her to come home.