Web of Spider-Man
#3: Growing Pains Part 3
"Along Came a Spider"
…
I miss you, MJ. More than I can express in words. With you, I always felt safe. You helped me move on after my parents died. You made me laugh. It's your fault I've got this stupid sense of humor, haha. Your fault and my uncle Ben's.
If you were wondering, Ben and May are doing well. Money is tight, but what's new? They still try so hard to connect with me, but it's difficult, y'know? I love them. I do. But they're not like me. They just come off as…smothering. Could be worse, I guess. Could be Harry. Talk about a bad home life.
If you can ever visit, please do. ASAP. I don't know how much longer I can take this. I want to make Ben and May happy, I want to be a good friend to Harry and Al, I want to figure out a way to make it all work out. It's just so damn hard. You fight for a happy ending but sometimes it feels like it's never gonna come.
Maybe that's what Jessica was saying. Maybe life's just about the fight. Something knocks you down and you get right back up again. Maybe there's happiness in that, or maybe you can find it somewhere else. There has to be a better tomorrow on the horizon, right? Sorry. I'm corny. I guess some things never change.
My very best,
Peter
…
"Dr. Smythe, Dr. Stillwell's here to see you," came the voice of his secretary through the intercom.
"Let him in," Smythe rasped.
The aging scientist had seen better days. While only in his mid-fifties, Spencer Smythe could have fooled nearly anyone into thinking he was at least thirty years older. Not a single hair sprung from his deathly pale head, and he looked thin enough to pass at any moment.
Farley Stillwell walked through the open door after his secretary with such haste that Smythe knew the young man could offer only bad news.
"Dr. Smythe…" Stillwell began, before his boss interrupted him.
"Sit, Farley," Smythe motioned to a chair across from him.
Stillwell complied, took a moment to compose himself, then said, "Bad news. Subject 84—the spider—didn't survive. We came so close," he began to speak a mile-a-minute, "Unlike the others, it survived for an entire day after it was born without issue, but during the second day…we can do it, sir. I know we can. We just need—"
"—More time?!" Smythe exploded, his calm demeanor suddenly gone. "I don't have more time! The cancer's spread to my kidney. How long do you think I have till it reaches my bloodstream?!"
"…an expert. I was going to say we need an expert," Stillwell admitted, his gaze averted to his boss's desk.
The red in Smythe's face faded. He bit his lip, took a deep breath, and said, "I apologize. I'm…struggling."
"Sir, if you just reached out to Norman Osborn—"
"—No!" His tone controlled but biting, he continued, "Under no circumstance will I go to Osborn for help. He would sweep the project out from under me, embarrass the company, and ruin my reputation! That man is a snake, and he should never be trusted."
Stillwell didn't know what to say. He just stared at his boss, his eyes full of concern.
"Go. Dispose of the subject and move on to the next trial. You will not fail me, Farley," Smythe said.
Without speaking, Stillwell nodded, stood up, and backed out of the room. The instant the door closed after him, Smythe erupted into a devastating coughing fit. When he reached to his mouth to wipe away phlegm, his hand came back bloodied.
He was running out of time.
…
Stillwell looked down at the motionless spider in his hand with the utmost contempt. Like any decent scientist, he knew it wasn't uncommon to fail dozens of times before you reached your breakthrough, but still…84 subjects. He had been sure this was the one.
"Ben," Stillwell called to the janitor, who was cleaning near the back of the lab.
Ben Parker perked up, offering his good-natured smile as per usual, "Yes, sir?"
"Bring me the trashbag," Stillwell ordered.
Ben rolled his housekeeping cart over to Stillwell, allowing the scientist to drop the arachnid's corpse into the trash.
"Pity you're not testing cats. I hear they got nine lives," Ben joked, much to Stillwell's distaste. Noticing it, he offered, "Sorry if the joke was in poor taste. I'm sure you'll figure this out."
Stillwell offered him a slight smile in return, to which Ben gave him one of his own.
"Have a good day," Ben said, rolling out of the lab.
"You too, Ben," Stillwell said.
Before Ben could get too far down the hallway, he stumbled across another janitor, dressed in their standard blue getup. The younger man was a couple inches taller than Ben, but looked about half his size around the waste. Built like a tree branch, long but thin, the dark-skinned man lumbered klutzily down the hall. His hair was curly but cut short, and his gaunt face sported a colorful bruise beneath his left eye.
"Ben!" the other janitor greeted, "Just who I was looking for!"
"Max, your face…" Ben began, his fatherly instincts kicking in.
"Oh, that's—that's nothing," Max Dillon said, brushing him off. "I just…I wanted to thank you for covering me the other night. I know you've got a wife and kid back home, so staying late for me…it means a lot."
"Don't sweat it, bud," Ben said, but he was still caught up with the bruise on Max's face. "You want to talk about anything? Are you and Tanya getting along fine?"
"Yeah, we're…great," Max forced out. "We…listen, Ben, next time we hit a bar, your drink's on me."
"You don't have to—"
"I insist!" Max said. Patting Ben on the back, he began to head back the way he came. "You're a good man, Ben Parker. Let a brother cover you for once."
As the two men parted ways, a tiny blue and red figure crept out from the depths of the trash bag and hopped onto the ground. Its eight legs propelling it forward, the tiny spider escaped its captivity.
Its instincts unexpectedly enhanced, the little arachnid had played dead. Now it was free.
Now everything would change.
…
Harry always struggled to muster the courage to enter his father's office. Silly, right? This was his dad, the man who'd helped raise him, and yet he'd ducked out more often than not, knowing full well that his father hated to be interrupted while he worked. Which in and of itself was ridiculous, because the man never stopped working. He only ever left his office at home to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, or leave for work.
Still, this was Harry's big opportunity to make something of himself in high school. His father was leaving for a business trip later that afternoon, and with his mother long since gone, he'd have the house to himself. Even the maids took Friday nights off. Harry could throw a party that would knock Midtown High's socks off. All he had to do was make sure his father didn't mind…
Yes, Norman Osborn was that type of father. Absent always, he cared nothing about his son's underage drinking, or what went on in the house while he was gone. All he cared about was honesty. If Harry lied to him, and he found out…the young man shook the thought away.
Harry knocked.
"Come in," came Norman's voice from the other side of the door.
Harry entered the office, a room bigger than even his father's bedroom, and stopped right inside.
"Hey, Dad…I, uh, was wondering if I could throw a party tonight? While you're gone, of course," Harry stammered.
Norman, dressed in a suit with his red hair buzzed short, cocked an eyebrow incredulously. "Do you know who called me this morning?"
Harry instantly knew where this was going. He weakly joked, "Granny?"
"Your principal. He called me to tell me that you got into a fight with another boy. You have detention this afternoon, and if you make the slightest offense you will be suspended," Norman coolly began.
"The kid was asking for it. He was bullying—"
"I don't care what he was doing. I don't care about the boy at all. I care about you. Honestly, Harry, do you want to go to college? Do you want to have a future outside of your trust fund? Grow up," Norman paused for a moment, before adding the stinger, "You could learn a thing or two from your friend, Peter."
Harry bit his tongue. He'd gotten in trouble for helping Peter. Now this…
"I…forget it," Harry muttered, turning back to leave. No point in bringing up the party again. He knew what his father's answer would be.
"Harry," Norman stopped him before he could leave. "Never again, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, before leaving the room.
…
"The party's screwed," Harry broke the news at lunch.
To Peter's pleasant surprise, Harry had insisted that just he, Jessica, and Al join him for lunch, so in turn he received a mostly apathetic response from the others. Only Jessica appeared truly upset, although she more than made up for Peter and Al's lackadaisical attitude toward the subject.
"I swear to God, I hate your dad and I don't even know him," Jessica groaned.
"To be fair, you were nearly suspended, Harry," Peter pointed out.
"Saving your ass," Harry retorted.
"I'm not arguing that! I was just saying…I mean, of course he'd react that way. He's your dad," Peter hurriedly added.
"You forgot 'deadbeat.' Goes right before the 'dad,'" Harry grumbled. He leaned back and ran his hands over his face in exasperation. "Would've been king of this school…God, what am I gonna tell everyone?"
"Your house burned down," Al blurted.
Everyone stared at him, incredulous.
"That sounded way funnier in my head," he admitted, slouching back.
Suddenly, as Jessica looked at Al, a light bulb went off in her head. She smiled mischievously, "Wait, Al, don't you have a lake house upstate…?"
Harry's face lit up as he realized what Jessica was implying, and he chimed in, "A freaking huge lake house."
"No. Uh uh. No way," Al spat out, shaking his head, but the cracks in his resolve had already begun to show, "My parents would kill me."
"Oh, come on. We'd help you clean up in the morning," Jessica said.
"Al, you'd be my hero," Harry added.
Equally amused and excited by the idea, Peter said, "Help us, Al-bee-one Kenobi. You're our only hope."
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Al sighed and muttered, "You know Star Wars is my kryptonite…"
"So…?" Harry pushed.
"Fine. We can throw the party at my lake house," Al said, before adding, "But you're buying the drinks! And no sex in the bedrooms! House rule."
"So you're saying the bathrooms are allowed…?" Harry teased.
Peter laughed as Al gave him a disgusted look, and Jessica slapped Harry's arm, causing him to playfully recoil, "What? I never said we were gonna use 'em!"
…
After school, Al uber'd up to his father's office to ask him about the lake house. Getting up to him was easy-pickings. Confidently and casually asking him for his permission to have friends over to the lake house was another matter entirely.
Entering his father's office, Al tried to keep it together. It became ten times as difficult when his father smiled at the mere sight of him.
"Alistair! How was school?" Spencer said, getting up to hug his son.
Al embraced his father and managed a weak, "It was, y'know, school. So bad."
"Yeah, high school can be tough, but you have to soldier on through. College makes it all worth it, I promise," Spencer said, sitting back on his desk, where a tiny eight-legged figure went unnoticed as it crept down the side toward Al, who had since sat in a chair. "So, what's up?"
"It's just…I was wondering if I could go down to the lake with some friends. Tonight," Al stammered.
"It's a little last second—"
"—We were gonna spend the night at Peter's apartment, but his uncle got all weird about it. It's a whole thing," Al blurted rapid fire.
"You didn't let me finish. I was going to say, it's a little last second, but of course you can have your friends over. Your mother can drive you down and tomorrow, after your friends have left, I'll meet up with you two and we can spend the weekend out there. How's that sound?"
"Fantastic," Al admitted, before realizing the problem, "But, I mean, we're practically adults now, Dad. We wanted to go down alone, have a bro's night out. Harry has a driver's license."
"Harry Osborn?" Spencer said, his happy-go-lucky tone faded somewhat. Al nodded. Spencer continued, "He's a bad influence. Stay away from him, Al."
"He's not like his dad at all. Harry's a nice guy," Al said.
Spencer looked at his son for a few moments, and then sighed. He slipped back around to his desk chair, and when he was seated he said, "Be careful, Al. And have fun."
"Thank you!" Al beamed.
He ran around to his father and gave him a bear hug. Spencer chuckled, but before he could speak he began to cough. Terrified, Al stepped back and watched his dad worriedly.
"I'm so sorry! Should I get someone, or—"
His coughing dying down, Spencer waved his son away, "No. It's just a little cough. I'm fine. …Head on home. You need to get ready for your friends, don't you?"
Al hesitated, worry lining his face, but slunk back toward the door nonetheless. "I love you, Dad."
"Love you, too, Al," Spencer managed.
"See you later."
With that, Al left his father's office. Little did either Smythe know that a spider had snuck its way into Al's backpack, having sought refuge in its darkness.
…
Sneaking up a fire escape to see her boyfriend wasn't exactly Gwen's idea of a good time. What came after? Well, it should have been. Knocking on Flash's bedroom window, Gwen felt a goofy smile come over her face. However, when her boyfriend came into the light to let her in, she immediately noticed his swollen black eye, which effectively killed her mood.
"Gwen, you didn't have to—" Flash began, opening the window.
"My God!" she whispered, stepping into his room and reaching for his injured face. "He hit you again?"
After she gently touched his bruise, he recoiled, saying, "Yeah, well, my dad wasn't exactly hyped to hear I got suspended again. Can you blame him? I fucked up, Gwen. I just—I lost control…"
"No. No, don't blame this on yourself. He hit you." She gave him another once-over, before she begged, "Flash, please let me tell my dad about this. He can help you."
Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Flash shook his head. "No. I can't turn my dad in. I can't betray him like that. He…he can't help it. No one will hire him, and he's just…drinking's how he handles that crap. Plus, I'm not exactly making things easier on him—"
"Stop. Stop it. This isn't your fault," Gwen argued, taking Flash's hand in her own.
"Gwen, you don't—you don't get it," Flash looked away, doing everything in his power not to cry. "It is my fault. I'm just…you see how I am at school. I'm such a fucking—"
"You're not your father," Gwen interrupted.
"I'm not saying—"
"You are not your father," Gwen repeated, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling up to him. "You are not your father."
Flash lost control, tears streaming down his cheeks. He returned Gwen's embrace, sobbing, "I'm so sorry, Gwen. I'm so, so sorry."
Gwen shushed him. She kissed his neck, then his cheek, and then his lips. Flash sniffled, and then pulled Gwen in tighter. They didn't kiss again. They didn't speak. The two simply held each other until nothing and no one else seemed to matter.
…
"Run for your lives! I'm an intruder and I'm here to kill you all!" Peter joked as he opened the front door to their apartment. Noticing a woman out of the corner of his eye, he made eye contact with their neighbor three doors down, who stared at him, speechless. Peter blushed and hurried inside.
"Oh no!" May feigned terror from the living room as she looked up from her book.
"I'll cover you, May. Run while you can!" Ben playfully said, rising from his seat.
Peter chuckled, dropping his backpack onto the ground, as he said, "You're dead meat, old—"
"Peter," May interrupted.
Both boys looked at her.
"Your bag," she warned.
"Right," Peter nodded, picking his backpack up.
"Beaten again by your old aunt," Ben teased.
"Excuse me? Who's old, Mr. Fifty-Six?" May cheerfully retorted.
"I think I'm pretty spry for an old guy," Ben quipped as he pulled May onto her feet and wrapped his arms around her waste.
"Whoa, give me a warning next time! Eugh," Peter only half-jokingly heaved, covering his eyes.
His aunt and uncle had a good laugh at his expense, which in turn motivated Peter to head to his bedroom. However, before he made it even two steps further, he stopped, remembering he needed to ask May and Ben about the party.
"Hey, guys…uh, is it safe to look?" Peter asked.
"No one's touching anybody. This is a strictly hands-off environment," Ben teased, holding his hands in the air. May giggled quietly.
Realizing he was in the clear, Peter continued, shifting back and forth nervously, his every word like a cliff to surmount, "So, um, could I sleep over at Al's tonight?"
Ben and May exchanged a brief look before May admitted, "I don't see why not."
"You need me to drive you there, Pete?" Ben wondered.
"Nah. Harry can pick me up," Peter said. He hated lying to his aunt and uncle…but it wasn't entirely a lie, right? He shouldn't worry about it. "Thanks. I'll be in my room getting ready if you need anything."
When Peter had disappeared, May looked at Ben, worried. "He was acting odd."
"He's just at that point in puberty, May. Everything's odd and awkward," Ben replied.
"Do you think he was lying to us?"
"Peter's a trustworthy kid. I wouldn't worry about it," Ben said.
Sitting back down, her book in hand, May retorted, "If you insist. But when this blows up in our faces, you're dealing with the consequences."
…
"This is fucking lit!" Al cheered, accidentally spilling his beer on his shoes. He paid it no mind.
The party was, in the words of Peter's uncle, popping. Al, Harry, Jessica, and Peter had set up strobe lights, beer pong tables, and speakers all over the two-story lake house. It seemed like half the school had shown up for the party, but Al didn't mind at all. Nor did he care about the vomit in the houseplants or the streakers outside. Ordinarily, Al would have been an angry mess, but now? The chubby teen couldn't stop smiling.
Peter, on the other hand? Despite his initial excitement, it took him just one sip to recognize beer wasn't his thing, and he quickly realized that without alcohol parties lost their spark. Not that he had much experience, but still…
"You see Harry and Jessica?" Peter had to yell over the EDM.
"They're making out over there," Al excitedly said, pointing to a corner of the dance floor.
"Gross," Peter muttered, his chest quickly tightening. Maybe if MJ was here…why couldn't he stop thinking about her? She hadn't responded to him in years. Peter tried and failed to shake those thoughts away. Looking for an escape, he said to Al, "You need anything? A water?"
"Dude, I am fantastic!" Al said.
"Right, but you should probably—"
"WHOO!" Al hollered, running onto the dance floor to break out his best robot.
Ordinarily this would have been downright hilarious to Peter, but he couldn't shake the gloomy feeling inside him. His body had begun to feel heavy. To make matters worse, someone bumped into him and spilled their drink all over his clothes. Peter looked up into the apologetic face of Hobie Brown.
"Shit, I am so sorry, man!" Hobie said. "Let me get you like a towel or—"
"Don't worry about it," Peter grumbled, "Really, I'll…you're fine."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Just as Peter was about to go search for an open bathroom, he felt himself get tugged toward the dance floor.
"Bro! Dance. Now," Al demanded.
"No, Al, I really—"
"Have fun!" Al pushed him into the mosh pit.
Peter got caught between two grinding couples. That's when the panic hit him. The walls and people felt like they were closing in around him. His heart pounded to the rapidfire beat of the EDM. He felt lightheaded, like he was about to faint. Not now, not now, not now, not now…
"Yo, are you okay, man?"
"Dude, I think this guy is tweaking."
"I want what he's on."
Peter threw everyone aside, much to the dancers' ire. He had to get out of here. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe, couldn't—
Escaping the crowd, relief washed over him like a gentle breeze. Someone tried to say something to Peter, but the world still felt far too small for his comfort. He ran as quickly as he could upstairs, muttering something he hoped was, "Need a breath of fresh air."
He tried the two upper bathrooms, but both were taken. Each time, Peter saw things he wished he could erase from his memory. He checked Al's parent's bedroom and found himself truly scarred for life.
"Five people…how the hell…?" Peter whispered to himself, hurrying down the hall to another room.
Having learned his lesson, he knocked on Al's bedroom door. Nobody responded. Silently praying for a better outcome this time, he opened it and found…no one. He breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door after him. Peter felt all the tension leave his body as he lay down on Al's bed.
He didn't feel, in Al's words, 'fantastic,' but at least he wasn't anxious anymore. Still, why couldn't he just manage basic social interactions without losing it? He couldn't bring himself to dance, to talk to anyone he didn't know, or even to drink to make it all easier. What the hell was wrong with him? Didn't he want to be happy?
Peter sighed and produced his phone from his pocket. He took a selfie. Maybe this would be the self portrait that…
No. Yet again, it looked…wrong. He looked wrong. This wasn't him. Peter wasn't his depression, his anxiety, his emotional turmoil. Deep down, he knew there was a happy, confident man waiting to break out of his shell.
Peter tossed his phone to the side and closed his eyes. Maybe when he woke up, everything would be better. Maybe he'd be a new man.
'Like hell,' Peter sadly thought.
Meanwhile, in the darkness of the closet, the spider scurried out of Al's backpack.
…
Downstairs, another rather unexpected visitor entered the lake house. Flash Thompson, followed by Gwen Stacy, walked right in and searched for the drinks. While he poured himself half a solo cup of tequila, his teammate and friend, Kong, caught sight of him and walked over to greet him.
"Wassup, Flash—" he quieted, noticing his eye. "Yo, man, you okay? That's a sick nasty bruise."
"Yeah," Flash downed half of his drink in one go. He cringed at the taste, before finishing, "I'm great."
"Flash, you should slow down," Gwen said.
"It's a party, Gwen. Cut a little loose," Flash retorted.
Gwen scowled and said, "I'm gonna find Jessica."
"What? Boo, I was only joki—"
But Gwen had already left. Grunting in derision, Flash finished his drink and began to pour himself another.
…
Almost an hour later, Flash, now in a drunken stupor, went to look for Gwen. He stumbled this way and that, bumping into partygoers. At last, he found her near the dance floor, talking to Jessica and…
"Osborn," Flash growled, eyeing the red-haired boy.
"Yo, First Class, you trying to steal my girl?" Flash called over the speakers, but he didn't get just Harry's attention. Everyone nearby turned to see what was going on.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I have a girlfriend, Flash."
"Yeah, well, you don't stand a chance anyway, bro," Flash slurred, stumbling toward them.
"Flash, come on, I'm going to get you some water," Gwen tried to usher him away.
Flash shrugged her off. He pointed at Harry. "This rich asshole got me suspended. He and his boyfriend put dope in my backpack. You know that could cost me my scholarship, Osborn? You know what that costs me at home?!"
"You're really drunk, man," Harry said, trying to calm him down, but that didn't help. In fact, it irritated Flash that much more.
"Shut up!" Flash swung at Harry, but he ducked under the blow.
"FLASH!" Gwen yelled.
Someone screamed, "FIGHT!" and a crowd began to form.
"Try that again, Eugene, and I'll deck you," Jessica threatened.
"Stay out of this," Flash growled, lumbering forward.
"Please. I don't want to fight you…" Harry begged.
"Gonna teach you how the real world works, First Class. Eye for an eye…" Flash growled, raising his fist.
"STOP IT!"
Before anyone could throw a punch, Hobie Brown stepped between the two boys. Flash blinked twice, unable to immediately recognize the boy in front of him.
"Brown…? Get out of my way," Flash demanded. "This ain't your fight."
"Actually…it is," Hobie admitted. "I'm the one who put the pot in your bag."
"You…what?" Flash muttered.
No one would ever find out what would have happened next, because before anything more could be said or done, somebody near the front door screamed, "COPS!"
It was chaos. Teenagers scrambled away in every direction. Jessica grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him toward an open window. Gwen led Flash to the back door. Al went nowhere, as he lay passed out on the grass outside.
…
The commotion woke Peter. He opened the door to find out what was going on, only to discover police officers storming into the house, yelling. He shut the door without even thinking about it. Panicked, Peter looked around the room for a way out. The window…?
He tried it—locked. Worse, it was really high up. The Smythes had bought one hell of a lake house.
Where to hide? Where to hide? Where to—
Peter spotted the closet. He could hear footsteps outside the door. With nowhere to go, he ducked into the closet and shut it after him.
Just seconds after he'd hidden himself, a female police officer entered the room. Peter slowed his breathing. His heart felt like it was going to burst. Silently, the spider snuck up his pant leg all the way to his arm.
The police officer scanned over the room. The spider slunk down Peter's arm. He resisted the urge to scratch at the itch on his hand. The cop looked at the closet. Peter held his breath, shaking in terror.
Surprised by the constant movement, the spider bit him.
"AGH!" Peter screamed. He slapped at his hand, smashing the spider, as pain coursed through his body.
The police officer smirked and opened the closet door. Peter, terrified and in pain, put his hands in the air.
The cop grinned as she said, "Nice try, kid."
Peter bit back tears. This was it. This was how he died.
Finally getting to the really fun stuff. Hope you all enjoyed it. For me, the party scenes in particular were fun to write. Everything else before those...meh. Not my best work, I think. Onto reviews (and, oh boy, there's a lot of 'em)...
Heart of the Demons: Thanks, as always, for the review! I'm really glad Peter's inner struggle is interesting. It's really what's driving the story so far for me.
Sonny Daye: Other heroes will appear...eventually. Not sure exactly when or where, but for the immediate future it will be Spidey-centric. Because I'm trying to ground the title, I'm treating superheroes like celebrities. Y'know, you might stumble across one in, say, LA, but it's not the sort of thing that happens very often. Same with heroes and NYC, especially since there aren't many street level heroes in-universe just yet.
guest: Sorry, not much more on MJ in this chapter. We'll get to that in due time. Keep reading!
midjet156: I'm so glad you're enjoying this! Sorry to hear about your experiences. That's really what Peter's great for: exploring the everyday troubles people go through. I hope you stick with this title!
Guest: Thank you so much! I'm so glad people are enjoying this. AHHH! This is exciting!
'Til next time, guys.