Penny Parker: Spider Reborn

The quinjet ride to Avengers Tower was quiet. Logan sat right beside her, thigh pressed to hers, his hand resting on her knee like it belonged there. Every time she shifted uncomfortably—still sore from the garage—he gave a small squeeze, not saying a word, just letting her know he wasn’t going anywhere.

When they landed on the tower helipad, he walked with her through the corridors, one hand hovering at the small of her back. The rest of the team waited outside the lab doors at Tony’s request; Logan refused to budge.

“Logan—” she started, voice small.

“Try stoppin’ me,” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead, jaw set.

Inside the lab, Tony was already mid-rant at a holographic display. Jarvis’s voice cut through the hum of machinery.

“Analysis complete, sir. The transformation is permanent.”

The word hit like a physical blow. Her knees buckled slightly; Logan’s arm shot around her waist, steadying her before she could fall. His other hand found hers immediately—rough palm enveloping hers completely, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles. He didn’t speak; he didn’t have to. Just held on.

Tony pulled up the scans—glowing webs of DNA, spider-enhanced strands now hopelessly intertwined with mutant markers. He zoomed in, brow furrowing, then his eyes widened. “Whoa. Hold the phone. These traces… Logan’s healing factor, Storm’s elemental flickers, Gambit’s kinetic charge, Jean’s psi-echoes. It’s fused. The gas rewrote you, but this?” He gestured at the glowing mutant signatures pulsing like veins. “This sealed it. You’ve got X-juices from half the mansion running through your veins like a damn super-serum.” He took a swig of scotch, nearly choked on it, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Shocked doesn’t cover it. You went full team-building exercise, huh?”

Heat flooded her face—shame, anger, humiliation twisting into a knot so tight she couldn’t breathe. Logan’s grip on her hand tightened almost painfully; a low, dangerous growl rumbled in his chest.

“Watch it, Stark,” he snarled.

Tony raised both hands, palms out. “Easy, claws. No judgment. Just… science.” His smirk faded as he looked at her directly. “Point is, reversal’s off the table. Not without risking your powers, your mind. Not worth it.”

She stared at the hologram, the mutant traces pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “So this is me now. Forever.”

Logan’s thumb kept moving—slow, steady, grounding. “Doesn’t change who you are, kid.”

She turned her face into his shoulder for a second, breathing in leather and smoke, trying to keep the tears from falling. Tony cleared his throat, tone shifting to business.

“But that pheromone mess? It’s evolving thanks to the mutant cocktail. You can amp it at will now—targeted heat blasts, make anyone pliable. Mind control, via lust.”

Horror mixed with dark thrill. “That’s… dangerous.”

“Anything,” Tony finished, smirking faintly. “But with great power comes great therapy. New suit—nano-weave, adaptive. Amplifies pheromone output for targeted blasts. Side effect: loops back, heats you up too. Use sparingly.”

He presented it hours later: sleek red-and-black, form-fitting but armored, emitters at wrists and collar.

She zipped it up, feeling the hum against her skin. Logan stood behind her, arms crossed, watching every movement in the mirror. When she caught his gaze, he gave a small nod—proud, steady.

“I won’t use it. Ever,” she said.

Tony shrugged. “Your call. But the world’s full of bad guys who won’t play fair.”

Logan stayed silent through the fitting, but when she stepped down from the platform, he was there—hand on her elbow, guiding her out without a word to Tony. The rest of the walk back to the quinjet, he kept her hand in his.

The ride home was quieter still. Logan didn’t let go once.

Back at the mansion, he walked her straight to her room, ignoring the curious glances from the others. Inside, she sank onto the bed. Logan closed the door, leaned against it for a second, then crossed to sit beside her.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

She shook her head. “Permanent. Sealed by… by what we did. By all of you.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I feel like I ruined everything.”

Logan pulled her against his side, arm wrapping around her shoulders, solid and warm. “You didn’t ruin a damn thing. You survived. You asked for help when you needed it. That’s strength, kid. Not ruin.”

She leaned into him, breathing shakily. “It feels wrong. Like I took something from all of you.”

“You took what we offered,” he said gruffly. “And we gave it freely. No regrets here.” His hand found hers again, lacing their fingers. “None.”

They sat like that for a long time—his arm around her, her head on his shoulder—until the tears slowed and the weight in her chest eased, just a little.

Back at the mansion, it felt like home. The X-Men understood mutation—the curse and gift of being “different.” No judgments for her new form or needs. When the heat flickered back, they offered release without strings: Logan’s rough passion, Storm’s gentle touch, Gambit’s playful energy, Jean’s intimate psi-link. Group sessions when the ache demanded more.

She felt loved. Wanted—as family. As herself.

Weeks later, Doc Ock was captured in a joint op—tentacles severed, ego shattered.

But closure came in a sterile prison visitation room. Logan insisted on coming with her, waiting just outside the glass partition like a sentinel, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the door.

Ock was brought in—restrained, bitter, eyes gleaming with hate.

“My pretty little arachnid,” he sneered through the speaker. “Still burning for me? Look at you—my creation. Doc Ock’s perfect slut.”

She didn’t flinch. Logan’s presence behind her, solid and silent, steadied her like a hand on her shoulder.

“Enjoy the rest of your life in jail, Doc.”

His laugh turned to a snarl as guards dragged him away.

She walked out lighter. Logan fell into step beside her, hand brushing hers once—brief, reassuring.

“You did good,” he muttered.

For the first time since the gas, she believed it might be true.