A/N: This is the second edit of this chapter/story; unlike the first one, I feel this has a better focus. There are no extraneous characters I never actually planned on utilizing, there is a solid conflict that she has to overcome, and it has direct consequences that she must now deal with in the meantime. I also fixed the timeline; originally it was in January after Christmas break, but after rewatching the second season of Spectacular Spider-Man, I realized it starts after Thanksgiving break, now probably the beginning of December (Thanksgiving is always on the fourth/last Thursday of November), which I didn't really notice before. So, yeah, that happened.

I also don't know if I'm going to create a new conflict in an episodic basis to match the show or not...I have some set plots in mind, but I think it might be too long if I did thirteen 'episodes'. Maybe I'll skip a few, make it more 'novelly' or something, like Harry Potter or something.

Not as long, though. Hopefully.

Anyways, read and review! I'd like to know what you think of the edits, especially if you've read the previous version :)

Chapter One

Non Compos Mentis

"Good afternoon, Amelia," Mrs. Murphy said as she walked into the room with a folder of papers under her arm. "What a surprise to see you after school."

"Don't call me that," was all I said. I couldn't actually tell if the old woman was surprised or not, because her face was all pinched up as usual, and she spoke in a complete monotone. I wanted to guess that she was surprised, because this was indeed a new experience for me. "It's just Fletcher."

"Very well, Miss Fletcher. Perhaps you might enjoy a rundown of what happens in this classroom after the final bell rings?" Mrs. Murphy asked, sitting down at the teacher's desk in the front corner of the room. She moved slowly, her creaky frame protesting to any movement that was too quick or frivolous, and she eyed me with a level of suspicion I was not unused to. "Seeing as there is no one else here to fill you in on the matter."

I didn't have to look around to know that I was the only student in the room, sitting in a desk off-center from the middle. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

There were so many ways to return to school after Thanksgiving vacation.

Talking about the meals, the football games, the weird family get-togethers that inevitably end on late nights with drunk uncle Bob talking about his days moose hunting with your dad and gramps in the backwoods of Wisconsin...

Usually, however, it's not spent earning your first detention.

I had never been in detention before. Like, never. Although, considering what happened, I could have gotten a lot worse. Even now, I already felt the urge to jump out the second-story window.

Let me explain before you all think I'm some crazy, hormone-addled teenager who's out of control and acting out as a secret cry for help, because I'm emotionally traumatized or something. Seriously, it's not like that at all.

OoOoO

It started in gym class. After Venom, after almost losing my mind to psychosis, I was a little slow getting back on the horse. I sat in the back of the class, didn't raise my hand, took naps under the nose of teachers who either didn't notice or didn't care. The first couple days went by swimmingly, and I was starting to feel a bit better, if more hungry. Like, really, really hungry, but I guess that's what happens when you have a metabolism four-times-faster than the average human being. Translation: Not cheap to feed.

Anyways, let's just say Astor got back into the habit of messing with me. Apparently, people don't really change and I guess she just got bored with the idea of being a decent human being and decided to pick on me during basketball practice.

Now, I didn't play basketball and I wouldn't pretend I knew how, either. I knew basic things, and I could land a dunk from across the gym if I wanted to, but that wasn't skill, that was just good old fashioned telekinesis doing its work for me.

And, as things usually went in gym class, Astor was chosen team captain for the red jerseys, and I had been the last-picked for the blue jerseys. Oh, that stung. So small, so pitiful and unliked, that each team kept dodging the issue until it could no longer be dodged. I had to wait, with my back pressed against the wall, as the teams muttered and snickered as the other two were picked for two humiliating seconds, no one pointed a finger at me and said, "Amy, you're on our side."

At least Gwen was decent enough to give me a look of sympathy and a shrug of her shoulders. Peter made a rude gesture in the direction of Astor, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing and freak everyone out.

I couldn't fathom the reason why Astor would pick Peter. To piss me off? Although if she hadn't, Peter might be beside me against this wall, because the other team captain – Flash Thompson – sure as hell wasn't going to pick Puny Parker to be on his team.

Then again, Peter had proved himself capable of physical greatness, after trying out for the football team a couple months ago. It had gotten people's attention, that maybe that scrawny kid with the mop of brown hair might actually have good hand-eye coordination and muscles to boot.

Of course, knowing he was Spider-Man, this came as no surprise.

Not that I knew that at the time he tried out - in fact, I was still getting used to the idea, having just learned less than a week ago. And it kind of made sense now. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, wasn't it?

"All right, let's just get this over with," Flash sighed, beleaguered to have me on his team. I wasn't a Parker, but I was close enough – maybe even worse, because I hadn't tried out for the football team, and no one knew I could be as fast or as strong as Peter on the field. "Who's got the ball?"

Man, he didn't even address me. Jerk.

It also kind of sucked to be on the opposite side of both Peter and Gwen, because now I had no one to talk to. But Peter smiled at me, and I got the distinct feeling he was going to make this game a lot more interesting.

Oh, please, don't do anything stupid, I begged, hoping the Universe would listen. Just because we have superpowers doesn't mean I want to show off in front of everyone else.

Coach Bronson, with a magnificent mustache worthy of a 70's cop show, blew his whistle, and everyone burst into action.

I moved around only half-heartedly. Everyone was running, shouting, shuffling left to right as the ball was passed, bounced, passed again, back and forth and sometimes in a frustrating circle. Kids brushed past me, ignored me, and their moving patterns kept me herded to the edge. As much as I felt uncomfortable and unwanted in this situation, I wasn't feeling particularly spiteful (again, too tired to care), and didn't try to make things difficult for anyone by getting in their way.

(Once or twice I might have tripped a couple people "on accident". Not that they'd suspect anything else, of course).

Then, somehow, Peter had the ball. I don't know who passed it to him, or if he was just fast enough to intercept, but suddenly he was close and when he went to pass the ball over a blue-jersey's shoulder, it somehow slipped from his hands and flew directly towards me.

I, of course, caught it, because I was too distracted and then suddenly on high alert, to not to. It was instinct, seeing that orange flash, the blip on my radar, the automatic rise of my arms and turn of my palms to catch the ball that would have otherwise conked me on the head.

"Fletcher, go!"

Peter breezed by me, a smirk on his face, and I threw a dirty look his way before dodging a swipe to steal the ball. Suddenly, my heart was pounding and I was all too aware of my surroundings, the location of each and every player, their ever-changing positions, hectic but predictable, close but too slow to catch me.

I needed someone to pass to.

"Amy, over here!"

Flash, taller than the rest, was wide open, but there were half a dozen arms in his way, the red team knowing he was an easy target and swarming him in case I got brave.

I saw a different path and moved. The blue team practically jumped out of my way, surprised by the sudden action, and the red team leaped forward, trying to get an opening so I could pass.

I had two bounces to make before I got called out for travelling. Huh, I guess I knew more about basketball than I thought.

Still, I made my steps count. I spun around another red player, and without looking but knowing he was there, I tossed the ball in the air, watching in satisfaction as it landed squarely into Flash's hands. Two seconds later, and the ball swished through the hoop.

"What?" the kid that I had just dodged looked around in bewilderment, unable to comprehend how I made the successful pass without even looking in the right direction. "Lucky throw!"

"Sure," I muttered, taking a step back. "Lucky."

But my part wasn't over yet. When the ball came back to this end of the court, it was thrown and in my hands again – apparently somebody realized I wasn't as bad as they thought, and figured perhaps my luck would ring twice.

I took a step back to avoid the first red-team player coming my way, some redhead kid whose name I couldn't remember. The red team pulled in closer, apparently figuring out that I could throw pretty damn high, and suddenly I was cornered against the boundary line. One step over and it'd be a foul - it's called a foul, right? - and I'd lose the ball.

Maybe that was their plan. It wasn't a bad one.

I tried to find someone I could pass to, but the red team had gotten so close that any extension of my arms over my head would put the ball directly into the red team's hand. I knew my luck wasn't going to work this time, and was about to accept defeat, before Astor got impatient and acted.

She had been on my left, jeering and challenging me to make the pass, give up the ball. They were all so much taller than me, and really, I was going to lose anyways. I didn't want this attention, I just wanted to go unnoticed. This was not helping my case.

Unfortunately, Astor wasn't going to make it any easier.

"Come on already!" she snapped and jumped forward to grab the ball.

I jumped back to avoid her – out of bounds, oh well – but Astor was bigger and her reached longer. She had her hands on the ball, was trying to wrestle it out of my grip.

At this point, whatever happened next would not be considered part of the game, since now we were fighting over the ball in an obviously against-the-rules manner. I didn't have that great of a grip on the ball anyways (unlike Peter, who was well protected against stealers thanks to his extra-sticky fingers) and was about to let go when Astor grabbed my wrist and dug her nails in.

I didn't know much about fighting dirty in basketball, but this seemed to qualify. It wasn't just desperate, it seemed personal, she was really digging in and yanking, and from the snarl on Astor's face I could tell she enjoyed the pain she inflicted. A burning sensation grew in my chest, furious at the obvious lack of human compassion. The hell was wrong with this chick?

(Not that it really hurt – I mean, I've been punched through walls, this was a walk-in-the-park by comparison).

It made me gasp and recoil. Astor smiled in victory as the ball started to slip into her hands. I was going to let go in that split-second before she grabbed me, but now I had suddenly changed my mind.

My heartbeat picked up, my grip tightened, tried to break away. My heartbeat was almost as loud as the shouting in my ears, filling up my head, blocking everything out, even my radar. Just stop, I pleaded silently, but no one heard. Stop it, you're too loud, it hurts! Stop, stop, stop!

But Astor wouldn't let go, she just wouldn't let go...why wouldn't she let go?

LET GO OF ME.

And then I was seeing red.

All I heard was a shout, a scream, the sensation of something cracking beneath my grip, and the clanging of metal.

Next thing I knew, Astor was against the bleachers, curled up and clutching her arm, crying.

Jiminy Christmas, she was crying.

Everything was loud, echoing. I swayed on my feet, the ground feeling unsteady beneath me. The red haze was gone and I felt mostly normal, except for the part where I completely blanked out and now my high-school nemesis was on the floor, bawling her eyes out.

"Is she hurt...?" someone asked. "What did she do?"

"Did you see that...?" a girl whispered, but it was like a shout in my ear. "She just grabbed her..."

"Went totally psycho..."

"It's always the quiet ones..."

"Wait, what happened? I didn't see it!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Coach Bronson stormed in, breaking through the wall of students crowding in on the two of us. He stared at Astor on the ground, crying, then back at me with eyes widening in surprise, before going back to Astor, then back to me with a full on double take. Then he turned to the group at large, waving his arms back and forth, "All right, everyone, clear out! Back off, we need some air here! Can someone tell me what happened?"

I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me back, but I was too shocked to move. Did I do that?

"Okay, Jimmy, you're fast, right?" Coach Bronson pointed at one of the boys, who went ramrod straight with the unexpected attention. "Go get the nurse. Sarah, go tell the secretary, we'll need to contact Astor's parents..."

"Amy, come on."

I felt another pull on my arm and relented. I followed the guide, my focus going in and out. Was that me? Did I do that?

The voices faded and the lighting changed - we were in the hallway now. I leaned against a locker, the metal's coolness seeping through my shirt. There was a chilly draft in here, from someone opening the door to outside. I rubbed my arms, the cold bringing some sense back into me.

"Hey, are you all right?" it was Peter, shaking me gently. "What happened back there?"

"I-I don't know," that was the truth. "I just...I got angry. I saw red. Then, next thing I knew, Astor's on the ground."

"You saw red?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"Yeah, like in a movie," it was strange. I distinctly remembered that part - just a haze of red that veiled the world. I had become blind and all too aware at once. Like I was slipping backwards into oblivion and something burst forth in my stead.

And that's when I figured out what happened.

"I lost control," I whispered, so terrified of the thought that I could barely breathe. I could now recall the memory of my hand grabbing Astor's arm, the ball dropping away completely, her sudden gasp as my grip grinded her wrist bones together, the sensation of throwing my shoulder into her, slamming into the bleachers.

That crack in the shell, the loose rubble falling before the avalanche; when Astor decided to lunge at me, hurt me, that just burst the balloon filled with - with something that had been there that I didn't know was still there. I knew, just then, that it had been there the entire time, just lurking under the surface, ready to break free. Just a surge of power blooming upwards, heat and rage and vindication, too fast and too sudden for me to stop. And it felt good, too - that was the worst part. Like I was releasing a pent-up energy that had been stored, suppressed, hidden until just the right moment. So dark, so intense that it almost knocked me off my feet.

"I thought it was over."

But it wasn't. I thought, after meeting Bruce, that it had ended, that I had overcome whatever Venom did to me, did to my mind. I thought I had gotten better.

I was wrong.

It just got worse. This had never happened to me before. I never lost control in public, as Amy, as myself. The nail-digging thing shouldn't have been enough to send me over the edge. Hell, I've taken worse beatings and never blacked out like this before. That shouldn't have happened.

...but it did.

I had been so sure things were good. That's what happens, I suppose. I was so confident in the matter that I couldn't see this coming. Bad things happen just when you least expect it.

"Maybe," Peter's brow furrowed and although he was trying to make the best of things, I knew what he was thinking the same as I. Venom. Whatever it did, it left lasting damage. "Maybe it's just a fluke. It's been a stressful week. And Astor's always getting on your nerves. This time, she just went too far."

From a realistic standpoint, Peter might have been right, if I didn't feel so wrong. It was probably the reasoning the teachers would go with - a bullied kid sick and tired of their situation, so they snap, lash out, and people get hurt. At least it was just Astor, though. For a bright side, it wasn't great, but considering my powers, others could have gotten hurt, too.

It's so nice to learn that you're a danger to society. People are really understanding of that, you know, by way of padded rooms and mental asylums.

I let Peter run with those thoughts, because I really wasn't in the state of mind to fully understand what was happening to me.

Thankfully, I hadn't been expelled on the spot. Since breaking other people's arms wasn't typical behavior for me, Principal Randall just had me apologize (sincerely) to Astor and her parents, promise to never do it again, and then assure them that I would be receiving proper punishment.

That just happened to be detention.

It could have been worse.

A lot worse.

Still, it didn't quell the urge to jump out the second-story window.

I had a lot of practice of hiding my emotions, so Mrs. Murphy was none the wiser to my internal thoughts. If they had an outward appearance, I imagined they'd look like a churning storm, with gray and purple clouds, thunder crackling, but no rain. The cloud just condensed, got bigger and darker, held onto the rain, even though it might just explode –

Whoa, slow down. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my rising heartbeat. I was panicking myself, getting all poetic like this. Clearly, Shakespeare was a bad influence.

"So let me explain to you what happens," Mrs. Murphy went on, drawing me back out of my reverie. "You will sit here, quietly with no music and no phones, for an hour and a half. Since you have nothing to entertain yourself with, I suggest doing any homework. I will not tolerate any sleepers."

Damn. Well, after she crossed off music privileges (ha, no still no cell phone here. Classic Amy), I thought I could get away with getting some beta waves going in my noggin, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. I just heaved a sigh and pulled out Hamlet, the latest of my Shakespearean torture methods.

As soon as this was done, I was jumping out the window.