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“Hey, Pete. Lights out in twenty, alright?”
Peter Parker glanced up from the novel he was engrossed in to meet the exhausted gaze of his Uncle Ben. Peter was huddled under an old wool blanket in addition to his duvet cover as he navigated the chapters of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, an assignment for his Honors English class that quarter. The room was positively freezing and as much as he wanted to sneak into the living room and crank the heat to block out the bitter New York cold, he knew that they had to conserve and ration. Ben had worked a nearly twelve-hour shift every day that week just to pay for the monthly expenses, including food, and Peter was wise enough not to complain about trivial occurrences like a cold apartment.
He took comfort in the fact that in less than an hour, he would be completely warmed up as he swung around the city on patrol as he did each night. The constant movement of jumping from rooftop to rooftop or fighting criminals generated enough heat to keep him going.
He nodded in response to the statement, giving his Uncle a wry smile before returning to the complex phrases of Jules Verne. He pretended not to acknowledge the fact that his Uncle moved to sit on the edge of his twin bed, pulling his worn bathrobe tighter around his frame. He knew one of two events were about to transpire: 1. Ben was going to lecture him about how he blew off his chores the night prior to go on patrol, or 2. Ben was going to lecture him about a certain less-than-satisfactory grade in English because he had been blowing off his homework to go on patrol.
Either way, he was getting a lecture. In both instances, he had no way to defend himself without revealing his secret.
“Peter,” the man spoke, attempting to garner the teen’s attention. Peter tried his hardest to stifle a cringe before glancing up. He really didn’t want to go through this right now.
“Hey, what’s up?” Peter questioned, attempting to appear nonchalant as he shut the book, making sure he dog-eared the page before placing the borrowed copy on the pillow beside him.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time out lately, kid. Anything you want to tell us about?” He began, clearing his throat as he did so. The excuses that Peter had conjured up to explain his absences had been pithy but had surely worked. Not to mention the fact that he had often enlisted Ned to cover for him in dire times, despite his seemingly unaware best friend not knowing the real reason as to why he needed an alibi. “Any girlfriend you’ve been hiding?” the older man joked and Peter scoffed, pushing a nervous hand through his brunette hair. Yeah, he mused to himself Peter Parker having a girlfriend, that’s a good one.
“Is it a problem that I’ve been going out more? I thought that’s what you guys wanted,” Peter pointed out, unable to keep the snarkiness out of his tone. He couldn’t help it, he hated being lectured by his Uncle for seemingly innocuous household crimes like forgetting to wash the dishes or not cleaning his room. Ben, while typically a stringent guardian, often gave Peter lenience on several aspects of his young life. Which was precisely why he feared his Uncle discovering such a severe secret such as having superpowers and leaving each night to stop petty crimes. He knew that the moment Ben caught word of his spider alter ego, that scrap of lenience would cease to exist. This was one of the many reasons he endured several lectures relating to things he couldn’t help; if he wanted to keep the secret, he would have to deal with the repercussions as well. However, tonight he just wasn’t having it. He was cold, he was bored of Jules Verne, and he just wanted to go out already. The city beckoned to him from just outside his window and he shot a longing glance towards his laundry basket where his suit and goggles were concealed by discarded clothes.
“Hey, I don’t have a problem with it, but maybe it’s about time you start considering that your actions affect others,” Ben countered, instantly detecting the annoyance in Peter’s voice. “Your aunt is constantly up worrying about you when you’re not home on time or you just happen to fall asleep at Ned’s without calling one of us. Do you even know how freaked out she gets when you don’t come home?” He accused and Peter felt a pang of guilt in his chest when he remembered a few nights prior when he had ignored six missed calls from both May and Ben in favor of knocking out a few carjackers.
“I’m sorry, alright?” He muttered, glancing away from his Uncle’s harsh glare. His intentions were never to upset his Aunt and Uncle, but it was difficult to keep their various concerns in mind as he was swinging around New York City each night.
“Listen, don’t apologize to me, apologize to your Aunt.” he insisted firmly, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder which was immediately shrugged off.
“I,” he stopped to let out a frustrated sigh, attempting to choose his words carefully before he said something he would regret and land himself in even more trouble. “I just don’t see why it’s that big of a deal.” he explained, growing more and more upset at the situation by the minute.
“You don’t see why it’s that big of a deal?” His uncle raised an eyebrow as he repeated the words Peter had just spoken. Peter groaned as he rolled his eyes, deciding that maybe he had said the wrong thing.
“Nevermind, just forget it, sorr-” He attempted to brush his previous comment off, but his Uncle was obviously not in the mood to ‘just forget it’.
“Peter, I get it. It’s rough right now, but you have to understand that we care about you and have always cared about you like you were our own son, if you were to get hurt in any way, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Ben started and Peter felt the guilt in his chest grow. On any normal occasion, he would have known better than to protest such a simple request from the two people who had been there for him the majority of his young life. However, after having these powers for nearly a month and carrying the weight of the city on his shoulders, his tolerance for these simple requests had shrunk. He was fifteen years old! Why in the world would his Aunt and Uncle need to know exactly where he was every second of the day?
“I’m not out risking my life every night,” Lie “ and I have the ability to protect myself,” Yeah, they’re called synthetic webs “Uncle Ben, I’ve never once gotten in trouble in my life.” As long as you don’t define trouble as busting a drug ring four nights ago.
He stared defiantly up at his Uncle, his protector, his father figure for the last seven years. Ben had seen him through the worst and worked his fingers to the bone every day just to support Peter and May. He hated himself for rebelling against the man, but couldn’t fight the frustration boiling inside. He wanted nothing more than to just reveal his identity to his guardians, to have them reassure him that everything was going to be just fine, and to have his Uncle tell him that he was proud of Peter for standing up for justice and what was right. It pained him more than any wound he had ever received to know that a scenario such as that one would be impossible.
“For the last week, we’ve barely seen you and your Aunt says you haven’t picked up her calls at all. Us worrying about your safety doesn’t make us the villains in this situation,” Ben declared, his already firm voice gaining an edge that informed Peter that he had gone too far in his argument. “You’re just a boy, Peter, and you’re not as invincible as you may think. Your Aunt and I want you to have a normal life and to enjoy being young, but you can’t just disregard every single responsibility in favor of that,” he continued, Peter knowing exactly what his Uncle was going to say next. The phrase had been an undeviating part of his childhood after hearing it for the last seven years. His Uncle had always favored the tenet whenever it came to the subject of Peter’s father or when the situation warranted a bit of wisdom. Peter had grown to associate the principle with Ben and hearing the words come out of anybody else’s mouth just seemed… irregular and wrong.
“With great power-” His Uncle began.
“-comes great responsibility, I know, I know.” he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of exasperation and remorse. He felt as if somebody had punched him in the gut, but figured that was just the inevitable guilt that came along with arguing with his Uncle. He felt like the world’s most difficult teenager in that moment, but couldn’t find the right words to form an apology. He just wanted to leave and discard all problems at hand. In thirty minutes time he would be out against the darkened skyline of New York City, leaving his prying Aunt and Uncle asleep in their room, unaware of his vigilante actions.
“I love you, Peter. Just try to remember to call us next time, after all, we’re not going to be around forever.” Ben reminded him softly as the figure of his Aunt materialized in the doorway, her features illuminated by the hallway light. Peter blinked a few times, trying to process May’s appearance as if he were deciphering some foreign language.
“Say something,” May prodded, smiling gently, the wear and tear of fifty-two years evident in her brown eyes. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it.” Her voice was unassuming and almost floated across the room to Peter. He swallowed the knot forming in his throat and turned to his Uncle, hands shaking with trepidation. Why had his vision started to swim? Why did he feel so cold? He had lived this moment before, he could see the image playing over and over again in his mind like a tape in perpetual rewind. The tape would play for a few minutes before being rewound to the exact point it started at before, trapped in a loop of apprehension and missed opportunities. Ben sat, motionless, waiting for Peter to clear his throat and speak.
“I love you, Uncle Ben. I’m sorry. I’m going to be better, I promise.” He managed to reply despite the hot tears forming in his eyes. He attempted to blink them away, but his vision became blurred and his Uncle’s countenance began to fade. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, nearly choking on the words as they left his mouth. He reached out for his Uncle but his trembling hands only swiped at air, unable to grasp onto anything.
The room, which had felt so raw and so real evaporated around him until only he was left, perched on what had been his twin bed. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed openly, the memory feeling as if it were a fresh cut doused in salt. Why didn’t it happen that way? Why didn’t he apologize instead of blowing off his Uncle with a flippant comment about needing to get some air? Why didn’t he realize he had been gone for far too long and his Uncle had gone out onto the street looking for him? Why didn’t he attempt to stop the mugger that had eventually murdered Ben while the man was calling his name frantically, wondering where he was? Why didn’t he just take responsibility?
His mind flashed with the image of Ben, sprawled out on the sidewalk a block away from the apartment, his favorite bathrobe forever stained with his own blood, a knife protruding from his abdomen. His body felt numb and his shoulders were weighted down with the fact that his Uncle’s death was entirely his fault. He continued to sob, shaking his head as if that would block out the picture of his dead Uncle, his guardian, his father. His entire figure was trembling and he pressed his thumbnail into the palm of his hand in order to just feel something physical that would take him away from that fateful night and return him to reality. Just as he was about to do so himself, he felt the B.A.R.F. glasses being removed from the bridge of his nose and the metal table creaked as the weight of another person was added. Two arms gripped his shoulders before pulling him into a fierce embrace. He hesitated before reluctantly allowing him to bury his face in the material of Tony Stark’s Armani sports coat.
“Shhh, it’s alright, kiddo. It’s gonna be alright.” The voice of his idol and mentor murmured gently, rubbing Peter’s back in soothing motions in an attempt to calm him. “I know, I know, it hurts. Just try to calm down for me, buddy, okay?” Tony encouraged, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair with his free hand. The action reminded Peter of Ben comforting him when he had discovered the death of his parents and he was unable to stifle the strangled noise that left his throat. He must have been making a complete mess of Tony’s jacket, and he was surprised at how soothing the man could be. He usually didn’t see this covert side of the man behind the Iron Man suit.
“Take deep breaths, squirt, I don’t want to be blamed when you pass out from hyperventilation.” He half-joked and Peter choked through his tears as he tried to laugh. Tony heard and gave a dry laugh as well as he patted the boy’s back softly. The Binarily Augmented Retro Framing device sat motionless on the counter beside them and Peter glanced away from the pair of enhanced frames, leaning in to Tony’s touch as if that would somehow erase the monumental guilt and shame that pulled at his insides and attempted to rip him away from unreachable closure. The knot in his stomach began to unclench and he could feel his shoulders relax, despite the fact that he wasn’t consciously holding the tension in. He couldn’t help but fixate on why the invention that Tony had referred to as his “expensive therapeutic experiment” had affected him in this way? Wasn’t it supposed to do the exact opposite and clear his guilty conscience order to block out the last fight he had engaged in with his late Uncle? Why, instead, had it forced him into a self-induced state of panic and leave him feeling worse than before?
Earlier that evening they had been bouncing ideas of past inventions off of each other when Tony absentmindedly mentioned the presence of the B.A.R.F. and the fact that it was still active. When he asked Peter if he would be interested in doing a quick test run of the device, he was quick to answer, and rather enthusiastically at that. Stupidly thinking it would help him somehow, he dove headfirst into the memory of nearly six months ago, eager to fix the last words he had shared with Ben.
You’re so hopeless he mused to himself, swiping the last traces of tears from his face in order to retain some shred of dignity. You were such a terrible nephew that you couldn’t even fix it through Mr. Stark’s technology. He attempted to push the intrusive thoughts far from his mind, but he knew that there was no denying what was so glaringly obvious. For months, he had been grappling with the fact that he had essentially killed his Uncle with his ignorance. Now, when he was finally given the chance to alter reality and set the score straight, he had regressed and ended up in worse shape than before.
Forcing himself to leave Mr. Stark’s grasp, Peter shoved both of his hands into his jacket pockets, terrified that Mr. Stark would see that they were still trembling, fueled by the shock that accompanied being in the presence of his Uncle, despite the fact that it was essentially a glorified hologram. He felt another wave of guilt crash upon him when he was presented with the tearstained jacket Tony was shrugging off and he glanced down, knowing that his ears were turning a revealing shade of scarlet.
“Mr. Stark, ‘m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like this,” he blurted out, not stopping to form a coherent thought as he began to ramble. “I just, I didn’t think about it and I- shouldn’t have chosen that one, and I just… it’s my fault, I’m sorry.” He stammered out, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Tony who had placed one of his hands on Peter’s shoulder in order to reassure him of the falsehood that he was innocent or that there was nothing he could have done. They were the same platitudes that virtually everybody attending the funeral had murmured to him as they strolled out after paying their respects, he knew them by heart at this point.
“It’s not your fault, Peter. I should’ve kept a closer eye on you so it didn’t get to the point where you were nearing a panic attack,” He admitted and Peter spoke up to protest, but was cut off as Tony continued. “These,” he stated, gesturing towards the lenses “were made as an attempt to heal past wounds. I used them on an event that happened over twenty years ago while yours happened six months ago. I don’t think it’s an understatement to say that the wounds are still a little fresh in your mind.” He commented and Peter grimaced before nodded his understanding. It was obvious that the teen was still shaken up from the evening’s events and his recently damaged psyche was not going to recover if he just brushed it under the rug, but Peter had no further desire to pursue the conversation. He was just so… tired of the piteous stares and the meaningless apologies that came along with that particular topic. As much as he knew that his friends and relatives meant well, they would never bring back his Uncle. Initially, May was convinced that Peter was suffering some sort of post traumatic stress disorder, but the truth was that he preferred to keep his emotions to himself, locked away as if they were some sought after treasure. Secretly, Peter hoped that Tony would wipe this entire issue from his memory the moment the boy left that evening, he couldn’t picture himself having a legitimate heart-to-heart with none other than Tony Stark about his dead Uncle. He could only imagine how that would go down.
The atmosphere had shifted from subdued to accepting in the minutes that passed as they were stationed on the table. Peter, with his all-too-obvious nervous mannerisms, was not at all secretive that he was uncomfortable by the scene he had caused and longed to move past the entire ordeal. Tony seemed to notice this and hopped off of the metal examining table, strolling straight past the lab tables and into the hallway. Peter followed after a moment, reaching down by his usual lab bench to pick up his discarded backpack which contained the spiderman suit and some more web cartridges. That night was supposed to be dedicated to training before Peter went out on patrol, but he figured that after having to deal with an emotionally wrecked teenage boy and his past traumas, Tony had endured enough for one evening. He dug his nail into his palm once more, trying to restrain himself from asking the man if they could still practice some minor sparring. He had been looking forward to this night for the last two weeks and loathed the fact that he would have to sacrifice it because of some minor meltdown. Peter heaved a sigh, hoping that he didn’t come off as too blatantly miserable about the wasted evening. He was just about to let himself out when he heard the voice of his mentor from down the hallway.
“Hey! Where are you going?” He questioned earnestly and Peter raised an eyebrow in confusion. Was he serious? “I thought we were supposed to train. You know, without the proper technique you’re going to get yourself killed out there one day.” The man quipped, earning a half-smirk from Peter. He slumped against the wall, surrendering his backpack to the floor in defeat as Tony went to retrieve his suit or to set up the training room. Peter’s fingers fumbled clumsily with the zipper on his backpack as he pulled the familiar red-and-blue fabric from its hold, his phone dropping to the tiled floor with a noticeable clatter as he did so. Just as he was about to shove to device back into his tattered bag, he heard the voice of Ben in his mind, weary from the day’s work and from having to lecture a defiant Peter.
“If you were to get hurt in any way, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
He hesitated before opening his contacts app. As soon as his thumb hovered over May’s number, he hit call, knowing that even if she were at work or on the subway home, he needed to call her.
He was greeted with her cheery “Hi! You’ve reached May Parker…” and the familiar proceedings before he was able to speak. At this point, he could sense Mr. Stark’s presence only a few feet away, but he didn’t care to acknowledge it.
“Hey, May. Just calling to let you know I’m gonna be back late tonight. I’m at Mr. Stark’s for the internship. I’ll see you tonight.” He shrugged, fingering the material of his suit nervously as he spoke, wondering why the action calmed him so. “Oh, and uh, I love you.” He added, trying his best to ignore Mr. Stark’s all-knowing grin from the end of the hallway. He quickly ended the message and shoved his phone back into the front pocket of the bag before scrambling to his feet, pulling the suit with him. Tony approached him, placing a consolidatory hand on his shoulder once more, almost guiding him down the all-too-familiar path to the training center located in the heart of the tower.
“You’re a good kid, Peter.” He commented, almost absentmindedly, as if the words were hanging in the air, just waiting to be said. Peter wasn’t sure if he believed them; he wasn’t sure if he ever would, but for now, they were enough.
They were enough to carry him through the next day, to remind him that his Uncle had loved him, to act as a shelter from the intrusive thoughts that tried to tell him otherwise. They would motivate him to continue fighting, to call May or to take care of her in the same way that she did him, to act with responsibility.
They were exactly the words that Ben would have said.
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”