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One more time. Just one more test and maybe… his eyes light up with excitement that this might be it. The formula is literally ripping apart the DNA and destroying the unfavorable one. What’s left snaps back into place like nothing had changed. Except, something had. Parts of the DNA were missing not. It all became volatile and the radiation in it tried to fix the problem. The same result. It mutates again but this time, it would mean death. The cells become cancerous. Peter grabs the small spot plate and smashes it before growling. He collapses back into his and grips his hair. He takes a few deep, calming, breath.
The taste of his own breath is strange now. In fact the taste of everything. But when it all meshes together in his mouth and his enhanced sense picks it up, it’s not all that pleasant. He hates it and it doesn’t calm him. It’s a reminder, cruel and brutal, of what he is now. What he has become. Or maybe what has only been revealed. He peeks out between his fingers to where the glass shattered. A small growth escapes his lips, just another thing he’ll have to clean up. He turns head to his notebooks and opens to a sloppily drawn chart. The chart is big. It takes up several pages. Each one marked as a test. Test 1 to 100. In each box are experiments or formulas and next to them are results. All of them failed. He’s on the hundredth test.
He sighs and fills out another box… fail. It’s okay, he tells himself, Thomas Edison took a thousand tries to invent the light bulb. But Thomas Edison didn’t actually invent the light bulb, another voice in his head sneers. It’s right. Edison didn’t invent the light bulb. Not even the filament he improved on the original formula through trial and error. He never had to figure out how to decode and recode a human being's DNA while simultaneously curing them of radioactive blood that is somehow not killing them. Something like this would be impossible for him. Even Peter can hardly believe it and he’s the one he’s trying to cure.
A buzzing on the table causes him to jump, only to realize it’s his phone. He squints at the too bright screen. Things were so much easier when he didn’t have enhanced senses. Sure he couldn’t see but seeing too well comes with its own sets of problems and headaches. Though, as he reads the text message, he realizes that the blurriness might be more from being tired than his senses. It’s late, passed dinner late. He didn’t plan on being out this late, he hates walking home in the dark. Ever since…
He also doesn’t want Aunt May worrying for him. But as he glances at the window, he realizes that he doesn’t have a choice anymore. This was his last chance. And maybe one day, there will be a cure but it’s become clearer than ever that he lacks the resources to find. He looks around the lab, getting up to grab cleaning supplies. He started off in his workshop to try and find a solution but his workshop works better for tinkering with computer parts and not his DNA. Sneaking into ESU Labs was easier than expected. He wanted to ask Harry initially but Harry didn't have access to Oscorp labs and Peter did not feel comfortable letting Norman Osborn know about this. In fact he thought he was being paranoid and tried to ask but his weird sixth sense basically screamed at him not to. He’s not sure if there was a reason or anxiety, either way he chickened out afterwards.
His last choice was sneaking into ESU Labs. He hates it. Especially the idea that it’s a crime. He hates crime. Crime is what got him into this mess. Crime is how he lost… he sweeps up the broken glass and dumps into a trash bag. He has to make sure this place looks exactly as it did before so that no one knows that he’s been here. Or what kind of experiments he’s been using. For all the resources that ESU has, Peter does not have an advanced degree to use all the equipment. He doesn’t have the expertise of Dr. Conners who run the lab. He only has his desperation and it wasn’t enough. After he’s cleaned everything up, he sneaks out of the lab and fiddles with the cameras again. The live feed is back instead of the loop he uses. Everything is polished so there are no fingerprints and the trash he accumulated he throws away in a nearby alley. Even if they do figure out someone has been tampering with their labs, they’ll never trace it back to him.
Once finished, he begins his trek home. It’s sad really, that this has become his life. Even sadder that this will continue to be his life. There probably isn’t a cure. Professionals barely know how genetics and radiation work at times. He’s an anomaly, they’d study him if they knew. They would waste their time on curing him, not with what he’s capable of. What he’s cured of. But Peter doubts he can be replicated so easily. He doubts there’s a way to go back. Tht knowledge simply doesn’t exist. The science to create him doesn’t exist, let alone to cure him.
Still that didn’t stop him from trying. A month. That’s how long the school gave him to mourn. That’s how long they would excuse his absences until they consider him skipping. He used that month to its fullest. Every chance he got, he snuck into ESU Labs and ran his test. Hoping for a cure this time. Everytime the test failed, and he went home defeated. He tried to put on a strong face for Aunt May and she tried to put on a strong face for him. But they were both in pain and they were both Parkers. Putting on a strong face working through their problem themselves was what they did. He admits it’s not healthy but it’s cheaper than hiring a psychiatrist.
Besides, he owes it to her to be okay. Come home late. To be the perfect nephew in every way. To not be a burden. It’s the least he can do after what he did. He could have saved the man she loved but he was greedy and selfish and… He owed it to her not to be another hassle on her mind. He didn’t want to go home that night, he wanted to run away. The shame was so fresh and the guilt so thick, he wanted to run. Hide. Curl up in a little ball and never move again. He couldn’t face her, and yet he did. Because he would have worried her. Because she would want to know. Deserve to know. But when he faced her, no words escaped his mouth. He just broke down and began to cry. She followed and they cried all night. He can’t tell. The guilt and shame are too deep. Rooted in his stomach and made a home in his chest. He can’t escape it. It’s his burden and he can't pass it on to others. Least of all, her.
So he elected not to tell her. It would be fine, he had thought initially. Back when he thought he could cure himself. Back when he thought it would be that easy. It never was. Today was his last day. His last chance. Every test failed. There would be no going back. Now what? He has power and he is responsible for them. But he doesn’t want to be. It’s another burden. Why couldn’t someone else deal with this burden? Someone older, better than him. He failed. He’s not… he’s not good enough. He can’t be who his uncle wanted him to be. And yet, there is no going back now. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. How he’s supposed to live like this. He has to try, if not for himself then for Aunt May and Gwen and Harry. The people he has left. The ones who keep him going. Maybe, someday, he’ll be grateful too. He doubts it.
He jolts at a loud scream. Eyes scanning the area. It’s empty. A rare sight for New York City but on this side of town. Most people try to stay away from the crime infested area. He turns away and keeps walking. It was probably a mugging, someone in trouble. But what should he care. “With great power–” NO! He failed and he’ll fail again. Besides, they have guns. What is he supposed to do about that! He didn’t bring the web shooters! The idea of having anything to do with the suit is disgusting. Spider-Man is over. Through. Done. There’s another scream. The first sounded like a woman but this one was definitely a child. His heart skips a beat and he swallows. He’s not a hero. He can’t be. He’s not like Captain America or Iron Man. It’s his fault. He can’t be responsible.
He hears shuddering sobs, the sound is louder. Loud enough that when he turns his head he sees it. The woman and supposedly her daughter. They are surrounded by three forms of ski masks. One is big, buff. Definitely intimidating. The other two are probably average height and kind of lighter frame. He shakes his head and tries to look away. He shouldn’t get involved. It’s not his job. But they could die. “With great power, there must also come–” But he’s not responsible! He failed. He can’t save them. He can’t. He can’t. He looks around desperately for someone else's help but instead his eyes meet the woman's eyes. The wide terrified eyes of that woman as her daughter is pulled out of her arms. He shouldn’t. He can’t. But he has to try. If he doesn’t, then it’s his fault. Then he will fail, again.
“With great power, there must also come great responsibility.”
Gwens right, he is stupid. What other idiot would throw up their hood and not walk away. What other idiot would walk toward the woman. What other idiot would scream at the muggers to ‘stop.’ And what other idiot would actually stare into the eyes of the man holding a gun to your heart. He visibly shakes but otherwise doesn’t move. Frozen like a deer in headlights. His breath hitches. Coming fast and sporadic. Is this what it was like for his uncle? Is this the last thing he felt before… or is Peter just a coward. Come on, he has power. He takes a few deep breaths. His sixth sense thrums in the back of his head, getting steadily stronger.
“Stay out of this, kid,” one of the smaller goons grunts. He takes several more deep breaths and tightens his fists. He glances to the woman and daughter huddling at the side. He has to save them. He can’t save Ben. He failed him. But he won’t fail them. He can’t.
“No,” he can’t actually believe the word past his mouth. Albeit, it came out a little squeaky. The bigger thug somehow narrows his eyes more than they already were. He nods to another thug. Peter swallows whatever he was going to say next as his sixth sense causes his head to ring. Time seems to slow and the loud bang causes him to flinch. He closes his eyes, too afraid. He doesn’t even think. Wind rushes by him and heart pounds. He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head. The woman and daughter are staring at him with their mouths agape. The thug's eyes are wide and clear. It’s only then that he notices that he’s on the other side of the alley. He doesn’t even know how or when he got there! He looks down at himself. There is no wound. Not cut, not even a scratch. He dodges a bullet. Literally dodged a bullet!
Before he contemplate this his sixth sense goes off again, not as strong as before. It seems the thugs have recovered from their shock. The pull out daggers, deciding to rush him instead. The world slows again. His eyes blow wide as he effortlessly dodges each attack. It’s instinct, simply feel, as he quickly grabs the thugs hand a little harder than intended, causing him to drop the dagger. The other thug rushes him but he manages to trip him. Return to the first, he give the man a nice hard punch. And the thug is knocked. Knocked out, with one punch! He knew he could do it, he’s done it before. But this–He’s fighting muggers.
His sixth sense goes off again. The bigger thug manages to grab him but Peter uses his enhanced strength and agility to force his way out of the thugs grasp and then flips him. The bigger thug is down and the third one is running but Peter has no plan to let him get away. Not this time. No one else is getting hurt because of him. He jumps off the walls, literally jumps off the walls and strikes the man. He’s out too. He stares over him panting. Adrenaline finally seeping away. His eyes are still wide as he takes in his surroundings. He won? He knew he could, logically, but…
His eyes swivel to the mother and daughter, embracing where they had always been. They didn’t run. Why didn’t they run? They look happy. Safe. They get to live, go home and feel safe. He swallows and turns to leave. He needs to go home now. What did he just do. Police did this. Heroes did this. And he’s neither. He failed but… he didn’t fail them. Right? He shakes his head and keep walking. This cannot be his life now and yet what else is he suppose to use his powers for. He has to. It’s his responsibility, right? He just doesn’t want to.
“Thank you.” He stop at he’s about to leave, turning to the mother and daughter. She looks young, barely an adult. The little girl looks to be still in preschool. She smiles, which is so strange for him to see. He hasn’t been around smiling, real smiling in a long time. “You saved our lives.” Words catch in his throat and before he knows it he’s running. Hard and fast, faster than he ever has before. He doesn’t hear the woman call out to him. He doesn’t turn around. He just keeps running. Faster and faster and faster. He skips the subway and runs all the way home, Probably scarying Aunt May with his fast entry. In his room he take deep gasping breaths, more from emotion than exertion.
“You saved our lives.”
He did. He really did. He doesn’t even know how anymore, just that he did. He never wanted this. Never asked for any of this. But his uncle was right. There is no denying it now. He can’t turn back. He doesn’t want to. Not when he can make things right. He can make a change. Help people. He wasn’t good enough but if he tries, he can try to be. “With great power there must also come great responsibility.”
The other day he throws on his suit under his clothes. He hated the suit. Spider-Man failed and he was ashamed of it. But not anymore. Spider-Man will make things right. He doesn’t search for crime. Not like what most people end up believing. He would help people if he were around. If he was needed. But then he went out at night, wanting to help more. It feels good. Amazing. He doesn’t just need to. He wants to. This is his life now. Spider-Man. He is Spider-Man. And it’s his responsibility to help people. It’s his pleasure. He can make a difference. He’s finally good enough, or he will always try to be.