What If...Uncle Ben and Aunt May Never Died?

From his seat in the far back of the classroom, Peter fought not to doze off. He'd already gotten in trouble for falling asleep in class twice, and a third strike would probably earn him detention. Peter always snuck out of detention—the gym teacher never tried to stop him—but it would save time and energy to not have to sneak out in the first place.

Fighting sleep was growing harder and harder, though. It was Monday afternoon, and after Saturday night's party, Sunday hadn't been nearly enough recovery. Besides, he already knew how to do every type of derivative after the first time they learned it. He didn't need a review session of all of them. At this point, the only thing keeping him awake was the tight craving in his stomach that always set in a few hours after their lunch break.

Finally, the bell rang, and Peter slung his backpack over one shoulder. He escaped out the nearest exit and headed for the bleachers by the field. As usual, Peter heard him before he saw him. "Yo, Parker."

Peter followed the sound of the voice and hopped the fence to get beneath the bleachers, careful not to be seen. Technically, they weren't supposed to be here. That's exactly why they liked it. "Hey," Peter greeted. He accepted the lit cigarette handed to him and took a long drag, sighing in relief as the built-up tension left his body.

"You really needed that, huh," Flash remarked.

"Calculus is slowly killing me," Peter said.

He gestured to the smoke. "So is that."

Peter took another drag. "Whatever. How was your day?"

"Excruciating. But that's nothing new."

"You sleep on Sunday?"

"I think 'slipped into a coma' is a more apt description."

"Fair." Flash never hesitated to go completely off the deep end on Saturday nights. Peter had seen it firsthand, and unlike Flash, he actually remembered it. He knew not to push his limits because May and Ben would have his head if they found out where he really was when he said he was going to late-night study sessions for the Quizbowl club that he never actually joined. Peter had gone to one meeting at Flash's insistence that it would be a great confidence boost to see the nerds uninhibited by fear of ridicule from their non-nerd peers. He knew the answers to a lot of the questions, but he didn't care enough to chime in. Besides, that girl Michelle from his calc class stared at him for so long it grew unnerving. It wasn't an 'I have a crush on you and I'm too socially illiterate to hide it' kind of stare—she was dating that Filipino kid, also from his calc class—but more of a 'What the hell are you doing here, unwelcome stranger' kind of stare. It freaked him out. Needless to say, Peter had never gone back. Whenever May and Ben thought he was at Quizbowl practice, he was actually here, smoking with Flash. He made sure to always keep a change of clothes in his backpack so he didn't walk into the apartment smelling of cigarettes.

"You fall asleep in class again?" Flash asked.

"No. I'll get detention if I do it again."

"Oh yeah. You've already got two strikes with Cunningham. One more, and you're sitting pretty with those misbehavior PSAs," Flash teased.

"No way. I'm not sitting through another second of that." Last time Peter had detention they'd played this stupid video that the school's SGA made. They thought it would make kids more likely to comply, hearing it from other kids, but all it really caused was an uptick in bullying for those poor SGA kids who got roped into making the video.

"Then you'd better not fall asleep in class."

"I won't. I'll make up my sleep tonight, since it'll take me like ten minutes to do this stupid calc homework."

"Peter, I think you're the only kid who both smokes under the bleachers and does his homework on time."

Peter shrugged. Yeah, it was a bit of an atypical combination, but he did genuinely enjoy the concepts of his math and science courses. Just not the pace. English and history were another story. He did just enough to keep his grades up so May and Ben didn't freak out, but that was it. He didn't dare waste his time on something so boring.

"Whatever."

"Sometimes I think you're a nerd only pretending to be a bad boy."

"Is that what people like us are called? Bad boys? That's ridiculous," he scoffed.

Flash took a drag of his own cigarette. "I don't make up the words."

"I'm just me. No title needed."

"Okay, Parker."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that."

"What? Parker?"

"Yeah. You're not the coach of a sports team. I don't call you Thompson." That, and Peter didn't like to be referred to by his last name because it wasn't really his. He inherited it, but it wasn't given to him thoughtfully like Peter was.

"Fine, Peter." This time, Flash spat the name almost hatefully, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. Peter ignored him. Most of the time, Flash had little control over the words that left his mouth. He just talked, and thought about it afterwards, if at all.

"What are you doing tonight?" Flash asked.

"Nothing. But tomorrow my uncle's forcing me to watch college soccer."

"Really? Gross."

"Yeah. He's a huge fan of Stanford."

"Why? Did he go there?"

"No."

"Then why does he like them?"

Peter shrugged. Ben's soccer team preferences followed a very simple pattern: "He always roots for whoever's doing the best this season."

Flash choked on his current breath and nearly dropped his cigarette. "That's ridiculous."

"I know. Apparently Stanford's got an unbeatable goalie this season. And he's a freshman."

"Impressive."

"Whatever." Sports didn't interest him all that much. He only watched because Ben got sad when he skipped out on 'quality time,' and it made him feel guilty. As if Ben didn't skip out way more often than Peter ever did. Work always came first.

"Did you apply to Stanford? Maybe you can meet the guy."

"Haha, no. I'm not Stanford fodder." Peter was plenty smart enough to recognize that he didn't have the extracurriculars to get into such a prestigious university. He'd never considered it worth his time to join an honors society or spend time with boring people doing boring things just to bolster his resume. Watching Star Wars alone on his laptop at home or parkouring through the city always seemed preferable.

"Yeah, it's probably for the best. You don't want to go to school with a bunch of stuck-up Ivy League wannabes and native Californians."

"That's for sure."

Peter finished off his cigarette, tossed it to the ground, and put it out with the toe of his sneaker. He picked up the butt and hopped the fence, throwing it in the nearest trash can. "Later, Flash."

"Bye, Peter."

He didn't take the subway home, instead deciding to traverse his favorite spots. Peter hopped atop a closed dumpster and flipped off, then climbed a fire escape up several stories. Launching himself across a gap between buildings, he grabbed the next fire escape railing and front-flipped onto the platform. An ominous creak sounded, and some lady from inside yelled at him to stop being such a hooligan. Peter paid her no mind. He dropped a story, then another, until he was close enough to street level to jump and safely tuck and roll. In a narrow alleyway, he hopped from wall to wall Mario style and finished with a corkscrew off a low brick wall.

His energy sufficiently burned off, he walked the rest of the way home. May and Ben were still at work, so he opened the door to an empty apartment. First, he migrated to the fridge and snagged a piece of cold pizza from last night's dinner to tide him over for the next few hours. May still couldn't cook for shit. She'd even taken classes for it, but they didn't help. When he was little, he and Ben used to make jokes about it, but now they just blandly accepted whatever burnt bites of meat and weirdly-textured baked goods she created for them. They only poked fun when something was particularly terrible.

Peter raced through his homework as quickly as he could while making sure he still did it correctly. He got a message from Aunt May that she was staying late at work because one of her colleagues couldn't come in and they needed the extra hands. Less than forty minutes later, he got a similar text from Uncle Ben. Peter told both of them it was fine and he'd fend for himself tonight. Internally, though, his heart sank. He understood how important their jobs were—a city without nurses or cops was a terrifying notion to contemplate—but it would've been nice for them to choose their adopted nephew over the city every once in a while. Ben was supposed to watch Battle Bots with him tonight, as recompense for making Peter watch soccer tomorrow. Instead, Peter watched it alone with a frozen dinner on the coffee table in front of him. It was times like these a small part of him wished he had friends to invite over. Maybe he'd make some at college, if he even got in.

I just really wanted alternate universe Peter to be best friends with Flash, okay? I just really wanted that. Also, quick little update. This story is flying by so rapidly, and there's no way I will have Beyond Gravesen finished anytime soon. It's a massive, sprawling story and there's so much more I want to incorporate. Things are progressing well (130k words and counting), but I don't yet have an estimate on when it will be finished. That being said, I will still probably publish a few more one-offs between now and then, if inspiration strikes. I'd love to hear some requests from you for more Gravesen Guardians content or post-NWH angst.