Saturday morning an alarm blared in the bedroom of Peter Parker, signifying that it was time for him to wake up. From the depths of the twisted covers, a hand shot out and smashed the perpetrator, effectively shattering it to pieces. He laid there for five more minutes before a sharp knocking pierced his ears.

"Up, up, up," she called from the other side of the doorway. "The early bird gets the worm."

"Meaning?" grumbled Peter, falling off the bed and into a tangled heap on the floor.

"Meaning if you don't get up in the next five minutes you can say bye bye to breakfast," retorted his aunt.

Peter was up in a flash. He checked himself in the mirror. A white t-shirt and basketball shorts. Probably should change so they don't see too much of my muscle and think I'm taking steroids or something. He slipped on a red t-shirt and covered it with a black hoodie. He stared down at his basketball shorts before mentally shrugging and advancing toward the door. He glanced back at his bed. His sheets were in various states of disarray, most halfway on the floor. I'll fix it later. He turned the doorknob and jumped when it broke clean off. He narrowed his eyes. That's new. Gently, with his index finger, Peter pushed the door open, tiptoeing downstairs. Warm, buttered toast and a steamy milk chocolate waited for him at the kitchen table. He sat down eagerly.

"Hungry?" questioned his aunt as she sat down next to Uncle Ben.

He looked up at her and then back down at his food. "Very."

"Eat up, Pete. Got any homework this weekend?" asked his uncle from behind a newspaper.

"Nope. I think I'll go out for a while today. If, you know, it's okay with you guys."

His aunt and uncle nodded. "Just stay out of trouble."

Grabbing his hot chocolate, he downed it and tried to set it back down. He grit his teeth in concentration, trying to pull his hand off. He glanced up at his aunt and uncle, who were going about their morning routine, cleaning up the kitchen and reading newspapers. He focused harder. Finally, his fingers slipped out of the handle. He looked at his hand in shock. That's also new. The hell is happening? He gingerly grabbed the piece of toast and ate slowly. Once he was done he wiped his mouth and stood.

"I'm heading out," declared Peter, grabbing his phone from the living room.

He stuffed it in his jacket, closing the zipper to secure it. This time, he had no trouble removing his hand. After exchanging goodbyes with his aunt and uncle, he opened the front door and shut it behind him. He knew the perfect place to test his powers. There was a vacant warehouse nearby. If his memory served him correctly, there was a weight bench, pull up bars, and a few trucks left behind. Perfect to test my strength. Let's test to see if I'm any faster first. He took off into a sprint. With nothing to stop him in the peaceful area of Queens, he zipped through the streets, practically a blur. Soon, he was standing in front of the warehouse. The warehouse was a tall brick building in the middle of nowhere. Peter glanced around. Not a person to be seen. This is so awesome! He strolled inside, examining his surroundings. A weight bench was off to the corner, weights laying in heaps around it, as well as a bench press bar. In another corner, pull up bars of various heights and rings stood, waiting to be used. In the center, there was a large, old truck. Here goes nothing. He started with pull ups. Damn these used to be hard. Way too easy. Maybe there are tricks or something I could do on it later. He laid on the bench. Adding the max amount of weight, he began pressing the bar to his chest and pushing back up. Not bad. If I do a lot of reps, it actually feels like I'm getting a workout. I'm guessing this is somewhere around three hundred pounds. Setting the bar down, he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

Getting up, he walked over to the truck. Using all of his newfound strength, he lifted. The truck hovered slightly over the ground. His muscles rippled, using all of their power to lift the incredible amount of weight straining them. Finally, they gave out. He dropped the truck. This is so awesome! Like wicked awesome! If I got the proportionate strength of a spider, then maybe I could…

"Here goes nothing," he mumbled to himself.

Peter kicked his shoes off. He placed one hand on the wall. Pulling himself up, he positioned his other hand and planted both of his feet down. No…freaking…way. He crawled up the wall, unsure at first, but then he picked up the pace. Finally, he stopped on the ceiling, completely upside down. With a mischievous smile on his face, he let go of the wall with his hands and hung from his feet. Oh my god. This is amazing! He was disturbed from his thoughts by a ringing sound emitting from his jacket pocket. He unzipped it and grabbed his phone securely in his hand. Accepting the call without glancing at the name, he spoke.

"Hello?"

"Pete, it's me," replied a familiar female voice.

He groaned inwardly. "MJ."

"I wanted to see if we could make up. Maybe grab a bite to eat?"

"Can we just talk at school?"

"Sure."

He hung up.

The rest of the weekend went by without another moment of frustration. It was spent testing the extent of his new abilities. He didn't dare use them out in the open though. Not without something to hide him. Monday morning arrived and Peter sighed deeply. Ready for another day of hell. Today, he skateboarded to school. He was really hoping nothing ticked him off today. Arriving in front of the school, he quickly discarded the idea. Flash was waiting in front of the entrance, his back against the wall.

"Parker!" shouted Thompson.

"Morning Flash."

Peter walked past him, opening the school doors. A buzzing sensation vibrated through the base of his neck. A foot collided with his back and he sprawled forward, his head slamming onto the tile of the school's hallways. Strangely, it didn't faze him too much. Students gasped in shock as the brunette fell through the doorway.

"I was looking to beat some sense into Osborn, but I guess you'll do. You two just have to keep screwing up my life, don't you? Gotta get me in trouble with the principal every week," snarled Flash.

"Maybe if you didn't beat me up then you wouldn't get in trouble," countered Peter.

Flash stormed toward his skateboard.

"Stop, that was my dad's!" cried Peter.

"You think I care?"

In a sudden fit of blind rage, he pounced on his assailant, trying to distract him from the precious item. The buzzing sensation began again and Peter's eyes locked on to the position of Flash's leg. He's going for a kick. His body reacted instinctively. He scrambled backward, barely avoiding Flash's powerful kick, and stood up. Right hook. He dodged. Left straight. He dodged again.

"Stand still Parker!"

"Here's an idea for you, Thompson. Move faster."

Left straight again. Peter was tired of this fight. He was tired of the bullying. He was sick of it. End it. Make a statement. And he did. With one quick move, Peter grabbed Flash's fist and twisted it. Flash yelped in pain. Just a little more pressure and pop goes the weasel. But Peter stared at his classmate's pleading eyes. His eyes widened, realizing just how much he was hurting Flash. He's done this to me. Why shouldn't I do it to him?

"Parker, Thompson. My office now," the principal demanded, cutting off Peter's train of thought.

His eyes searched the crowd and landed on the horrified face of Gwen. He stared at her for a few moments before releasing Flash from his grasp. Picking up his skateboard, he entered the principal's office, ignoring the stares of his classmates. Flash shut the door behind them.

"Thompson, you're off the team for two games. We went over the consequences last time you saw me. As for you, Parker, what should I do? I've never had this problem with you. I'm going to call your uncle and have him come in. I really don't understand. What has gotten into you?"

"I manned up."

The principal snorted. "If you call hurting another student manning up, then you and your uncle need to have a serious talk."

The principal dialed his uncle's number and held the phone to his ear, tapping his feet periodically. He cleared his throat.

"Hello sir. This is Principal Smith speaking. I'm going to have to ask you to meet with me right now. You'll be here in twenty minutes? Alright, thank you sir."

Principal Smith hung up. "Thompson, go back to class."

With a sigh, Flash grabbed his backpack, head hanging low, and opened the door. Peter watched him, his heart sinking. This is my fault. He felt guilty.

"Wait," demanded Peter with more authority than he thought he could muster.

The principal raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"I take full responsibility. This entire thing is my fault. I'll take whatever consequence you have to throw at me, but don't punish Flash."

Peter stared at Smith, their eyes locked on each other.

"Alright, fine. Thompson, you're free to play."

The blonde teen blinked his eyes in sheer disbelief. "Thanks Mr. Smith."

He turned toward Peter, a smile on his face for a quick second. Then, it was gone.

Well, it's a start at least.

After the talk with Principal Smith, Uncle Ben drove Peter home in silence. As soon as they entered through the front door, the silence turned into screaming. Lots and lots of screaming.

"What the hell is your problem, Peter!" shouted his uncle.

"Ben, please calm down," pleaded his aunt.

"No! I will not calm down! Our boy, who we raised, physically attacked another student!"

"I was defending myself!" protested Peter.

His uncle let out a sigh. "Look Peter, your father and I lived by a philosophy. With great power there must also come great responsibility. You had the power to walk away and resolve this like a responsible person. Instead, you chose the irresponsible route, and fought back. Does that make sense?"

"No."

The teen stormed upstairs, his last word hanging thick in the air.

Norman Osborn sat in his office, occupying a leather chair. Bookshelves covered the walls, filled to the brim with scientific and philosophical novels and discoveries. Behind Osborn's oaken desk were one-way glass windows. He faced them, staring at the lit-up city with a scowl on his face.

"What do you mean we lost the specimen? It's dead? Check every piece of footage from the past week. What do you mean cameras don't reach that area of the building? Damn it!"

Harry entered the office. "Dad, I was wondering if..."

"Not now, son. I'm busy." He didn't even bother to look away from the window.

Head hanging low, Harry exited.

Setting the phone down, Norman sighed in exasperation and wove his hands through his brunette hair. Feeble-minded kid. Needs to wise up. Find a clear path in life.

The week dragged on. The bullying hadn't stopped. But it had slowed. Flash no longer physically attacked him. Everything was verbal now. Especially when he was around the cheerleaders and football players. Puny Parker this. Stinky Petey that. He was itching to deck Thompson. Hard. But he didn't. He had promised Gwen, and he intended on keeping that promise. Throughout the week, he continued to test his abilities. Now, he was sick of being constrained. He needed to use his abilities in the open. Setting his fifteen dollars on the counter, he grabbed a red ski mask and walked out of the fabric store. November was almost over, and the weather knew it. Light snow fell from the sky, gently tapping the concrete jungle below it. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Flipping it open, he answered.

"Hello?"

"Pete. Don't forget that we're organizing the garage later tonight."

"Yeah, I remember. What time?"

"8:00 sharp. Try not to be late kiddo."

His uncle hung up. Speeding into an alleyway, Peter glanced around before tugging on the ski mask. He placed his shoes in his backpack and climbed.

Peter opened the garage door and was met with Uncle Ben's warm smile.

"Grab anything electronic related and stack it over there please," said Uncle Ben.

"Sure."

Organizing the boxes, Peter glanced up at his uncle's back and back down at his job. He hesitated before speaking.

"Uncle Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"What were my parents like?"

"Well son, your dad was like me in many ways. Always the responsible person trying to help others. He was very smart, just like you are. He believed that his projects could change the world. He made friends quickly in his little science world. Your mom was always persistent, going with him wherever he went. She was his lab assistant. They were strong willed, those two."

"What was my dad working on?" Peter finished stacking a few sets of boxes and moved on to another.

"No idea," replied his uncle.

"Do you know who he worked with?"

"I don't know everyone. I do know that two of his best friends were Tony Stark and Bruce Banner."

Whoa. My dad worked with my two biggest idols. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, two of the smartest people ever.

Uncle Ben cleared his throat. "Listen, Pete. About what I told you earlier this week."

Peter groaned inwardly.

"You have power over what you do. Everyone does. But what some people don't realize is the responsibility that comes with it. The Avengers, I believe they're called, understand this. They do the right thing with their power. Problem is, they only use their power for the big things. Nobody bothers to stop the petty crimes because they think the police can handle it. But they can't always do that, Peter. I'm just trying to help you do the right things in life."

Saturday morning, Peter made the call he had been dreading. He sat atop his house, legs kicking aimlessly in the air.

"Peter?"

"Look MJ, I'm sorry about not talking to you at school. How about we meet at the Silver Spoon?"

"I'm free now. Are you?"

"Yeah. See you in thirty?"

"You better be there, Tiger." She hung up.

Peter smiled slightly at her playful nickname for him. He placed his ski mask in his backpack and zipped it up. Opening his window, he made sure no one was looking and climbed out, closing it behind him. Landing in his backyard below, he hopped the fence and began the trek to the Silver Spoon. Once into the city, Peter stepped into an alley and pulled on the mask. He took to the rooftops, flipping and whooping. Not once did he let up his speed. Running on a pure adrenaline high, he was stopped in his tracks by a husky male's voice below. Peeking down, he tried to get a glimpse of the man's face but couldn't.

"Hey charming. How much cash you got?"

A startled whimper was let out. Peter watched in hesitation. Shouldn't I help? The man backhanded her and grabbed her purse, a gun trained on her head. Peter flinched. Sirens wailed in the distance. Nah, the police will handle this. It's just a purse-snatcher. Besides, I'm not in the mood to get shot. And so, Peter continued on his way. Eventually, he returned to the crowds, his mask already peeled off and in his backpack. He arrived at the Silver Spoon and approached an already seated MJ.

"Peter."

He glanced around nervously before sitting down. "Hey MJ."

"I already ordered for us. Look Peter, I know Flash bullies you. I want to call it off, but you know that that's probably not going to happen."

Of course it's not. Because you want to be popular. He nodded.

"You stopped him from using you as a punching bag." She raised an eyebrow.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, I did."

"But, he still verbally bullies you. And I'm guessing you aren't going to fight him again if you can avoid it. So, I can try to get him off your back for you, if you'd like."

Peter immediately shook his head. "No. I'll earn his respect myself."

She nodded in understanding. "That's a very grown-up thing to do." She smiled like she used to, when they were kids and without a care in the world. "Looks like you might actually earn your nickname, Tiger."

And Peter smiled back.

And the news came on.

And there was a grocery store robbery nearby.

And Peter realized that his uncle was at that grocery store.

And the smile was wiped from his face.

And he abruptly stood up.

"Peter, where are you going?" asked Mary-Jane, worry creeping into her voice.

"My uncle's in there."

"You can't seriously be thinking…"

And Peter sprinted out of the coffee shop and into an alley.

And the ski mask slipped over his face.

Ben Parker was on his knees among a crowd of strangers. He was scared. Really, really scared. A masked man had a pump-action shotgun aimed at the crowd, while the receptionist filled cash bags. A few members of security were knocked out, blood dripping from their foreheads. Somewhere near him, a man shouted.

"Enough! What about the women, the children? You damn bastard, are you seriously going to traumatize them?"

The masked man turned toward the noise and stormed over. He slammed the butt of the shotgun into the man's abdomen.

"Didn't I tell you idiots to shut up?" the masked man growled.

His victim coughed, body trembling. "Well, I guess I don't listen very well, do I?"

"No, you don't."

And the masked man raised his shotgun.

And Ben Parker gathered enough courage.

And he threw himself at the robber because he knew nobody else would.

And a shot rang out.

And the glass entrance doors shattered.

And another masked man stormed in.

And an ear-splitting, blood-curdling cry of suffering sounded from the man in the red ski mask.

And Ben Parker's anguished face contorted into a smile, because he knew that man was his little boy, Peter.

And he died in peace.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow. It's been a long time. I had my worst writer's block while I was writing Uncle Ben's death. I am so sorry. Please read and review. Thank you.