Forgive me if I'm wrong on parts of the funeral procedures. I don't know how white people do funerals. As my bio says, I'm Alaska Native (I don't care for the term Indian; we aren't from India) and so the only funeral I've ever attended was for my Alaskan Native grandmother. If I'm wrong aboout something, let me know and I'll try to correct it.
If anyone thinks of a better title for this chapter... one that's not as lame... let me know, cuz I'm dyin' out here!
DISCLAIMER: Apples are red, yes it is true, your nose will be too, if you should happen to sue. :)
Growing Pains
Harry watched Peter, rather than the casket, as it was lowered into the hole in the ground. The boys, May Parker, Mary Jane, and a small number of other people were present for Ben's funeral. From the look in Peter's eyes, he was tuning out the priest who was saying... something. Harry suppressed a sigh as he realized he hadn't been paying attention to the priest's words either. Instead, he had been focused on his best friend, whose eyes once again gave way to tears as the first handful of dirt was tossed on top of the casket. The floodgates really opened when the priest asked Peter to add his handful of dirt to theslowly growing pile.
Harry shuffled closer to his friend, andrubbed his backto comfort him. He was startled when Peter abruptly turned, then buried his face in Harry's shoulder. Whenthe shock wore off enough for his limbs to obey him again, he wrapped his arms around the grieving teen. The noise of shovels scraping against rocks inside the pile of dirt next to the hole drew Peter's attention. But the instant the first shovelful of dirt hit the casket, the boy hid his face again. Every now and then, he looked back at the hole, as if still trying to convince himself this was really happening. When the last patch of the dark,polished woodof Ben's casket was covered in dirt, Peter's knees buckled. Harry eased his friend onto the grass and sat down with him.
Harry's mind wandered once more. Too bad somebody already killed Ben's murderer. I really would have torn that guy apart for hurting Pete like this. It's not fair. Pete shouldn't have to suffer through this, and Ben had a lotta years left in him, if that bastard hadn'tshot him. Damn that stupid carjacker.
After what seemed an eternity, the funeral ended. As Harry helped Peter up, May approached them. In a strained, wavering voice that was barely recognizable as hers, she said, "Well, I suppose we'll go home now, Peter. Harry, would you like to come with us? I'm sure Peter could use the company." The curly-haired teen nodded, and the three headed for the Parkers' station wagon.
At the Parker House
Peter took off the suit jacket, and tossed it in thebio-hazard that washis closet. Harry took his off too, but put it on the back of the chair in front of Peter's desk. Peter flopped belly-first onto his bed, whileHarry slouched in the chair. Though Peter was the only one whose strain had been made public,both were exhausted.
Harry'd had yet another blowout with his father, resulting in what he swore had to be a couple of bruised ribs. Or maybe one of them even cracked, he thought darkly. Whatever it is, I hope I never go through it again. Hurts like hell. But why am I worrying about myself? I'd better see what I can do to comfort Pete.
The boy in question was still lying on his stomach, facing away from Harry. "Hey, Pete, I'm here for ya buddy."
Peter sat up and turned to face Harry. "You always have been," Peter said with a small smile.
"Yeah. Remember when we were little kids, the first time Flash tried to beat you up?" Harry asked. Both laughed softly as they relived the memory.
"We were in kindergarten, and it was our first day," Peter recalled."While we were outside in the sandbox, I wasplaying with a toy truck. Flash came up and tried to take it from me. He was about ready to beat me up over it. Then you stepped in and hit him. He was wearing a pretty good shiner the next day."
"That's the day you and I became friends," Harry said, smiling broadly. Peter nodded, smiling.
The two boys spent the remainder of the day talking.
Night fell, and neither of the teens were ready to say goodbye. May didn't have the heart to make Harry leave, having noticed how much he had raised Peter's spirits. So Harry wound up staying the night. After much coaxing and cajoling, Peter finally convinced Harry to sleep on the bed with him instead of the floor.
Next Morning
The soreness inHarry's ribs made him glad he had slept on the bed. Wincing, he sat up slowly and pulled himself back against the headboard. The sunlight shone through his closed eyelids, making him see pinkish-red. He surrendered to the inevitable, opening his eyes. The light was too harsh after the darkness of sleep, so he squinted. The warmth at his right drew his attention.
Peter was still sound asleep, his back against Harry's leg. It had been against Harry's chest, until he sat up. If Pete didn't wake me up, and his alarm clock isn't going off so it isn't that, then what--? his nose, which was already awake,informed him that French toast and eggs were waiting downstairs. He grinned. Pete hates when he misses breakfast. Guess I'll just have to wake him up.
Harry reached down and tickled Peter. First Peter shifted a little. Then he squirmed. A squeak escaped the boy as he tried to hold back his laughter. Finally he let go of sleep and burst out laughing. Harry stopped tickling him and Peter sat up and opened his eyes.
"What was that for?" Peter demanded groggily, trying to sound irritated.
Harry grinned. "I have two words for ya, Pete: French. Toast."
Peter grinned. "Race ya downstairs!"
The two boys zipped through the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, pushing each other and laughing. May smiled at them. "It's about time you two woke up. It's nearly noon."
Both boys glanced at the clock on the wall opposite to verify the time. The clock read 11:50. "What is it you're always telling me about getting up earlier, Pete?" Harry teased.
Peter elbowed Harry in the ribs, causing his friend to wince. "Are you alright, Harry?" May asked, brow furrowed in sudden worry.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Bull," Peter whispered as May went back to dishing up the food.
"Peter, I'm fine. Really." Then he smirked, "Maybe you just don't know your own strength."
Harry's lying. I intentionally kept that to nothing more than a light tap. Then again, I hit Flash and he went flying a pretty good distance, Peter thought. Still, he retained the horrible suspicion that more was going on between the Osborns than Harry was admitting. For the moment, Peter thought it best to just let it go.
