Happy Father's Day

Yes, I know that Father's Day was a few days ago. Sue me.

It was dark.

He couldn't have possibly arrived sooner. The whole day the graveyard had been flooded with people, almost certainly visiting their fathers. Putting flowers on the grave, bowing their heads, moment of silence, the whole nine yards.

The man in red wanted to be alone.

He jumped into the empty graveyard with no flowers. No Bible. No cross. Nothing but the salty tears stinging his eyes and the heavy guilt weighing on his heart.

The man stopped in front of tombstone, not really knowing what to say. All he could fathom to do was stare into the words etched into the stone.

Here lies Ben Parker. Husband. Uncle. Father.

Father.

What did that word mean? I mean, what did it really mean. Did it mean the person who had sex with your mother, bringing you into this life? Did it mean the person who raised you? Or did it mean the person who loved you to the full extent of their being, who's love washed over you ever second you were with them, who treated as if you were their son, even if it wasn't biological? Two men can adopt a child that they had no involve in the birth of, are they not the child's fathers?

So, for all intents and purposes, Ben Parker was Peter Parker's father.

Thinking of all this, the man in red got on his knees and removed the mask from over his head, revealing the young face who had been through so much. The night air felt nice on his skin. It was a beautiful night, for some reason. In an occasion such as this, the cliché called for it to be raining. There was nothing to be heard of for rain. It was just...peace. And then the man knew what he wanted to say to his father.

"Hey Uncle Ben," he said, then stopped himself. "Hey Dad."

The boy smiled. It felt right when he said it.

"I...I know I haven't been here since...since the funeral. And I...I really wanted to come with Aunt May...but I just...I couldn't..."

Tears. More tears.

"You're here because of me, and...I could never see her here. I couldn't. It nearly broke me the day you died. Seeing her cry. Knowing that I was the cause. I just...I'm so sorry Dad."

He looked at the tomb stone, a small smile on his lips.

"But the thing is...I'm not sad," he said. "For the first time in a long time...I'm happy. I met...this amazing girl. I think you'd like her, Ben. She's got a lot of spunk. And Aunt May...she's happy again, Ben. I saw her smile, I mean really smile, for the first time yesterday. I have friends now. And...I know that wherever you are...you're happy. At first I thought you'd hate me for your death but...you wouldn't. While you were here, you showed me so much love, and...I can never thank you enough for that. You really were the best damn guy I'd ever, hell, I'll ever know."

Again, the tears started to fall. He didn't attempt to wipe them away or hide them.

"I...I just miss you so much, Dad."

Peter opened the door. Slowly at first, then all the way. His aunt was at work and sitting on the couch, was Ben Parker. The jolly older man turned towards Peter, a happy look on his face.

"Hey Pete," he started. "How was...oh my god!"

Peter walked into the house, his lip busted, his eye swollen, and cuts and bruises all over his body. His backpack slumped to his side lazily, had obviously been drug some distance. Probably the entire walk home. As soon as he closed the door, Ben was on top of him, tending to his cuts.

"Peter, oh my god!" Ben stammered out, not knowing what to do. "What the hell happened?"

"This is all your fault..." Peter mumbled, barely audible.

"What?"

"This is all your fault!" Peter yelled.

"P...Peter, I..."

"I tried sticking up for myself against Flash! Tried to put my foot down, just like you told me to! And look what happened!" Peter yelled, tears streaming from his eyes. "I got shit beat out of me!"

"That Flash kid did this?" Ben asked. "I...I didn't know he was this violent. We should take legal..."

"No, you idiot!" Peter yelled. "That'll just make things worse!"

"Hey! I know you're hurting, but don't you dare...!"

Peter didn't stay to hear what he had to say. He just ran up to his room, locked the door, and buried himself in his sheets. He just wished for everyone to leave him alone. What did he ever do to deserve this? His parents left him as a baby, no explanation given, just gone. Flash beat the crap out of his constantly, for no other reason except just because he can, and his uncle was trying to make it worse. Did everybody just hate Peter Parker? Was there some big cosmic joke saying he could never truly win? That he always had to suffer?

There was a creak by the door, and Peter turned to see his uncle walking in.

"How did you get in here?" Peter asked, not really surprised.

"Master key," Ben said, jangling some keys. "Opens every door in the house."

"I don't wanna talk to you," Peter said, putting his head into his pillow, trying to block out the noise of his uncle's voice.

"Maybe not," Ben said, sitting on the bed next to his crying nephew. "But I wanna talk to you."

Peter said nothing. Ben took this as his queue to keep talking.

"I know...I know life is hard Pete, and I know yours is a little more challenging than most kids your age," he said, sincerely. "But...I think that's what makes you so special. You've been through...so much. And, you somehow find a way to keep smiling. To look on the brighter sides of things. Your father had a knack for that too."

"Oh yeah?" Peter said. "And what was the bright side of him leaving me?"

"...I don't know Peter," Ben said. "I really don't. But...I'm glad he did. Because now I have you. I get to see you grow, and learn, and smile, and just be the lovable kid we adore. I get to see all that and...and I just feel like the luckiest guy on the whole planet."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm...look Pete, I don't know where your father is. I really don't. But my gut is telling me that he wouldn't leave without a good reason. I honestly believe that. And... Maybe he'll come back, maybe he won't. Again, I don't know. But, what I do know is, that he'd be very proud of the man you're becoming..."

"You mean the man who gets beat up all the time?"

"No, the man who can get up after he gets beat up all the time. Peter, all these cuts and bruises...they're only going to make you stronger. Y'know, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"I hate that song."

"I do too," Ben said. "But the message is what's important. Because one day...one day I'm not going to be here, Peter. And I need a strong man to take care of May for me. I don't think we have any other family, so I guess that means you're up. You have to get stronger, physically, but mostly spiritually and mentally. Not for you, but for the people you care about. The people who need your protection. Because that's...that's everything, Pete. Can you get stronger for me?"

"Yeah," Peter said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yeah, I can do that, Dad...I, I'm sorry..."

"Peter...," Ben said, before pulling him into a hug. "Don't you ever apologize for calling me Dad."

"I'm sorry I called you an idiot."

"I know Pete. I know."

Peter smiled at the memory, relishing in the warmth that it brought. Pulling the mask on, he stood tall in front of the stone.

"Let's make a deal Ben," Peter said, confidently. "I'm gonna get stronger. I am. And I promise, no I swear it, that I'm going to protect everyone I care about. I'm not going to let what happened to you, happen to anyone else, Ben. I swear it."

The man jumped away, smiling, which he didn't expect to be doing today. And, shining under the his name on the tomb stone, were words that Peter had heavily insisted, almost demanded they put on there.

"With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility."

The man stood on top of the hill, very interested by what he saw. He took off his hat to reveal his mostly brown, but slightly frayed hair.

He went to visit him for Father's Day.

Although it obviously hurt, he understood it. He had never really been in the boy life, while Ben was a constant part of it. It couldn't be avoided.

"Come on Dad," the voice yelled at him. The man turned to see a young woman with long brown hair looking at him. "If we go, we can still make the concert."

"In a minute Jean," he said. He loved her, but man she annoyed him sometimes. It was times like these he was glad she took her mother's last name:

DeWolff.

End.