Web of Spider-Man
#9: Fatal Flaw Part 2
"The Ballad of Ben Parker"
…
It was Homecoming week and Midtown High buzzed with excitement about the upcoming dance. Frantic whispers echoed through the hall as students worried about last minute dates and what shoes to wear to the dance. A fair few teachers had embraced the tunnel vision provided by the festivities and elected this week to show films in class. In more ways than one, it was a holiday for the faculty and students alike. Everyone had something to be excited about. Everyone except Peter Parker.
Truthfully, he hadn't told Harry or Cindy that he couldn't go to the dance. He was still holding out that his aunt and uncle would relent, but no cracks had shown in their resolve yet. He had entered panic mode, and become that much more frustrated after he had to postpone his first meeting with Eddie Brock until after his grounding had finished. Imagine that: having to tell a senior, someone you look up to, that you couldn't work the job he'd put his neck on the line to create for you until after your aunt and uncle decided to lift your punishment, one fit for a twelve-year-old no less. His mood had nearly reached record lows, and it only got worse whenever Harry or Jess was around. Neither would shut up about the upcoming dance.
"Get hyped!" Harry gently punched Peter's arm as the two walked to English together. "Just a few more days, then bam! Our lives change forever! You'll get your very first girlfriend, and I'll lose my v-card."
"TMI," Peter grumbled back.
"Lighten up, buddy. Life is good," Harry replied.
Should he broach the subject now? Peter opened his mouth to speak, paused, then said, "Yeah, Harry, thing is, I…" He felt anxiety creep its way into his chest, and he stammered, "I'll meet you in class. Gotta use the restroom."
"Have fun!" Harry cheerfully called after him.
In the men's room, Peter avoided the stalls and urinals altogether. He didn't actually need to go. He just needed some space. Stopping in front of the sinks, he splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. There was that look again. The bags under his eyes. The pain. He had a lot going for him. Why was he so sensitive about such tiny issues? So what if he didn't get to go to Homecoming? It would be just like any other year.
Someone flushed one of the toilets behind him. Peter patted down his face with a paper towel, finishing right as Flash Thompson emerged from a stall. Great. Just his luck. At least Flash had moved past swirlies since junior high.
"'Sup, Parker," Flash casually greeted as he washed his hands.
"Hey," Peter simply replied, heading for the door.
"Wait," Flash called.
Peter hesitated. He should go. He could avoid whatever was coming…or not. Maybe this time, Peter could fight back. If Flash wanted a fight…
"Just wanted to say, I heard about how you asked Cindy at the game, and I gotta say that took mad balls. She's a babe. Not my type, but I gotta give you credit. You got more going on than that grandma sweater'd make you believe," Flash said, indicating the baby blue sweater Peter had worn today (and not for the first time, either).
Ignoring any sense of self-consciousness he felt, Peter replied, "You have no idea."
"And hey, man…" Was Flash blushing? "I know I can be a dick. I'm working on it."
"Was that an apology?" Peter asked, not intending to sound arrogant.
Nonetheless, Flash took it the wrong way. "Don't push your luck."
Peter crinkled his brow, and nodded after a moment. "Anyway, I should go. English."
"We're in the same class," Flash noted.
"Right…"
The boys ducked out of the bathroom together, Flash after Peter. Neither spoke on the way to class, creating an awkward tension that only got worse when they arrived at the same time. More than a few students stared after them, confused. Mrs. Winterhalter offered both boys a stern word of warning, since they had arrived after the bell.
Despite all that, Peter found himself smiling when he sat down at his desk.
Maybe things weren't all bad.
…
"I know I screwed up," Peter began at dinner that night, "I'll—I'll do the dishes, take your clothes to the laundromat, and cook dinner every day until Homecoming, just please let me go."
Ben and May looked at one another for a moment, then at the spaghetti before them.
"So that's why you made dinner," May noted.
Peter sunk back into his chair, aware of where this was going.
"Peter…there have to be consequences for your actions. You need to understand that nothing is without a cost," Ben explained, "It's part of growing up."
Peter's face sunk into a scowl. This was stupid. This was so freaking stupid! He abruptly rose from the table, his plate only half cleared. Acting like a petulant child wouldn't get him anywhere with his aunt and uncle, but at the moment Peter didn't care. He needed some fresh air.
"I've got a lot of homework—"
"Peter—" May protested.
"Physics is killing me. Gotta finish a lab report," he mumbled, scraping the food off his plate into the trash.
"Don't you dare leave this room. You are not excused—" May continued, only to be silenced as the door slammed shut after her nephew.
May stared after Peter for a few moments, then looked at her husband, any anger that had flooded her eyes replaced with concern. He tenderly placed his hand on hers.
"I don't know what to do," she muttered. "Do you remember, right after we adopted Peter, I read—"
"A dozen books on parenting," Ben nodded. "But no book can you prepare you for this. We're doing the best we can. Peter…he's been dealt a bad hand, is all."
Silence lingered. Finally, May solemnly broke it, "Richard and Mary—"
"Wouldn't know what to do, either," Ben assured her. "Their deaths…it's made everything more complicated, but regardless Peter would struggle. He isn't the type of kid who has an easy time in high school."
"Not sure that type of kid exists," May playfully retorted, managing a slight smile.
Ben chuckled quietly, "Touché. You always were the sharper one."
"Says the man who can come up with Hollywood speeches off the cuff," May shot back.
"It's a gift," Ben jokingly replied.
…
Meanwhile, Peter had huddled over his desk and gotten to work on his webshooters. With earbuds plugged in, he drowned out his angst with an artist who always did the trick, Frank Sinatra.
"New York, New York
I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm a number one, top of the list,
King of the hill, a number one.
These little town blues, all melting away,
I'm gonna make a brand new start of it,
In old New York.
And if I can make it there
I'm gonna make it anywhere.
It's up to you,
New York, New York."
…
It was the day of the dance, and Peter realized he'd skirted his fate for far too long. Needless to say, Harry didn't take the news well.
"Uh uh. No way. You are not gonna duck out on me," Harry said, leaning up against a locker adjacent to Peter's.
As he put his textbooks away, the brunet replied, "It's not up to me. May and Ben are going full blown psycho parents."
"You do you, man," Al said, texting Gert on Peter's other side.
"Not helping, Al," Harry spat, before continuing, "Okay, Pete, I can't believe I'm saying this but you've just gotta sneak out again."
"Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time," Peter retorted.
"Cindy's gonna be pissed," Harry argued.
Peter zipped up his backpack, shut his locker, and stood up from his crouched position. "Boo hoo. There's nothing I can do." He then smirked, realizing, "I just rhymed. I guess I do it all the time."
"We get it, Shakespeare. You're clever. We've got more important issues to deal with," Harry said before he slung his backpack around so he could reach into it. After producing a package, he said, "This is that thing you've been waiting for."
Peter's eyes widened. "That thing?" The new costume. He reached for it, but Harry pulled back, refusing to let him take it.
"You don't get it unless you agree to come to the dance," Harry said.
"That's not fair," Peter argued.
"Life's not fair," Harry retorted. "Come on, man."
"What's in the box?" Al wondered, snagging it.
Both Peter and Harry struggled to come up with a decent excuse.
"Uh, it's—" Peter mumbled.
"My birthday present. For him," Harry stammered.
"Peter's birthday was in July," Al pointed out.
"You know my birthday?" Peter wondered as Harry simultaneously said, "It's super late."
"Of course I know your birthday. July 30th. I'm not a shitty friend, although yeah, it stings that you never invite me to your birthday parties," Al replied.
"I haven't had a birthday party since I turned 14," Peter muttered.
"Suuurrree," Al drawled.
"We're way off topic," Harry interjected, taking back the package. "Pete, you're coming to homecoming."
The brunet sighed, relenting a bit, "I'll consider it…"
"Promise me. Please. This will be our first high school dance. I don't want to go without you," Harry begged.
"What am I: chopped liver?" Al grumbled.
Ignoring Al, Peter reminded, "I said I'll consider it."
Harry locked eyes with his best friend for a moment before the bell rang. He groaned and shoved the package into Peter's arms. "Whatever. Happy Birthday. You have to be the one to break the news to Cindy."
"I may still go—"
But Harry had already walked off to class, leaving Peter to watch him go. What the hell was he supposed to do? He wanted to go to the dance, but the consequences…were they worth it?
"And I thought you were angsty," Al muttered.
…
Evening
The first thing Ben noticed when he reached Max's apartment was the untouched eviction notice on the door. That didn't exactly provide him with confidence. He knocked anyway.
Max hadn't answered his calls or texts since he'd been fired. That didn't bode well in any situation, let alone one as tenuous as his friend's.
After receiving no response, Ben said, "Max, please open the door. It's Ben. I just want to talk to you. To know you're okay."
Nothing. He waited for a few moments, then knocked again.
"You don't have to worry about rent. I'll cover you for a month while you look for a job," Ben offered.
Still, no response.
"Max, if you don't answer me, I'm going to break the door down," Ben warned, before repeating, "I just want to know you're okay."
"Okay's not exactly how I'd put it," Max called from inside. "Please, just go." He then whispered, "You deserve better."
"Max—"
"GO!"
So Ben did, albeit reluctantly. Meanwhile, Max remained in the same spot he had for the last two hours. Leaning over the edge of his recliner with beer bottles scattered around the room, he drunkenly tossed a revolver between his hands.
Max gently placed the gun in his mouth and put his finger on the trigger. He was too drunk to shake. If he pulled the trigger, he wouldn't miss. This was it. This was his way of beating the system.
Surrender.
Max tightened his finger on the trigger…but couldn't do it. He couldn't kill himself.
"Too weak to even…" Max's voice faded off.
With a groan, he placed the pistol in the waistline of his jeans and stood up.
He could really use a drink. Maybe after one or two more, he'd manage to finish the job.
…
When Peter returned home that night, he still hadn't decided what he was going to do. He hadn't told Cindy he couldn't go to the dance. Jess and Harry had hounded him all day. Al had been…well, Al. Peter had passively said he'd think about it, but he was running out of time.
At dinner, Peter made no mention of his aunt and uncle's refusal to lift his punishment. Even they didn't bring it up. Maybe they'd forgotten the dance was tonight. Maybe that would be his lucky break.
As Peter sat down on his bed and considered his options, watching the clock tick away, someone knocked on the door.
"Come in," Peter said.
Ben entered, offering a simple, "Hey, Pete. I wanted to talk to you."
Peter nodded him on, and Ben sat down beside his nephew. Silence heightened the tension for what felt like an eternity. Was this about…?
"I know your punishment seems unfair. I know how much this dance means to you," Ben began.
Nope. They hadn't forgotten. The Parker Luck pulled through yet again.
"Honestly I've moved on. It's just high school," Peter lied.
"That's…good to hear," Ben said. "I just wanted you to know, your aunt and I, we aren't perfect. We know that. Becoming your guardian wasn't something we'd planned—"
"So I'm a burden," Peter grumbled, hurt.
"No! No, you're the best thing that ever happened to us. It was just a surprise, is all. We weren't prepared to raise a kid, but damn, if it isn't the most rewarding part of my life, I don't know what is. You've taught me more than you know, son, more than I can ever hope to teach you, and I love you all the more for it," Ben explained.
Peter was touched by his uncle's words. He didn't know what to say.
"But that doesn't mean," Ben continued, "That we can't—that I can't—try to teach you a thing or two the best way I know how—"
"Stories," Peter groaned. He'd gotten this spiel before. "Are you gonna tell me about all the dances you missed in high school? Because I'd really rather we not go there."
"No," Ben laughed, "No, I want to tell you about my parents."
Peter perked up. Ben had only ever mentioned either of his parents in passing, and any time that Peter pushed the subject, his uncle would brush it off something like, "They died a long time ago. Let's keep our minds on the living instead."
"Your grandpa Dick was your father's namesake," Ben began.
Well, that's a bomb if Peter had ever heard one. Why hadn't Ben or May told him before?
"My father certainly earned his nickname." Was that a dick joke? "He left your grandma Caroline shortly after my brother, your father, was born. My mom had to raise two boys on her own, and you know better than most, us Parker men can be a handful. It wasn't easy, but she managed the best she could."
"Your grandma worked three jobs to take care of us. I'd never hold it against her, but that meant she spent most of her time out of the house. At the age of eleven, I had to feed, clothe, and wash my baby brother. Ended up having to take the little bugger to school with me, but all things considered it worked out. The greatest wingman I ever had was that gurgling, twenty-pound father of yours." Peter smiled as his uncle continued, "But things got worse, a lot worse, after your grandma got caught in an automobile factory accident. She was paralyzed from the waste-down."
"Despite that, your grandma, bless her heart, tried to work anyway, but no one would take her back. So I dropped out of school, took up whatever jobs I could. I was fifteen at the time, and I was solely responsible for our entire household income. Thank God your father was a brainiac, because I couldn't have afforded to put him through college."
"I had no idea…" Peter mumbled.
Ben nodded, "Of course you didn't. It's not a story I like to tell, but I thought you should hear it. Not to toot my own horn or to make you pity me, but because I want you to understand where your father got his favorite catchphrase—"
"With great power comes great responsibility," Peter interjected.
"With great power there must also come great responsibility," Ben corrected. "It doesn't just happen. It's a choice. One you must make. You owe it to yourself, to the world to take responsibility for what you can, to put others before yourself, always. To do that takes humility. It's something you have to learn, not—"
"You're preaching," Peter interrupted, standing up, his mood flipped. His uncle was trying to use his father—his dead father—against him. "Oh my God, the only reason you told me that bittersweet story is to convince me that you're right to ground me. Is that your responsibility? To brainwash me with your helicopter parent bullshit?"
Ben's face reddened slightly, but he did not raise his voice. In fact, he almost sounded pleading as he rose from the bed and said, "No. No, Peter, my responsibility is to raise you right, to love you and teach you your responsibilities as a man—to do the job your parents can't."
Silence.
Ben's jaw hung open, aware of the jar of worms he'd just opened.
Peter's face was a mask of rage. His uncle had crossed a line.
"You are not my father, and you never will be," Peter coolly said. "My parents died in a plane crash. That's the only reason they aren't here now. That's the only reason I'm stuck with you and May. So don't think for one second that you can use them against me. They aren't your fucking weapon. They're my parents!"
Ben's face sunk. All he could manage was, "I'm sorry."
His hands quivered slightly as he reached for the doorknob, then twisted it. He left the room without another word. The instant the door shut after him, Peter collapsed onto his bed with tears in his eyes.
After half a minute, his gaze fell to the open closet door where Harry's package beckoned him. He stood up without much thought, grabbed the beta-tested webshooters from his desk drawer, and shoved them along with the package into a duffel bag. Then, determined to leave before he could get caught, he quickly changed into his suit (although the tie would have to wait until Harry could tie it for him).
His aunt and uncle thought they could control him? Yeah right. Peter was done letting others make decisions for him. He had power now. He was going to the dance.
Looking into his phone's selfie camera, Peter didn't recognize the face that stared back at him. That wasn't depression in his hazel eyes, but rage. Not exhaustion, but enthusiasm. The person who looked back at him wasn't a boy, but a man.
Spider-Man.
Hope you guys enjoyed that chapter! I'm currently aiming to have issue 10 (which will be super sized) up on Halloween. Fingers crossed, my friends!
Please drop a review if you feel so inclined. I'd really appreciate it! Now, speaking of reviews...
Heart of the Demons: So glad to be back! Thanks for being consistent as ever! :)
Guest: MJ will appear. I'll admit at this point it's more her presence that effects the story (as best evidenced by chapters 1-3). She's coming pretty soon, though, and will be a MAJOR character after the fact.
Midjet156: Really glad to hear you're still enjoying this, and please keep writing! Best of luck, friend! :)
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