Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 13: Training Montage

[Third Person's PoV]


During the first month of Damon’s training, he focused entirely on adapting to his newfound abilities—how they worked, how to move efficiently with them, and how to control his strength. Most days were spent inside an abandoned warehouse they had repurposed into a private training ground. Damon would leap from pillar to pillar with awkward energy, flailing his arms for balance, and swinging from makeshift ropes with all the grace of a newborn deer. His movements were clumsy, lacking rhythm, but determination was evident in every attempt.


While Damon worked on mastering his mobility, Richard took advantage of the downtime to dive into research. He scoured forums, maps, and local databases until he discovered a nearby junkyard not far from the pier where their warehouse was located. It was messy, filled with rusted scrap and forgotten machinery, but to them, it was a goldmine.


Although their families were technically wealthy, that didn’t mean they had unlimited access to funds themselves. Any large or unusual purchases would raise questions—questions they weren’t ready to answer. So instead, they had to get creative. Resourcefulness became their greatest tool. If it meant diving into dumpsters and climbing piles of scrap metal, then so be it. And to their surprise, the junkyard became an ideal place to test Damon’s strength.


The crushed car cubes—compacted into dense, heavy blocks—were perfect for measurement. Each cube weighed approximately two tons, the kind of weight that normally required industrial machinery to move. Early on, Damon discovered he could lift five of them, totaling around ten tons, though with effort. But as weeks turned into months, that number would steadily increase.



---


First Month Testing – Junkyard


“Alright!” Richard exclaimed, flashlight in hand as the two of them crept through the shadows of the junkyard under the cover of night. “Time for your first monthly progress test. Let’s see just how many of these bad boys you can lift.”


Damon stood in the middle of a circle of car cubes, each one stacked and prepared in advance. “First one,” he said confidently, gripping the cube and hoisting it overhead with one hand. “Easy.”


He set it down and stacked another on top. “Two… also easy,” he muttered as he lifted both above his head.


Then three. Then four. Then five.


By the third, he was controlling his breathing. “Oof… I’m really starting to feel this one. These are heavier than they look.”


By the fourth, he grunted through gritted teeth. “Okay, this is where the burn kicks in… My muscles are really heating up!”


Finally, he attempted the fifth. “Alright… okay…” he wheezed, straining, legs shaking slightly under the weight. “That’s… my limit. I can’t carry any more!”


He dropped the cubes with a loud metallic crash. The ground quaked slightly beneath them, and a ripple of vibrations passed through the junkyard.


“Damn, Damon!” Richard shouted, eyes wide with awe. “Ten freaking tons! You were carrying ten tons like it was nothing!”


Damon smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “These might just be my version of dumbbells. Who knew junk would come in handy?”


“Well, now we’ll really see how much you improve over time,” Richard said, his grin widening with anticipation.



---


Second Month Progress Report


“Month two check-in! Ready, Damon?” Richard asked as they returned to the same junkyard a month later, now with better lighting and a more organized testing zone.


“Yup,” Damon said, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. “Let’s see if all that training paid off.”


“We know you can lift five. Try six,” Richard suggested, watching closely with a tablet in hand to log results.


“Alright… let’s do this.” Damon stacked six compacted cubes one atop another, then stepped back and grabbed them at the base. His muscles tensed as he groaned under the strain. “Okay… I can do it… I can lift six… but I can’t go higher than this!”


He held it for a few seconds before dropping them with a loud thud. A stronger tremor rolled beneath their feet.


“A two-ton increase in one month,” Richard whistled, clearly impressed. “You’re leveling up fast.”


“It’s probably thanks to my healing factor,” Damon replied. “My muscles repair and rebuild quicker—so technically, I’m recovering and gaining strength faster than average.”



---


Third Month Progress Report


“Third month progress report!” Richard announced, checking his smartwatch as Damon approached with a heavy breath.


“Another two tons!” Damon groaned, his voice strained as he set down a stack of seven cubes.


“That’s fourteen tons!” Richard celebrated, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re turning into a tank!”



---


Fourth Month Progress Report


Back at the junkyard, Damon stood over a pile of eight stacked cubes. Sweat poured down his forehead as he tried to lift them, but they barely budged.


“Nope… I can’t lift it. It’s too heavy. Eight is just… too much,” he admitted through gritted teeth.


Richard nodded, not disappointed but contemplative. “It’s natural to hit a wall after a certain point. I suppose it's only natural that the gains were huge in the first few months.”



---


Fifth Month Progress Report


“Fifth month. Here we go again,” Richard said, unsure of what to expect this time.


Damon stood beside the same pile of eight cubes. He gave it a solid attempt, grunting, straining… but ultimately failed to lift them fully.


“I can’t get all eight up,” he admitted. “But I think I got about seven and a half before giving out.”


“So roughly 15 tons,” Richard concluded, eyebrows raised. “Not bad at all. You’ve gone from ten to fifteen tons in just five months.”


…


“Six Month Progress Report…” Richard said casually, his tone relaxed as he watched Damon prepare.


“Oh wow!” Damon cheered, grinning wide as he tossed the webbed-up stack of crushed car cubes in front of him. The earth beneath them rumbled as the eight compacted cubes hit the ground. “I finally did it! I completed the eight!”


A tremor rolled under their feet just as a loud voice barked from the distance.


“Oi! Are you the damn kids causing all this ruckus every month?! Don’t run—you brats!”


“Oh shit!!” Damon and Richard shouted in unison as they turned and bolted from the junkyard, the sudden flicker of security lights flaring behind them.


They dashed down the dark alley, both laughing with adrenaline-fueled grins plastered on their faces.



---


Of course, strength training and sneaking into junkyards weren’t the only things the duo had done over the course of the six months. After all, they had a to-do list—and it wasn’t getting any shorter.


One lazy afternoon, Damon was sitting cross-legged on Richard’s bed, flipping through sketches and notes scattered across the room. Richard, sprawled on his stomach, kicked his legs absentmindedly while scribbling onto a notepad. Various notebooks were spread open around them, each one displaying alternate versions of hero uniform concepts.


“I could take some material from my dad’s workshop,” Richard said with a sly grin. “Hell, I might even ask him for some.”


“What? Seriously?” Damon blinked. “Won’t he get suspicious?”


“Nah. I’ll just tell the old man I’m suddenly interested in the family business. I mean, it’s technically true—I am learning to design suits.”


“Oh right, I forgot—you can knit,” Damon teased, elbowing him gently. “I should thank you in advance for the woolly sweater, granny.”


Richard immediately stopped sketching and looked up, deadpan. “Do you want me to make your suit hideous on purpose?”


“No…” Damon pouted.


“Then shut up.”


After a beat, Damon scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “…Actually, could you teach me how?”


Richard raised an eyebrow, somewhere between amused and baffled. “Seriously?—you were just making fun of me for knitting.”


“So?” Damon sulked. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn.”


Richard rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to be a stylish knitter, just like me. Maybe you’ll earn your scarf privileges.”


They both burst into laughter.



---


Back to the designs, Richard clapped his hands dramatically. “Alright, fashionista—let’s see outfit number one!”


Damon stepped out of the in-room bathroom in his first prototype. He wore baggy black pants and a matching black sweater. A dark blue spider insignia stretched across his chest, and his face was obscured by a black mask.


They both looked at each other for a moment and sighed in sync.


“Nope,” they said together. Damon turned back into the bathroom.



---


Outfit two was next: a red and black leather jacket with matching gloves and a red mask. Damon emerged looking like a biker-themed antihero.


“Ew, what the hell were we thinking?” Richard said, cringing. “This screams midlife crisis. Back to the drawing board.”



---


Finally, Damon stepped out in a red and blue suit with a bold blue spider across his chest. The material was sleeker, more refined. It looked cleaner than the previous attempts and definitely more “heroic.”


Richard placed a thoughtful hand under his chin. “Much better. The silhouette is sharp. The colors pop… but…”


“But?” Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.


“It doesn’t scream ‘you’ yet,” Richard admitted. “It’s good, but it still feels like it’s missing that one thing—that identity spark. That thing that'll make you different”


Damon looked down at the suit and nodded. “Yeah… I see what you mean. Let’s try again.”


Richard narrowed his eyes, energized. “One more time, I’m really starting to see the vision.”


…


It was late at night when Richard sat on his bed, knees raised, using them to prop up his sketchbook. The quiet hum of the city outside his window served as a gentle soundtrack to his focus.


He was carefully shading in the spider symbol first, referencing the image Damon had sent. Even though he already knew how it should look, something about getting the symbol just right felt important— That part was the easiest part after all.


He tapped his lips with the colored pencil thoughtfully.“What color… What color…” he murmured. “Should I just make it blue—”


He paused mid-sentence. His eyes locked on the uncolored sketch, and then… he laughed softly.


“Duh,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Of course… It really shouldn’t have taken me this long to figure it out.”



---


The next evening…


“Alright, Narcissus,” Richard called, arms folded, standing just outside the bathroom door. “Are you done admiring your own reflection, or do we get to see this masterpiece in action?”


“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Damon’s muffled voice replied. “It’s just a little tight in some places…”


The door creaked open—and Damon stepped out.


He wore a sleek, modern suit. Black ran along his sides, arms, and legs like an outline, while the rest was snow white, crisply stitched with fine web patterns. A large, bright-blue spider emblem stretched across his chest. His mask dangled in one hand, revealing tousled white hair and a confident smirk.


Richard froze. His breath caught for a second—then he blinked. Repeatedly.


“…Why aren’t you wearing your mask?”


Damon shrugged. “It messes with my hair.”


Still, he tugged the mask on with a huff, the final touch completing the look.


“So,” he asked, turning slowly to show it off, “what do you think? Not bad, huh? I kinda like it.”


Richard stared for another moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.


“…It’s spectacular.”


Damon squinted.


“…Don’t make it gay.”


“You just had to ruin the moment,” Richard deadpanned.


“You looked like you wanted to kiss me—I was protecting myself,” Damon teased.


Richard rolled his eyes. “You could weaponize your ability to annoy people. Forget webs. Just talk until the criminals surrender.”


“I might just do that,” Damon laughed.


Richard smirked, then slapped Damon’s chest with the back of his hand. “Anyway, I think we found it. I’ll make a few last-minute tweaks, but otherwise? It’s perfect.”



---


Beyond designing suits, the boys began transforming their shared secret base: an abandoned warehouse that had once been nothing but dirt and rust. 


The second-floor control room had become Richard’s territory. Police scanners, salvaged computer monitors, a patched-together desk, and a well-loved spinning chair now filled the space. It was his command room, his stage to pull out maps and information with a flick of his fingers.


The place still smelled like rust and oil—but now, it felt like theirs. They cleaned when they could, added bits of flair where it counted, and slowly turned decay into decor.


Even the rust became part of the charm.



---


Weeks later, Damon and Richard stepped out of the DMV, grinning like they’d just conquered the world. Each held a brand-new driver’s license in their hands, inspecting their photos with exaggerated pride.


Richard stuffed his ID into his pocket and threw his arms over his head. “Man, I can’t wait to show my dad. He promised to buy me a car once I passed.”


“I’m getting Dane’s old one,” Damon replied, shaking his head. “He’s getting a new ride for graduating from the academy.”


The two casually fist-bumped.


“Life is good~” Richard said with a smug grin. 


…


Back at the warehouse, Damon soared through the air like a seasoned acrobat.


He leapt from pillar to pillar with fluid, effortless grace, his movements sharp and controlled. With a flick of his wrist, a webshot fired downward, bouncing off the floor and smacking a rusted tin can mid-bounce, launching it into the air.


Without pause, he fired twin webs at a large, suspended tire. Using the tension, he pulled himself through the circular opening, threading the tire like a needle and twisting mid-flight into a clean aerial spin.


From below, Richard grabbed a stack of frisbees.


“Let’s see you handle this!”


He tossed them one after the other—fast, unpredictable.


Damon twisted in the air again, flicking his wrists with quick precision. Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Each webshot nailed a frisbee, sending them spiraling out of the air before he launched himself higher, his feet practically brushing the rafters.


Richard wasn’t done.


He slung a modified potato cannon over his shoulder and fired off a barrage of tennis balls.


Damon reacted instantly—tumbling and spinning midair, weaving through the flurry of yellow blurs with only inches to spare. With a split-second landing, one hand touching down on the concrete, he fired a webline at the cannon.


Thwip!


It yanked clean out of Richard’s grasp.


Another quick flick—thwip—and Richard’s hands were suddenly webbed together.


He blinked, caught off guard.


Damon caught the falling cannon in one hand while grinning, he casually walked over to him with cannon over his shoulders. He reached out and tore the webs off Richard’s hands with a clean pull.


They both grinned wide.


“Although we're still missing the name, I say the Six months of training is officially complete!” Richard said with a triumphant laugh.


“The name isn't too important, It'll come to us when it comes to us, but yeah, I agree apart from the name, everything else is complete” Damon chuckled, holding out his palm,


Smack!


A perfect high five echoed through the warehouse.