DISCLAIMER: If you still think I'm claiming ownership of Spider-Man, please reread the first word of this chapter until you see the proverbial light.

Chapter Three: Painful Resolutions

Peter lay awake long after he'd gone to his room. His mind wouldn't shut up and let him sleep. There was the thing about Flash. Peter's new powers. Then, what worried him most. He'd heard his aunt and uncle discussing money problems. Despite not meaning to, he had eavesdropped on them. Uncle Ben had apparently lost his job. That did not help the load of overdue bills.

I've gotta find a way to make some money. Fast, Peter thought. Giving up on sleep, he got up. There was a copy of the classified ads on his desk. He switched on his desk lamp before turning to the ads. Half an hour later he saw it. An ad for people to fight. Three minutes for three thousand dollars. It also asked that the competitors wear colorful costumes. Peter got out his sketchbook and started working on costume ideas.

Sometime around two or three in the morning, his head hit the desk. Sleep had claimed him.


Next Morning

Peter bounded cheerfully down the stairs. Uncle Ben looked up from his newspaper. He grinned at the sight of his nephew literally bouncing off the wall at the end of the staircase. Ben chuckled to May, "Well, he's definitely all better."

"Oh yeah! Hey, I've got a project I need to go to the library and get some books for. I'll be gone most of the day. 'Kay?" Peter spoke up.

"Certainly, but you should eat breakfast before you go," Aunt May replied. She gestured to the pan of scrambled eggs on the stove. Peter, however, was already at the door.

"I'll eat something while I'm out, Aunt May, I promise," he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, Michelangelo! Don't forget, you have to help me paint the kitchen tonight! 'Penance' for starting a fight, remember?" Uncle Ben reminded him.

"I didn't start that fight!"

"You certainly finished it. You have to learn, Peter. With great power comes great responsibility. Even if Flash deserved it-- and he probably did-- you shouldn't have beat him up like that," Ben said. "I know you're going through a lot of changes right now. I went through exactly the same thing at your age--" Peter cut him off.

"No. Not exactly the same thing." The teen was so bold as to sound condescending.

"Peter," Aunt May warned.

"Just try not to get into any more fights, and I'll pick you up at seven at the library then." Uncle Ben sighed.

"Okay, Uncle Ben, I will!" Slam! went the front door, signaling that Peter was gone.


That Evening

There's something I'm supposed to do tonight, but I can't remember what. What is it? Ugh. If I don't remember, then it must not be that important, Peter reasoned as he stood behind a curtain. He was in a stadium of sorts, in one of the worse parts of town. The air was smoky, musty, and generally foul. The noise pollution defied the limits for a space this size, making the walls rattle. Peter half-heartedly wondered if the walls would give out. My ears sure might! Man! And I thought the halls at school were noisy at the end of the day! No comparison! Hearing and smell weren't the only senses assaulted by this place. Sight was too. The smoke was thick in the air, burning at Peter's eyes so he was forced to squint. If that wasn't enough, it seemed that everyone was wearing the cheesiest costume possible. Black leather, or faux leather. Some of the girls wore plastic gold-colored tube-tops. Their hair was greasy and tangled. They had too much make-up on.

"The Human Spider? That the best you got, kid?" the announcer suddenly hissed. The guy was right in front of Peter. My turn to fight that guy in the leotard, I guess, he thought.

"Yeah," replied Peter. The announcer made a sound of disgust.

"I'll work with it. Ugh. I've gotta find a better job," the man muttered. He brought the microphone close to his mouth again, and spoke in a deeper tone again, "The amazing, the terrifying, the lethal SPIDER-MAN!"

"No!" Peter hissed. "No! I'm--" he was shoved from behind, "ugh! My name is 'The Human Spider!' 'The Human Spider!'"

"Just get up there, kid!" a voice snapped from behind him. He was shoved forward again. This time he stumbled out in front of the curtain. Immediately, one of his opponent's 'cheerleaders' was in his face, insulting him.

"Why don'tcha go run home ta ya mommy, little boy!" Peter continued toward the arena, despite all the booing from the crowd.

Once he was in the arena, the announcer asked some people to lower the cage that covered the ring. Peter freaked. "Wait! Wait! Nobody said anything about a cage match!" Too late. The cage was down, and it was being locked in place. Peter turned to the guy who was locking his corner of the cage. "Wait! Unlock this! Please!" He grabbed the bars and rattled them to no avail. Great. I'm stuck in a cage for three minutes with Xenon, the warrior transvestite. Resigned to a gory fate, the teen turned to face his opponent.

"BONESAW! BONESAW! BONESAW!" the crowd cheered.

"I'm gonna make lunchmeat outta you, little man!" Bonesaw threatened in a gravelly voice. He charged toward Peter. The teen leapt up. The sticky-pads on his fingers gripped the bars. "Come down from there!"

"UH-UH!" Peter replied, shaking his head. His already wide eyes went wider as Bonesaw took a chair from one of his cheerleaders. The guy was really intent on bringing him down. Bonesaw swung the chair at him. Peter sprang off the side of the cage, somersaulting in the air. He went right over Bonesaw's head and landed behind him. The idiot looked around with a puzzled expression.

"Hey, stupid." Peter drew the guy's attention. Bonesaw turned. "Didja miss me?" That pun set his opponent off, and the teen had to dodge the chair again a few more times. He was hit enough times that he'd have a few big nasty bruises later though. Peter had squeezed a few good hits of his own too. Apparently Bonesaw was tired of using the chair. He passed it off through the bars. By the time he turned back around, Peter's fist was halfway to Bonesaw's face.

"You're gonna pay for that!" Bonesaw ran at him. The guy was red-faced with anger. Veins bulged on the idiot's forehead and neck. This guy, Peter decided, was funny when he was angry. So the teen taunted him.

"Hey, ugly! That's a cute outfit. Did your husband buy it for you?"

"Why you little--" Bonesaw didn't bother to finish the insult. Just charged at Peter. He flipped over Bonesaw's head again. When he landed he immediately kicked Bonesaw's feet out from under him. He let his burly opponent get back up. Then punched him one more time. Hard. A thud would have been heard if there was a little less noise. Bonesaw was knocked out.

"OUR NEW CHAMPION! SPIDER-MAN!" the announcer shouted, grabbing one of Peter's hands and raising it high in the air. Behind his mask, the teen grinned. Now we can pay some of those overdue bills, he thought.


Later

Not his problem? That's a gyp! False advertising! It isn't fair! If I had been an adult he wouldn't have done that! Peter thought as he stormed away from the office. The man inside it was supposed to give him three grand. Instead he'd slapped a single Benjamin in the teen's palm and told him to be on his merry way. When Peter had said he needed that money, the man had said, "That ain't my problem. I need this money too, and you ain't gettin' it! So scram!"

A guy suddenly pushed past Peter, nearly knocking him down. Thanks to his reflexes though, he didn't fall. The man was carrying the paper bag that guy had put the money in. The money that was rightfully Peter's. The thief tripped, so Peter got to the elevator first. He hit the down arrow on the keypad. "Hey! Couldja move?" the thief asked.

The rude man who had refused to pay Peter was at the end of the hallway. "Stop him! Stop the thief!" the man shouted. Peter knew what the right thing to do was. Stop the guy. But that other guy was a thief too. That bitter thought caused the teen's eyes to take on a hard look. He stepped out of the thief's way, allowing him into the elevator.

"Hey, thanks," the thief said. The elevator closed. Just then the other man reached Peter.

"What'd ya do that for? Ya could'a stopped him easy! Now he's gettin' away with my money."

Peter glared at him. "That ain't my problem."


Later

Peter strode toward the library. His anger had cooled only a little. Enough to hide it from Uncle Ben, though, Peter figured. He turned the corner, expecting Ben's car to come into view. Instead he saw three police cars and a large crowd. Several more cop cars were speeding off after another car. Which looked just like Uncle Ben's car. Oh God, don't let it be Uncle Ben. Oh God, please. The teen ran to the crowd, pushed his way through it. At last he knew what everyone was staring at. Police were trying to get breathing room in the center of the crowd. There, on the ground, bleeding, lay Uncle Ben. Four bullet holes in his torso bled like crazy.

"Move, let me through, that's my uncle!" Peter heard himself shout. Tears pooled in his blue eyes. He finally got to his uncle's side. He knelt there and picked up his uncle's hand. "Uncle Ben, wake up. Please." Ben opened his eyes. They were tear-filled from pain. The older man tried a few times before he succeeded in speaking. Even then, all he managed to say was his nephew's name. More tears welled in both men's eyes. Then Ben gasped, and his hand went limp in Peter's. It fell to the pavement.

Tears rolled down Peter's face. Anger. Pain. Grief, each beat of his heart whispered. Whoever had done this was going to pay. Peter turned to the cop nearest him. "How did this happen?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"Some thief was tryin'a get away, an' your uncle wouldn' give 'im his car so the guy shot your uncle. Then he threw 'im outta the car and we set off chasin' 'im a minute ago," the cop replied in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Peter glared in the direction the cop cars had chased Uncle Ben's car. With great power comes great responsibility, his uncle's words floated back to him. Yeah, he thought, great responsibility to avenge your death. That thief is DEAD!

TBC...