Chapter Text
Part I of The Mistakes We Make
The alarm buzzed angrily with a loud, harsh sound. Peter groaned and slowly reached out a hand to slap the alarm into silence. Sunlight streamed through the window, an irritating ray of color, as Peter hauled himself out of bed and stumbled to his bathroom. Without opening his eyes to face that crude light, he managed to brush his teeth, half-heartedly comb his hair, and tug some frayed jeans over his briefs. He was halfway down the stairs when he yawned, stretched, and blinked in the morning light.
"Well look who's up and ready for school." said a grey-haired man sitting at the kitchen table, Peter's Uncle Ben.
"Morning." Peter said halfheartedly, slumping into his seat at the table.
"Did you sleep alright Pete?"
"Yeah."
“Yeah, you must have.” Uncle Ben leaned over his morning paper and picked at a spot of dried spittle on Peter’s cheek. “I’d say you still have one foot in the sheets.”
“Better than one foot in the grave, right?” Peter responded, batting away his uncle’s hand and reaching for the cereal box on the table.
“You’ll get there one day.” Ben chuckled, squinting through his reading glasses at his paper. “Lord knows, I did.”
As Peter began to eat, Ben took a drink from his coffee and looked at his watch.
"I've got to run to work. Check on your aunt before you leave, okay?"
Peter nodded, still drowsy as his uncle grabbed his coat and hobbled out of the kitchen. He heard the front door open and close, then heard the sound of Uncle Ben’s ancient station-wagon backfire before roaring to life. It seemed like everything, save for Peter, was feeling the effects of age in this small, tired household.
Sighing, Peter finished his breakfast and loaded his bookbag before stopping his aunt’s room on the way out. He gently woke her.
"Hey… Hey, Aunt May."
She was laying on her back, her shoulders propped on many pillows and a book in her lap.
"Peter," Her voice was weak, but she smiled at him just the same. "What time is it? You need to get to school."
"I'm going now, how are you feeling?"
“Oh,” She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not too bad this morning." She nodded to a collection of pill bottles on her nightstand. “Took my pills already, so I should be up in no time.”
Peter put on a smile.
I wish, she's been out of commission for weeks.
"Well, I'll see you later okay?" Peter blew his Aunt a kiss and she pretended to catch it, laughing, as he backed out of the room and left.
Midtown High was a perpetual hell on earth to students and teachers alike. The school was held together by mold and crumbling walls, and filled with wobbly desks that teetered threateningly at the slightest jostle. It was a wonder how the place hadn't been shut down yet, especially when Midtown’s abysmal test scores were taken into consideration. Peter was a part of the small minority of students who excelled at standardized tests.
As he walked up the front steps, Peter lamented, old words spoken by his Uncle echoing in his ears.
“Wish we could send you to one of those fancy prep-schools, Peter. Lord knows you have the brains for it. Maybe after I get that promotion…”
But the promotions never came, so neither did the money, and thus Peter would be finishing high school at Midtown.
"Hey, Pete!" a voice called behind him. "Peter, wait up!"
Peter turned to see his best friend Harry Osborn bounding towards him. His old friend was one of the few things that made this school bearable – along with Doctor Connors, of course.
"Harry, what's up?" Peter fell into step with Harry.
"I need to see your Calc homework from last night, man." Harry was already taking a notebook out of his backpack. "There are just a few problems I don't understand."
"It's always great to see you too pal." Peter rolled his eyes, taking out his own notebook and handing it to Harry. "Just give it back at lunch, alright?" They walked through the front doors and into the building.
“Hell yeah,” Harry’s eyes glistened greedily as he took Peter’s work and began hastily comparing it to his own. “Thanks. My dad flipped shit when he looked at my report card last week. He’s been really irritable lately, I can't afford to not turn in anymore homework."
"Yeah," Peter said, absentmindedly. They had just entered the school and he spotted something near the front doors that caught his eye. He hurried to a large display case, Harry trailing behind. "Shit man, can you believe this?"
"What?" asked Harry.
"Look, someone vandalized that photo I took at the last choir contest." Peter pointed at several poorly drawn mustaches decorating the faces of a prominently-framed photograph.
Harry laughed.
"I'd say it's an improvement," He pointed, smearing the glass with his index finger, and indicated a short blonde girl sporting a fabulous bushy ensemble in the front row. “I don’t know what it is, but something about mustaches… you think it’d make the girls less cute, but no. It still works for me.”
He grinned at Peter, who wasn’t amused. Although Peter did silently agree that the blonde did look cute, mustache notwithstanding.
Harry clapped Peter on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, there will be more opportunities for you to stick your camera in people's faces, don't worry." A bell chimed from an intercom. "Come on, let's get to class."
"Parker!"
Oh great.
Peter had split with Harry to attend his first period, Biology, and was almost to the classroom when he suddenly found his path blocked by the barrel-chested Flash Thompson.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" He asked, flashing his yellow teeth. Peter sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a five-dollar bill.
Flash snatched it out of his hand. "Good boy." He put a meaty hand on Peter's chest and pushed him to the ground before swaggering down the hall. As was routine, Peter stood up and dusted himself off just as the bell rang. He sighed again and walked through the door, head low.
Doctor Curtis Connors looked up from his desk.
"Peter, you're late." He said, frowning.
"Sorry, Doctor Connors. I just missed the bell." Peter responded, slipping into his seat. This was an upper-level class with only a handful of students, making it hard to slip in unnoticed.
"Well, let's not let it happen again." Doctor Connors rifled through some papers on his desk and stood up. "Alright class, I've graded your tests on Hardy-Weinberg Equilibrium and I'm disappointed to say that nearly half of our class has failed." Everyone groaned loudly. Even in advanced courses, Midtown’s best was subpar.
Connors tucked a stack of papers under the stump that was his right arm and walked around class handing out tests with his good hand. The good doctor had lost his arm during his stint in the military, though he never gave more details about what happened. Peter looked at his test as it was placed on his desk.
"Another 100 for Mister Parker." Doctor Connors smiled at him before moving along down the row.
When class had ended, Peter packed up his things and was almost out the door when Connors called him back.
"Peter, can you wait a minute?" He asked.
"Sure,” Peter had been hoping to get to his next class before being intercepted by Flash again. “What’s up, Doc?"
"I must say that I am impressed with your school work, no one in all my years of teaching has managed to keep a straight A in this course."
Not hard to believe considering my competition. Peter thought ruefully.
"Thank you, sir, I try." Peter said instead, making for the door again.
"I have to ask,” Connors began, stopping Peter. “Have you considered what you’re going to do after you graduate?”
“Um, I was kind of planning on moving into the city and, you know, college and stuff.”
“Really?” Connors smiled. “How vague. Well, if you would like to join my family and I for dinner tonight, I could show you around the ESU lab. I could show off my star pupil and give you a taste of what a real school looks like. Also, you could try some of my wife's brownies, no one else will."
"Wow – okay, sure!” Peter was taken by surprised. His mind started to race. “Okay I can get some photos of the lab for the school paper too! We're writing a story to inform kids about possible colleges and stuff."
"Then it’s settled! I'm teaching a class at ESU tonight around 6, meet me there and then dinner afterwards. Sound like a plan?”
"It does to me! See you, Doctor Connors.”
Peter headed out into the hall where he bumped into someone. Fearing it was Flash, Peter recoiled, only for Harry to grab him by the elbow and steady him.
"Easy, man.” Harry looked pass Peter to where Connors was preparing for his next class. “What was that about?”
"Doctor Connors invited me to dinner."
"Wow," Harry laughed "He asked you out? I knew he had something for you, gives you perfect grades all the time. That's freaking hilarious."
“Screw you.” Peter snapped, although he found it hard not to chuckled as they headed down the hall together.
That night, Peter waited outside Doctor Connors' classroom at ESU. The sound of hundreds of feet thundered through the halls as the door opened releasing a wave of older students. Peter squeezed himself against a wall to avoid being swept away. He eyed the university students awkwardly. They looked so professional and intimidating. When the majority had gone by him slipped into the class.
Doctor Connors was at his desk packing his things. The room was crowded with lab tables for students and a multitude of very scientific and expensive-looking equipment. Peter immediately raised his camera for a picture.
"Ah, Peter, you're early." Doctor Connors said, blinking as Peter’s camera flashed.
"Well punctuality has always been a special skill of mine." Peter said as he weaved through the tables towards the doctor. Connors covered his eyes as Peter took a second photo.
"I suppose you're ready to get those shots then, huh?" He turned and motioned for Peter to follow him though a door and into the laboratory.
Wow this place is so awesome! Peter thought, his mouth drifting open.
"Is that a dilithium energy converter?" He asked rushing over to a particularly shiny machine. Connors smiled, resting his good hand in the pocket of his lab coat.
"Indeed it is. Good eye, Peter."
Lifting his camera, Peter took photos of almost every surface. This place was a wonderland to him.
"What's this?" He asked pointing to an odd-looking mechanism. It consisted of different spindles that spun around twisting a thin white strand into different shapes. It was hypnotizing to watch.
"This is a little project of mine," Connors reached onto a table next to the contraption and lifted a small silver pill. "I call it Bio-Cable. It's a type of wire I synthesized for electrical work, adhesive, elastic and very strong. A single container just like this could hold several hundred yards of the stuff. However, it acts as a poor conductor of electricity so as of now it has no real use."
"Pretty cool though." Peter mused as he examined the lab again. He paused when something else caught his eye. "What's this over here?"
Against a wall was a large shelf filled with small clear containers. Inside were dozens of spiders each with their own little box.
"That," Doctor Connors said, "is the real purpose of this laboratory, cross species experimentation. We are in the process of combining multiple genes from different species of spiders into a one genetically superior spider."
"Now that is cool."
"I'm glad you think…" Connors was interrupted by a knock on the door leading form the classroom. His wife and son entered, and Connors was quick to take Peter by the shoulder and steer him away from the spiders. "Peter let me introduce you to my family, this is Martha, my wife and one of ESU's greatest researchers, and my son, Billy."
"Nice to meet you." Peter said, shaking Martha Connors’ hand.
"Likewise, it's always nice to meet one of Curt's prized students." Martha smiled at Peter before turning to her husband. "Are you showing him the lab? What do you think?”
“It’s awesome!”
“Well you could work here just like Curt one day, you know.”
“Yes, but there’ll be time enough for that later. We should get going if we want to eat at a reasonable hour." Connors interjected, ushering everyone towards the door.
Peter was mildly disappointed. He hadn’t spent much time in the lab at all. He was taking one last look around the lab when he felt a sharp pain on his left hand.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, shaking it vigorously.
"Are you okay?" Martha asked.
"Yeah," Peter said looking at his hand which was already beginning to swell. "I think something bit me."
"Here let me see." Doctor Connors examined Peter's hand, then glanced over towards the cases full of spiders. He frowned then turned back to Peter’s wound. "Hmm looks like a bee sting or spider bite.”
Peter balked.
“It wasn’t one of your super spiders was it?” He asked, rubbing the bite as it began to itch.
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” Connors chuckled. “I keep those locked up tight. There’s no way one could have gotten out. Let's get you to the house so we can fix you up."
Peter followed the Connors family from the lab, rubbing his hand all the while.
Peter waved goodbye to the Connors family as they drove away, having dropped him off at his aunt and uncle’s house. He scratched at the bandage around his hand. It was still throbbing painfully. When he got inside, he found his Aunt and Uncle were eating their own dinner.
"Peter," His Aunt May smiled. "How was school?"
"It was okay." Peter shuffled towards the stairs.
"Are you hungry? We got Pad Thai"
"No thanks I already ate." He disappeared up into his room. Uncle Ben smiled at his wife.
"Teenagers, they never seem have much time to chat do they?" He said.
"Nope," Chuckled May. "I guess not."
Up in his room, Peter swayed on his feet. The room spun, and he stumbled to his desk. Gripping the edge for support, he tried to reach his bed.
What's happening? I felt fine earlier.
Peter fell to the floor. Suddenly it felt as if his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He started to panic. He opened his mouth and tried to call out to his aunt and uncle, but he merely managed a soft gasp before he passed out.
Blood splattered against the mirror. Norman Osborn grappled with a fit of coughing as he gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned paper white. He looked up at the blood splattered mirror and into his pale face. He was a gaunt old man, close to death.
What’s that old saying? Do not go softly into that good night. We’ll see..
Osborn stood up straighter and used a pristine, white towel to wipe up the blood. He then picked up his lab coat from where he had laid it on the counter and shrugged it on. He coughed softly, tasting copper.
This is my last chance. It must work.
He left the bathroom and started down the hallway to the laboratory. Years of planning and months of testing had come down to this. He didn't have time to spare. He looked around at all the scientists working. They were scribbling on paper or bending over microscopes.
I created this, all of this.
Oscorp, the pride and joy of Norman's life and the scientific juggernaut of the east coast. All of it could be taken away by the two trivial words, "lung cancer". It infuriated Norman how something so seemingly insignificant could come to bring him – a near god among men - to his knees, but no more.
Tonight, everything changes.
Norman used a special key, kept on a chain around his neck, to unlock a door in the rear of the lab and slipped out of sight. He coughed as he strode confidently to a computer bank affixed to the wall. Performance enhancers were the key. He could heal himself, heal anyone with his formula. He typed in a code into the computer and a compartment slide open in the wall.
I can change the world. I shouldn't waste time running tests and pouring over notes. Human trials are what I need.
And what better test subject than a man with no time. Norman Osborn took out a green vile and the compartment slide shut again. He seated himself on a chair and held the key to physical perfection in his hand.
Here goes nothing.
He uncapped the vile and drank.
Part II of The Mistakes We Make
Peter opened his eyes.
Well I'm not dead.
He jumped up off the floor and slammed his head into the ceiling.
"Damn!" He yelled, twisting around so that he landed in a crouching position on the floor, dust falling like snow around him. He looked up to see a dent in the ceiling.
"Peter, are you alright?" He heard a voice call from downstairs.
Peter felt the top of his head, no blood, no bump. He felt fine.
I feel awesome.
"Yeah, I'm good." He called.
"Okay, but watch your language."
"Yes, Ma'am"
Peter pulled off his old clothes from yesterday and got ready for school. He pulled a shirt over his head and bent to grab his shoes only to hear a loud rip.
"Wha?" Peter felt around to find that he had completely ripped open the back of his shirt. He took off the tattered remains and caught a look at himself in the mirror. "Holy shit." He breathed.
I look awesome.
No longer was he a skinny awkward-looking teenager. He was covered in lean muscle, completely toned. He looked at his alarm clock, he was running late. Grabbing another shirt, he carefully put in on and dashed down the stairs.
"Whoa!" said Uncle Ben as Peter zipped by.
"I'm going to be late, I'll see you later!" Peter called, racing out to the front door.
Uncle Ben looked at Aunt May.
"Looks like something put a spring in his step." He said. May nodded and turned back to her newspaper. "Do you need a ride to the doctors later? I can always switch sifts."
"No, no don't worry," May said "Anna Watson from next door is taking me."
"Alright, good. Just come home right after you're done okay." He kissed her forehead and grabbed his coat. "I'll see you tonight, love."
Peter jogged towards the bus stop but suddenly he didn't feel like using public transport, he felt like running. It was so easy now, it was as if he had been carrying around a hundred-pound weight for seventeen years and now someone finally took it off. He powered one foot before the other and pushed himself forward. He leapt over a fire hydrant and dodged around a streetlight as he continued his dash. The scenery around him should have been a blur, as fast as he moved, but everything was in perfect clarity.
I feel invincible!
Peter turned a sharp corner and started across the street. A horn blared to his right and time suddenly slowed down. He could sense the car coming and instinctively propelled himself up into the air. He spun like a gymnast to touch down lightly on the ground.
Except it wasn't the ground, and it wasn't even down. He was perched on the vertical, flat side of someone’s duplex . He looked at where his feet and hands touched the wall. He looked at the ground twenty feet below him and at the passersby, who were staring up at him, pointing and shouting.
What the hell is this?
Peter dropped to the ground and ran, away from the small crowd that was gathering. He tore off down the sidewalk and came to a stop only when he had put five blocks between him and where he’d almost been roadkill. Funnily enough, the first thought into his head was:
I'm not even tired.
He stepped into an alley and leaned against the stone wall. Holding his hands in front of his face, he could see no difference, they were just normal hands. He examined the wall across from him and on a whim, he leapt to it, clinging to the surface. He pulled one hand up, then a leg, another hand, another leg. Over and over again, faster and faster until, Peter's hand grabbed onto the top ledge of the building and he hoisted himself up. He stood high above the street with the wind whipping at his hair. He raised his arms above himself and yelled to the clouds.
"Flash Thompson can suck it!"
Peter got to school at around fourth period. He burst through the front doors smiling like no one walking into Midtown ever had. He checked his watch.
Just in time for lunch.
He found Harry sitting in their usual spot on the bleachers, however there was someone new sitting in Peter's spot. A someone with long dark hair, talking quickly and with great fervor.
"Uh, hey Liz." Greeted Peter as he approached the pair.
"Hey," Liz Allen responded, barely sparing him a glance. She turned back to Harry. "So tonight?”
"Sure why not-" Harry began, but Liz was already standing.
"Great! I'll see you tonight." Liz trotted down the bleachers without another glance, dark hair swishing like a horse’s tail. Harry watched her long after she was gone.
"I think I'm in love."
Peter plopped down next to him.
“What was that about?” He asked, momentarily forgetting his bizarre morning. No one, let alone girls, talked to him or Harry of their own volition.
"Liz’s parents are out of town this weekend so she’s having a party tonight. I think the only reason she invited me is cause I can get booze." He explained, rather glumly. He looked at Peter seriously. “You should come too.”
“Yeah? Okay.” Peter agreed immediately. His confidence swelling as he remembered what he’d come to tell Harry in the first place.
Should I tell him what happened? Hell, I don't even know what happened. Peter mused.
Harry was talking.
“… Yeah but who am I kidding, with my grades I don't even know if my dad will let me go." He was saying.
"How is your dad doing anyways?" Peter asked.
"I guess he's alright, he doesn't talk to me about his cancer. He spends all his time at the lab." Harry got up.
"Hey, where are you going? I just got here."
"I need to go ask my teacher something."
"Well, I'll go with you."
"No, it's okay," Harry looked at his shoes. "You should uh, meet me at Liz's tonight, okay?"
"Sure, I'll be there."
Harry nodded and walked away. Peter checked the time again.
I got some time before next period, I should get some food. I'm freaking starving!
Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up
Norman sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.
What happened?
He touched his head, it was warm and sticky, he pulled his hand away and found it to be covered in blood.
Dammit, what now?
Norman stood up and looked around. He was in the bathroom again. He stumbled to the sink and washed his hand, then grabbed the same towel from last night and wiped his head. Looking in the mirror he found that there was no cut on his balding scalp, no wound at all.
It wasn't his blood.
Behind him in the mirror Norman could see a pair of legs. He turned and found one of his scientists lying in a pool of blood.
"Oh god." Norman turned and rushed from the bathroom. "Help! Someone Help!"
Did someone say, Help?
Norman froze, the entire laboratory was destroyed, prone bodies were scattered everywhere along with wreaked machinery. He stood there his mouth open in a silent scream.
Who did this?
We did this.
Who?
We Norman, We.
Who is we, who are you!?
I am you, you are me. We are we.
Norman pressed his hands to either side of his head, squeezing hard. Tears pooled in his eyes and rolled down his face.
I don't understand. You don't belong!
I belong, you belong, and we belong together.
Norman ran, like a bolt of lightning. Through the door to his private lab, and to the smashed vile on the floor. He knelt there and wept, eyes squeezed shut, in the ruins of his greatest creation.
We are your greatest creation.
What do I do?
What do we do?
Norman stopped crying suddenly. He opened his eyes and looked towards the ceiling and laughed.
"HAAA HAAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAAAA!"
We we we we we we we we we we.
The elevator dinged and Harry Osborn stepped out into the lobby of the family penthouse. He dropped his bag on the polished floor and trudged into the lounge. He found what he was looking for behind the bar. He grabbed whatever alcohol he could carry and took it to his room where he stuffed it all in a duffle bag. The glass clinked together merrily, music to Harry’s ears.
Who cares if Liz only wants me for the booze, I'm a man who can deliver.
The sound of the elevator dinging again made Harry jump. He zipped up the bag and carefully brought it up over his shoulder. He stepped out of his room just in time to catch a glimpse of his father disappearing into his own bedroom.
Figures, he doesn't even say "Hi" to me anymore.
Harry looked away from his father's closed door and clutched his bag tighter.
Party time!
Peter wished that his new-found powers gave him the skill to turn invisible.
That would be so nice.
The music was loud, too loud to Peter’s newly sensitive ears. A group of people Peter only knew in passing mingled in the center of the room, gyrating against each other to the rhythm of the pounding bass. Peter was against a wall, a drink in his hand. He didn't like the taste of beer, but had taken the drink to be courteous more than anything else.
Where the hell is Harry?
Someone bumped in to Peter and the drink sloshed out of his cup onto the floor.
"Sorry" Said Peter, moving away from the mess. His attacker didn’t seem to mind though, nor did anyone else, and the puddle of beer was soon trampled underfoot. Peter absconded to the kitchen to look for napkins anyway, but changed his mind when he saw the door leading to the backyard.
Escape.
A couple sat outside on a bench studying each other's faces and lips with high scrutiny, committing them to their memory. Peter turned away from them and looked at the night sky. He couldn't see the stars, it was too cloudy.
"Some party, huh?"
Peter turned. The girl was standing against the wall, nursing her own bear. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Peter recognized her immediately and his heart leapt into his throat.
He felt like was climbing the walls again.
"Yeah." was all he could manage.
"I'm Gwen," The girl extended her hand. "Gwen Stacy."
"Peter Parker." He returned the gesture – hands sweaty.
"Do you go to Midtown, Peter?”
"Yeah, so do you" Peter replied, a little too quickly. “I mean, I see you around. You’re in the choir!”
Oh god. Peter cringed. She knows she’s in the choir, you don’t need to say it. What do I do? Can I run-
"Yeah,” Gwen laughed lightly, freezing Peter mid-though. “I am in the choir. Peter Parker sounds familiar. Are you with the school paper?"
"I take photos. I’m a photographer."
"Wow, that must be cool."
"If you like to smell like developing chemicals all the time then yes, I'd say it's pretty cool."
Gwen laughed again. Peter melted.
"What else do you do? Besides the newspaper stuff."
"I go to… uh,” Peter gestured around the backyard. “Totally awesome parties and do cool stuff.”
“This isn’t your scene, I guess?”
“No, is it that obvious?”
Gwen held up her thumb and index finger, a fraction of an inch apart.
“Just a little.” She said.
"What about you? You seem…" Time slowed down again, Peter’s voice trailed off, sounding distant in his own ears. As if compelled by an other-worldly force, he leapt forward and grabbed Gwen around the waist. She gasped, and in one smooth motion, he planted his feet against the wall and propelled the both of them away from where a barrage of paint filled balloons exploded in blossoms of color just where they were standing.
Peter landed in the grass with Gwen still in his arms.
"What was that?" She asked looking at the paint splattered patio.
“So much for that quarterback arm, Thompson. You missed him!" A voice shouted behind them.
Peter put Gwen on her feet and turned to face his would-be attackers. Flash and some of his cronies stood a few yards away with Liz Allen and… Harry.
"Well I won't miss this." Said Flash, stumbling forward, drunk.
"Harry?" Peter asked as he looked at his best friend. Harry was looking at his shoes.
"Hey Parker," Flash was coming at Peter. "Heads up!"
Peter caught Flash's fist easily and in a simple twist, snapped his arm. Flash yelled in pain and fell to the ground cradling his broken arm.
"What the hell!?" Liz ran to Flash's side. "Peter, what the fuck? You freak!"
Peter looked down at Flash, then at Harry who stood mouth and eyes wide open, and finally at Gwen who was eyeing Peter warily and stepping away.
"Get out!" Liz shrieked. "Get out of here!"
Peter ran.
"Mister Osborn, a Doctor Warren is here to see you."
Norman pressed a button on his intercom.
"Send him in."
He got up and strode over to the bar.
Who's been drinking all the liquor?
He fixed himself a drink and faced the door as it opened revealing one of Oscorp's senior scientists, Miles Warren.
"Doctor Warren, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Just a little business proposition." Warren said as he entered the room carrying a briefcase.
"Miles, you know that I don't make dealings within my home, call my secretary and request a meeting."
"Oh no," Said Warren as he opened his briefcase. "You are going to want to see this, right now."
Doctor Warren pulled out a laptop and flipped it open before setting it on the bar. Norman stood next to Warren as he started a video on the screen.
Norman was seen on the laptop, leaping onto a scientist and tearing him apart, before grabbing another and flinging them through the air like a rag doll. He twisted a scientist's neck into an odd shape before upper cutting one into the roof. He was a flurry of white as his lab coat swung around him in a flurry of death.
The security tape! Oscorp gritted his teeth. He knows!
Kill kill kill kill kill.
Norman snapped the laptop in two and hurled the pieces, so they became lodged in the wood paneling of the walls. He turned on Warren
"If you kill me, then my assistant will release this video to the press. Wouldn't everyone love to know what truly happened at the Oscorp Massacre?"
"What do you want?" Norman asked breathing heavily. It was a testament to Warren’s confidence that he didn’t shrink away in fear.
"An increase in salary of course and also whatever funding I want to whatever projects I want."
Norman gripped the edges of the bar.
"Blackmail! You're going to blackmail me with my own company!"
"This isn't your company any more, Mr. Osborn."
Norman watched Doctor Warren leave, before he uprooted the entire bar and slammed it down, cracking the polished flooring, and sending up a cloud of shredded wood and glass.
Part III of The Mistakes We Make
When Peter got home he found his Aunt and Uncle sitting together at the kitchen table.
"What's going on?" He asked.
"Peter," Uncle Ben began, solemnly. "Sit down please."
Oh no.
The doctors had found a tumor latched on to May’s spinal column. They cried, all three of the – although, Aunt May cried the least. She was accepting of the whole thing really, much to Peter’s frustration.
"Everyone must go sometime." She had said.
"What about treatment, there is radiation or chemo or something, right?" Peter wished he’d investigated this topic sooner. He should have known something like this was wrong. He was supposed to be smart.
"Oh, Peter. We don't have the money for all that."
Peter rubbed his hands over his face and squeezed his eyes shut. Life wasn't fair. His parents had died before he could even get to know them, his best friend had betrayed him, and now his wonderful sweet Aunt May was going to die.
"No," Peter said, standing up. "No one dies!"
If money is what we need, then money is what I'll get.
Standing from the table, Peter made for his bedroom. Uncle Ben opened his mouth to call him back, but May silenced him with a hand on his arm.
“Let him stew.” She said. “We can talk more about it later.”
Up in his room, Peter was brainstorming furiously – pacing between his bed and his desk, as he often did when studying for particularly challenging tests.
How to get money fast?
He stopped at his bed, turned one-hundred and eighty degrees, and stared towards his desk.
I’m not about to use my new powers to rob banks. Ben and May would kill me!
He stepped over a pile of notebooks and old papers on the ground, and stopped next to his desk.
No, what I need is an honest to god…
"Wrestling competition, amateurs wanted, cash prize!" Peter read aloud, gazing down at a crumpled poster next to his desk chair. He had pulled it from a sign post a week ago because it was the perfect size and shape to make a paper luminary, but now he had another use for it.
Now we're talking.
He snatched up the poster and admired the proud luchador depicted upon it. A thought came into his head.
I am going to need a costume.
"Peter, what are you doing with my sewing kit?"
"Nothing, Aunt May, school project."
It was a genetically altered spider from Doctor Connors' lab that gave me these powers. It had to have been. Climbing walls, super strength and a spider-sense, it's all so clear!
Peter opened his biology textbook scanning photos of spiders.
A good costume requires inspiration. He scanned the selection of spiders. Brown, brown, brown, black, black, black, black and brown. Black and red?
There on the page was a grotesque photo of a black widow spider.
Black and red. That could work.
"Peter why did you buy all this spandex?"
"Nothing, Aunt May, school project."
He found a book in the library on how to sew and took to it quickly. After sketching a few designs, he went to work crafting his chef-d'oeuvre. He took a pair of track shoes and cut off the soles in order to make the boots for his suit, then a pair of lenses off some sunglasses. Voila!
It looked kind of menacing actually. It was primarily black with red on the chest, and around the waist and shoulders. He spiced it up a bit with a small black spider emblem on the front and a larger, red one on the back. The boots and gloves were red too, so was the mask which had two large, mirrored lenses.
Peter looked at his suit, lying on his bed spread out. He picked up the mask and saw his reflection in the shiny eyes.
I'm doing this for a good reason, the right reason.
He pulled on the pants and boots, then the shirt and gloves, finally the mask.
If I'm going to be a spider, I'm going to need some webs.
Doctor Connors was teaching a class when he heard the loud crash come from his laboratory. Stopping mid-lecture, he rushed to find the skylight above had been broken and that nearly all of his Bio-Cable pellets were taken.
"Doctor Connors, should I call the police?" A student asked from the doorway.
His entire class was watching him.
"No, I'll do it. Class is dismissed for today." Connors responded, ushering them out.
The students left his room and Connors surveyed the damage. Now that he was alone, he stepped over the broken glass and made his way over to a heavy desk in the corner. With his good hand, Doctor Connors shifted the desk away from the wall to reveal a hidden safe. He opened it and breathed a sigh of relief before closing it.
"Well it looks like nothing else was taken. Thank god. What would someone want with my Bio-Cables though?"
A leather strap on each wrist, a little hot glue here and a little duct tape there. Now Peter found himself on a rooftop downtown, one step in front of him was empty space. He extended an arm and pressed two fingers to the palm of his hand. Instantly, a Bio-Cable was fired. It flew through the air and impacted the building opposite him. He gripped it in his hand, feeling the elasticity of the cord threatening to pull him off his perch.
Here goes everything!
Peter leapt and swung, his make-shift webbing carrying him forward. As he neared the building he fired off another web with his other hand pulling himself away and out into the air. He released both strands and fell like a brick; the most graceful brick in the world. He twirled through the air firing more webs and swinging to and fro. Finally, he allowed himself to land on top of a billboard, catching his breath. He wasn't tired in the least, he was exhilarated.
This has to be the best thing ever. Of all time.
The night of the wrestling match was here. Peter put his suit in a gym bag and slung it over her shoulder. He bounded down the stairs and was halfway to the door when his uncle stopped him, calling from his armchair in the living room.
"Where are you going?" He asked.
"I need to do some studying at Harry's, so I'm just going to take the train…"
"Don't lie to me Peter. You haven't talked to Harry in weeks.” Rising from his chair, Ben joined Peter by the door. “What's going on? You've been acting very strange recently"
“It’s nothing-“
"Look I know, this stuff with your Aunt isn't easy, but…"
"I'm going to see a girl okay!" Peter blurted out. Ben was taken aback.
"Really?"
"Yeah so just get off my case." Peter hurried out the front door and slammed the door shut. Rather than feeling proud of his deceit though, his shoulders slumped and he trudged down the side walk.
Why did I snap at him like that? He was only trying to help. Peter sighed. I just don't really want to talk about Aunt May right now.
Looking around to make sure no one was watching, Peter crouched down among the bushes. He put on his suit and stashed his clothes in the bag. He zipped off into the sky towards the heart of the city.
Swinging around a skyscraper, Peter reached out with his free hand and skimmed the smooth glass of the window. He had to get his head in the game. This was his chance to be useful, to really help. He could save someone's life, someone he loved.
"Next!" shouted a man from behind a desk.
Peter stepped up.
"Hello, I'd like to sign up please."
"Name please." The man never looked up.
"What?"
"What's your name kid, what are we going to call you?"
"Call me… Spider-Man"
"It'll do. Sign here."
Peter signed "Spider-Man" on the line and moved out of the line.
"This way sir." A rather girthy woman led Peter through a door, down some stairs and through a curtain to the arena floor. The first thing he noticed was the noise, people shouting and yelling. It reminded Peter more of a prison riot than a sporting event.
"Wow, this is it." He breathed.
"Mhmm," The woman replied. "Go stand over there."
Peter saw a group of six flamboyantly clad figures standing against the railing. He moved up next to them. Before them was the ring: a large square surrounded by rope and in the center stood an enormous man, clothed in leather and fur.
"Give it up ladies and gentlemen for the ferocious, hungry, terrifying, Kraven the Hunter!" Boomed an unseen voice.
Kraven paraded around the ring hands raised in the air, oozing a lot of confidence for a man wearing a cheetah-pelt vest.
Looks like Chester the Cheeto Cheetah fell from glory. Oh how the mighty hath fallen.
"Who can defeat this titan of terror?" came the voice again "We'll find out… tonight!"
"This is our cue," said a man dressed like a cactus. "Good luck!"
"Yeah good luck." Peter responded as he followed Cactus Man into the ring.
"Six against one! Can Kraven do it? What do you think?" the crowd roared in response. "Let's get this show on the road! Kraven the Hunter vs. the Sinister Six!"
The Sinister Six? That's profiling in my opinion, he doesn't know anything about us.
All the wrestlers raced forward at once towards Kraven, with the exception of Peter, who decided to wait for an opening. Kraven picked up one of his assailants and threw him from the arena where he landed with a sickening thud. Cactus Man took a swipe a Kraven but missed and received a kick to the gut for his troubles.
So, wait wrestling is real?
Kraven took two other competitors heads and slammed them together. They folded on top of each other like lawn chairs. A man dressed like Jamiroquai from the Virtual Insanity music video tried to get Kraven in a choke hold but he was promptly bucked off. Kraven gave a hearty laugh.
"Fools! You are no match for the mighty Kraven."
"I'm afraid you're wrong about that." Peter spoke, finally making his move. "Cause you just got poached!" He leapt forward and threw a punch.
Not too hard. I don’t know my strength yet. I don’t want to take his jaw off.
His fist did connect with Kraven's jaw, however, and the champion wrestler was thrown backwards into the ropes. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
The crowd was silent.
"Did you just say, 'you just go poached' to a man dressed in a cheetah costume?" Cactus Man asked getting to his feet.
"Shut up, your costume sucks."
"Give it up for the winners of tonight's match! The Sinister Six!" The place erupted in a wave of cheers and shouts.
"You knocked that guy out in one punch," Another wrestler, wielding a ballpeen hammer and cookie sheet for weapons, said. "What are you, man? Who are you?"
Under the mask, Peter grinned.
"I'm Spider-Man."
"Well here you are boys, this is your cut." Peter and his new team were each handed a single hundred-dollar bill.
"This is it?" He asked. "This is the prize for winning?" The rest of the Sinister Six were already out the door.
"It's the prize for participating," The manager said. "You were a part of a team, dipshit. That’s your cut, an even sixth."
Peter weighed the bill in his hand.
"I thought there would be more."
"Well boo hoo. Go cry to mommy, Spidey."
Peter opened his mouth to argue, but the stingy manager already had his back turned. Furious, Peter stormed out.
What a piece of shit.
He made it to the stairs and was about to exit when he heard shouting behind him.
"Stop him, he's a thief!" A voice yelled.
Peter turned to see a stout man, dressed in black, with long hair running towards him. Peter moved out of the way and the guy dashed past him up the stairs and out of sight.
"What the fuck?!" The manager was in hot pursuit. "Why didn't you stop him? He's gonna get away!"
Peter turned to the man.
"Boo hoo." He said, and he walked up the stairs and into the night.
Red and blue lights flashed outside of the Parker household. Peter landed lightly on a house across from his.
What's going on?
He zipped down to the ground and changed quickly back into his street clothes, then rushed across the street. He was stopped by a ring of yellow tape just past the sidewalk.
"What's going on?" He asked a police officer who stood nearby.
"There's been a murder." The officer responded and indicated a pool of blood in the grass which was cornered off with yellow tape
"What? No! This is my house!"
"What's your name son?"
"Peter, Peter Parker."
"Peter?" A wavering voice came from nearby. "Peter is that you?"
Peter slid around the officer to see his Aunt May. She was standing near one of the cruisers, wrapped in a blanket, and was being comforted by a police officer with slick, blonde hair.
"Oh Peter…" May began coming towards him. Peter took everything in: her red eyes and her shaking hands, the way she shuffled towards him.
"Where… Where's Uncle Ben?"
"Peter…" May closed the distance between them and embraced her nephew. Peter crumbled into her arms.
"Captain Stacy." A voice near them reported. "We have 4 cruisers in pursuit of the suspect heading southbound on I-495."
"Alright," Said Captain Stacy, the officer who had been with May. He cast a glance at Peter and his aunt before joining his fellow officers in deliberation.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut.
Why did I snap at him?
Suddenly Peter pushed himself away from his aunt and tore away from her, across the street. He ran, trying to put as much distance between himself and the pool of blood in his yard.
Heading south on I-495.
Peter wriggled out of his shirt and jacket before stopping to pull off his jeans, he discarded them on the ground and pulled out his mask and gloves, tugging them on.
Heading south on I-495.
He was in the air, flying like a bullet. Keeping low between the buildings to cut wind resistance. He bounced from buildings like a pinball and web-zipped around corners.
Where the hell is I-495?!
He back flipped over a flagpole and attached himself to the side of a building. He scanned his surroundings.
There! That's it!
Peter fired a web and swung away down the correct route, a busy thoroughfare. Up ahead, he could see the flashing lights of police cars racing after what could only be Uncle Ben's car.
The Bastard stole it.
He pulled himself forward coming closer to his target. He spun around in the air, fired two web lines and slingshoted himself forwards. The street rose up to meet him and he slammed down onto the hood of the car, where it buckled under the force. The car swerved wildly, and Peter clung to the surface fiercely. Peter pulled himself closer to the windshield and with one hand unleashed a fury of web shots that coated the window. The car careened off the main street and bounced over a curb, towards the front of a store. Peter leapt off at the last second and landed on a lamp post. The car ripped through the glass front and came to a stop after hitting the rear of the store.
I've got you now!
Peter dropped to the ground and raced in towards the car. Pulling the door right off the hingers, Peter ripped the man from his seat and slammed him against the closest wall.
"Wa… Wait!" The man gasped. He was blooded and disoriented from the crash.
A final, thoughtless blow to the man's temple killed him.
His head lolled back and went limp in Peter's grasp. Cop cars arrived at the scene, shining their headlights on the terrifying scene. Peter looked into the killer's face.
No! NO NO NO NO NO!
It was the burglar, the one who had robbed the manager, the one Peter let get away.
"Don't move! Police!" a voice shouted. But Peter didn't hear, he didn't see, he didn't feel.
He dropped the corpse and leapt out of the store, gunshots chased at his heals but he was already gone, swinging off into the night.
Peter sat in his bedroom. His suit lay crumpled in the corner. He was alone. Aunt May had gone to identify the killer and to make arrangements for Uncle Ben. Peter wept silently.
I'm so sorry Uncle Ben. I’m sorry
His phone buzzed on the carpet. He didn't want to talk to anyone.
It fell silent. Only to buzz once again a few seconds later. Irritated Peter grabbed the phone and looked at the number. It was unknown.
"Hello?" He said putting it to his ear.
"Peter? Its Gwen Stacy."
"Gwen Stacy?"
"We met a Liz's party."
"Oh yeah," Peter wiped his nose, "Hey."
"My dad told me what happened."
"Your dad?"
"Yes, he's a police captain. He was there with your aunt. He's worried about you.” A long pause, then “I'm kind of worried about you too."
"Why, you don't even know me."
"Well that doesn’t mean, I wouldn’t like to get to know you, Peter."
"Well now isn't a good time."
The phone was silent for a moment, and Peter’s ragged breaths sounded thunderous in his own ears.
“I think now is the perfect time," Gwen breathed into the phone. "I'm coming over."
Peter waited on his front porch for her. She came and they cried together.
"I'm sorry," He sobbed into her sweater. "I'm so sorry."
"It’s okay" She said as she rubbed his back.
"He's dead because of me, I killed him."
"No, you didn't, it's not your fault."
"You don't know," He shivered like he was freezing "you don't know what I did."
She didn’t understand. This comfort she gave him was nothing but platitudes.
It was what he needed though.
"I know what you will do though." She put her hand against his cheek. "You are going to come out of this a better man. Whatever it is you think that you did wrong, you can fix it. You can make sure it never happens again. You're a good person, Peter, I don’t know much about you, but I can tell. I have a sense for these kind of things."
Peter stopped shaking and, after a few steadying breaths, straightened up next to her. He looked her in the eyes and found her to be genuine.
“You’re not scared of me?” He asked.
She frowned.
“Why would you scare me?”
“Because of what happened with Flash, at that stupid party.”
She looked at him seriously for a moment, then shook her head.
“Harry Osborn told me how he treats you. You were just defending yourself.” She thought for a second, then added: “And you can apologize to Flash next time you see him.”
“Heh.” Peter almost laughed. “You’re probably right… Thank you, Gwen."
"Anytime, Peter."
"Put the money in the bag, before I blow your brains all over this floor!" Yelled a crook brandishing a gun into a clerk’s face.
"Okay, man, just take it easy." The clerk routinely began to fill a proffered sack with cash..
"I'll take you easy!"
The clerk's eyes widened
"What does that even mean?" Came a voice from behind the crook. He wheeled around to come face to face with…
"Oh shit, Spider-Man!"
"The one and only." Shots were fired, and a red and black blur bounced around avoiding every bullet. With a swift kick Spider-Man disarmed the criminal and then proceeded to web the thug to the wall.
"You have a good day now!" Spider-Man called as he disappeared out of the store and out into the sky.
Talk about a busy day, that's the 3rd robbery so far.
Spider-Man landed on a rooftop and pulled his phone from his belt.
No messages from Aunt May so I guess she's doing okay. I should probably call Harry. I haven't talked to him in ages. Hell, I should call Gwen too.
Gwen Stacy.
She occupied his thoughts almost as much as Uncle Ben nowadays.
If only I had the guts to ask her out.
Sirens wailed in the distance and Spider-Man stowed his phone away. Rising, he ran to the edge of the building and leapt off.
Well there is always tomorrow, right?
Part IV of The Mistakes We Make
"What do you mean we have no photos of Spider-Man!?"
Robbie Robertson grimaced and held the receiver at arm’s length. He hated to be the bearer of bad news.
"Keep your voice down, Jonah." Robbie grumbled back. "I thought you said that you were at dinner?"
"I am!" J. Jonah Jameson shouted into the receiver. "But when I hear that you're doing a crap job running my newspaper what am I supposed to do? Not call?"
"We're doing the best we can Jonah, it's just Spider-Man usually leaves as quickly as he shows up. He doesn't stay for interviews, let alone photo ops."
"Dammit Robbie, if I have to fly up from Florida tonight, buy a camera and take the shots myself than I'll…"
Robbie pinched the bridge of his nose and took the phone away from his ear, muting the sound of his boss’s voice for a second.
Jonah's probably just tense about the shuttle launch. Who wouldn't be nervous to send their one and only son into space?
"Listen Jonah," Robbie interrupted his boss mid-rant. "I'll get someone on the job, you just make sure the astronaut is prepped for his big day."
"Damn right, I'll take care of my son. Do you think I'm just sitting around here with my thumb up my…"
Robbie hung up, sighed, and pushed his chair back from his desk.
We need to print out an ad…
"…Reward for photos of Spider-Man." Peter read the front page of the Daily Bugle at his kitchen table.
I happen to know just the photographer for the job.
"Peter," May called from the couch. "Could you bring me a glass of water please?"
"Sure, one sec." Peter put down the paper and filled a glass from the tap. He took it into the living room and handed it to May.
"Thank you dear," she took a sip. "A Doctor Connors called earlier this morning, he said he needed to talk to you about something."
"Alright, I'll drop by his house later. I just need to run some errands first," Peter was putting on his jacket. "Are you going to be okay for a while?"
"Oh of course dear, Anna Watson from next door is coming to spend time with me later."
"Well, that's good."
"Yes, and oh Peter, she has this wonderful young niece that you have to meet!"
"Yeah, maybe later.” He kissed his aunt on the forehead. "I got to go, call me if you need anything."
"Be safe, alright? I never like you taking the subway by yourself."
Oh yeah, like I take the subway anymore.
In the city, Peter – now in costume - set a timer on his camera and webbed it to a wall.
Let's take some photos.
Peter spent the better part of the morning doing flips and kicks and web slinging, all in perfect view of his camera. It was nothing too special, but enough to prove that it was the genuine Spider-Man in the photos. He was sure the make sure the photos were framed in such a way, that they could have been taken by some lucky passerby, and not Spider-Man himself.
After retrieving his camera Peter, swung to Midtown – currently closed for the weekend. He perched on a roof across the street from the dreaded building.
Funny, I always imagined breaking out school in the past.
He zipped to the roof of Midtown High and located several air ducts protruding from the gravely roof like an arrangement of metal trees. Peter moved to the nearest one and gripped the iron grate that covered it. It pulled free easily enough and slipped into the gaping mouth of duct, into the school. Inside, he made his way to the photojournalism room to develop his photos.
It may be easier to just pay for these to be developed, but this is about earning money, not spending it.
Peter looked at the array of photos spread out before him. Most of them came out pretty good. He took a stack of the best shots and put them in an envelope, ready to be given to the Daily Bugle.
He went straight to their office after donning his street clothes again.
Taking photos of myself in spandex for money, desperate times call for desperate measures.
Uncle Ben’s life insurance wouldn’t last forever. May was already looking into teaching piano lessons again and Peter had to pull his weight too.
The doors of the Daily Bugle led into an average looking lobby with a reception desk at the back wall, flanked by two elevators.
"Hello," Greeted Peter, approaching the receptionist. "I'm here because I saw an ad about photos of Spider-Man."
The woman was engrossed in her computer and without looking up pointed to an elevator behind her.
"9th floor, first door on the left just past the elevators." She said.
Inside the elevator, Peter clutched his envelope tightly.
This is going to be easier than I thought. Don't worry Aunt May. Soon, money won't be a problem anymore.
When the elevator opened again, Peter was surprised at the commotion before him. It was a jumble of sight and sound, as people rushed back and forth calling to one another. Telephones rang non-stop and the strong odor of cigar smoke stung Peter’s nose, although there were no smokers in sight. Peter moved forward, dodging out the way as a reporter dashed past with sparing him a glance, a huge stack of paper balanced in her arms.
This place is a mad house.
He scanned the room and located an office labeled "Editor". His heart sank when he noticed a fat queue of people, all toting cameras, trailing away from the office door.
Looks like I have some competition.
The envelope wrinkled in Peter’s hands, but he forced himself to relax. He may not be as professional as these other photographers, but he most certainly had better photos. He danced his way across the room, his increased agility making it easy to avoid bumping into anyone.
It's like Liz's party all over again.
He joined the line and waited, shuffling forward every so often when a disgruntled reject left the office. His anxiety grew as he neared the office door and he flinched when the call came:
"Come in!”
Peter entered to find an aging, dark-skinned man with lines of grey near his temples behind a wide desk. He was pursuing a large selection of photographs, but paused to greeted Peter with a smile.
"Oh my, you’re a young one.” He held out his hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Wordless, caught in the rush, Peter handed him the envelope. The man opened it, pulled out the photos, and scanned only the few couple before whistling softly.
"Well I’ll be damned, these are amazing. How did you get these shots?"
"Oh… you know, right place, right time.”
"I guess a magician never reveals his tricks.” The editor shuffled through the other shots. “I may just take these of your hands…"
"Peter, Peter Parker."
"Robbie Robertson." They shook hands. Mr. Robertson sat down at his desk and pulled out a scrap of paper. "I'm the acting Editor in Chief. Jameson is out of town as of right now." Mr. Robertson handed him the paper.
"But I'm sure he will be delighted to see these photos on tomorrow's first page. Give that to Ms. Brandt just outside my office."
"Alright, thank you Mr. Robertson." Peter left the office and found Ms. Brandt's desk. The photographers still in line watched Peter hungrily. "Uh, Mr. Robertson told me to give this to you."
Brandt was sharply dressed and wore her hair in a severe bob. Yet she smiled at him and took the paper from his hand.
"Welcome to the Bugle," She said as she wrote him a check. "Mr. Parker." She added.
Peter grinned back and took his check. His jaw dropped
That’s a lot of zeros, holy shit.
"Thank you, thank you so much." Peter turned, his eyes still on his check, and forced himself to walk calmly across the room to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed Peter thrust his arms into the air in victory, fighting back a victory cry.
I have a job! I have money!
When the doors opened again to the lobby, Peter casually strolled out of the building and into the street. He hadn’t felt this good, since Uncle Ben died, since he had taken the lives of two men in one night...
He shook his head, forcing the dark thoughts away. Once the check was safely stowed in his book bag, he set off down the sidewalk.
I can't be thinking like that. Not now.
The greater implications of his actions had yet to settle in, not that he was in any hurry to confront them.
He stepped into an alley and was prepping himself for the swing home, when the sound of a large explosion reached his sensitive ears. Peering back into the street, he saw smoke rise a few blocks away and then he heard the screams. He ducked back into the shadows.
"I want to thank you all for coming today." Doctor Warren was stood behind a podium, facing a sea of faces. He had been quick to volunteer for this public forum. "As of yet we have released no official statement about what happened the night of the Oscorp Massacre. Fourteen of our best and brightest lost their lives and it is a true honor to say that I had the chance to know these individuals. As to the cause of the tragedy, all clues point to an accident which occurred with an experiment that was being undergone by…"
"Yours truly!"
Doctor Warren was interrupted by a cackling voice. From the sky descended a man dressed in a dark green suit of armor, he dived down towards the stage, riding on a wicked, weaponized glider. "Courtesy of the Green Goblin." He screeched and hurled a round orange grenade towards Warren.
It bounced and rolled to a stop by his shoe, before detonating and engulfing Warren in flame.
People scattered, screaming in terror as the Goblin laughed his maniacal laugh and soared above them. Those close to the explosion were knocked to the pavement, singed, and their shrieks of pain pierced the air. Inside the green armor Norman Osborn laughed again.
This is what happens when you mess with us, The Green Goblin!
The Goblin halted his glider above the crowd as they swarmed beneath him, trying to find safety.
"Remember your fear! Remember my name! The Green Goblin bids you a good day!" He cackled and fired missiles from his glider towards the ground. The explosions ripping the street apart, cars were upturned, and windows were shattered. Those lucky enough to escape the blasts either cowered or ran, and sirens began to wail.
This will be my legacy, this is my creation.
The Goblin wheeled his glider around and dived towards the ground, firing a barrage of bullets. He was lost in the heat of the moment, overcome in his blood lust. He didn't notice the costumed figure that flew overhead, a blur of color.
The people below, in immediate danger of being riddled with bullets, suddenly found themselves hoisted into the air by webbing – moments before the sidewalk sparked and chipped under the Goblin’s assault.
"I hope you don't mind if I drop in!" Spider-Man slammed both of his feet into the Green Goblin's back.
The Goblin was ripped of his glider and he twisted in the air, momentarily shocked, then slammed into the ground with a crash. Spider-Man landed gracefully in a crouching position a few yards away, while the Green Goblin clambered to his feet. Inside the suit, Norman grimaced and could feel several of his ribs grinding together, cracked.
"And there I was, thinking that the party was almost over." The Goblin laughed as the two of them circled each other. Spider-Man surveyed the destruction around them.
I don’t know who this guy is, but I can’t let him get away with this.
Spider-Man leapt forwards arms outstretched to grab his foe. The Goblin twisted to avoid him and delivered a fierce uppercut to Spider-Man's jaw, sending him flying into the air. After a second of hang-time, he crashed down into the windshield of a parked car.
Oh man, Peter reeled. I've never been hit that hard in my entire life.
A jolt to his spider-sense warned him of an attack and he flipped himself backwards as the Goblin landed where he had been lying, crushing the car with a screech of metal. Spider-Man jumped in the air and snagged The Goblin with a Bio-Cable. Using his momentum, Spider-Man hurled the Goblin skywards before landing on the ground again. He then tugged on his web once more and brought The Green Goblin crashing down to earth violently.
Norman felt his entire body ache. However, it was a good ache, the kind of ache that he now lusted for. He pushed himself up and charged Spider-Man, tackling him to the ground. The wind was knocked out of Peter as they hit the ground. Pinning him down, the Goblin and proceeded to pound Spider-Man over and over with his fists. It was a primal and ferocious attack, which would have easily killed any normal person. Peter felt one of his molars dislodge itself and saw one his left lens crack in a web of tin lines.
He’s going to kill me!
Spider-Man struggled and managed to get both his feet up and under the Goblin's chest. He pushed with all his strength and forced his attacker from him. Peter flipped to his feet.
I need to end this now.
The Green Goblin came forward again with a right hook, Spider-Man bent backwards beneath it, placed his hands on the ground and back flipped, kicking the Goblin once with each foot. The Green Goblin stumbled backwards, and Spider-Man quickly snagged his boots with pair web-strands.
Peter jumped in the air over a streetlight and brought the Goblin off the ground again. He tugged hard and attached his web-strands to the ground, letting the Goblin swing under the streetlight like a demonic piñata.
The Green Goblin laughed.
"Oh my, oh my, I had no idea, that this would be so much fun!" He cackled.
Peter lifted his mask up over his nose and spit his tooth out into his hand.
"Well it's not going to be as fun when you get my dental bills buddy," Spider-Man fixed his mask back into place. "Who are you? And why are you doing this?"
"I am the Green Goblin, and this is but only a taste of what is to come. I will be remembered as the man who brought this city to its knees."
"Yeah, we'll see about that." Spider-Man raised his fist, ready to strike the Goblin in the face.
Abruptly, his spider-sense went into overdrive. He dived to the ground and the Goblin's glider narrowly avoided impaling him with a sharp spike. The glider continued flying forward and severed the web which trapped its master. The Green Goblin climbed back aboard his glider and rose into the air. Spider-Man bounced back to his feet.
"Freeze both of you!"
The cops had finally arrived on the scene.
"We shall meet again, Spider-Man!" The Green Goblin shouted as he zoomed off between the buildings.
"Don't move!" Another cop shouted.
Everywhere Spider-Man looked, guns were pointed towards him.
"I'm not the bad guy!" He tried to explain, "I didn't do this."
"Just put your hands behind your head, and don't move!" It was Captain Stacy, Gwen's father.
Peter raised his hands and fired two web lines, pulling him up and away. The police opened fire, but he was already gone, out of sight.
Part V of The Mistakes We Make
Peter dropped to the floor of his bedroom. He tried taking a step towards his bathroom but fell to his knee. The adrenaline was running out and the pain was coming in waves.
It feels like I've been hit by a truck.
He pulled off his mask and threw it in the direction of his bed. A loud crash came from downstairs.
"Oh, May! I'm so sorry!" A voice cried.
"Don't worry, Anna. It was an old dish, go ahead and get a new one from the cupboard."
Peter sighed. It was just his Aunt and her friend, their next-door neighbor Anna Watson. He dug deep into the last reserves of his strength and shuffled into his bathroom. Gripping the edges of the sink, Peter pulled himself up and looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was a cut above his left eye that was bleeding freely, a bruise the size of golf ball on the side of his jaw and one of his eyes was ringed black.
Great, how am I going to explain this to Aunt May?
He turned on the sink and splashed cold water on his face. Using a rag, Peter cleaned himself up as best as he could and bandaged the cut over his eye. He moaned quietly, doing his best to extricate himself from his suit, which was plastered to his skin with sweat. There were small nicks and tears all over his costume, which could be easily repaired. The crack in his lens was a different matter.
I'll have to order a new pair.
Peter stowed his suit under his bed and collapsed onto the covers, falling asleep instantly.
The next day came and went. Aunt May only bothered Peter once and he made a hasty excuse to be left alone without opening the door. She didn’t press. He’d been more and more secretive since the night Uncle Ben died.
On Monday morning Peter awoke to the sound of his alarm buzzing. Without lifting his head, he fumbled with it and hurled it at the wall to silence it. He struggled out of bed and to the bathroom, where criticized himself in the mirror.
Great, I still look like shit.
Peter felt better though, he was more mobile. After getting dressed Peter headed downstairs. He tiptoed past Aunt May's room and fixed himself breakfast at the kitchen table. He would have to tell Aunt May about his job later and about the weighty check that was stowed safely in his bedroom. He checked his watch.
Crap, I'm going to be late.
Peter stood up from the table a little too fast and his back voiced its discomfort.
Ah, guess I won't be web-swinging to school today.
At Midtown, Peter fumbled with his locker. With a calculated jerk, the locker swung open and he began taking out the books he needed.
"Uh, hey Pete." said a voice behind him. Peter turned around to find Harry Osborn.
Without responding, Peter turned and shut his locker firmly.
"I – uh, need to apologize,” Harry began. “I was a total dick to you man and… Christ, dude what happened to you?"
Harry had caught sight of Peter’s busted face.
"It's nothing, I just fell of my bike.” Peter brushed him off. “Listen, Harry. It’s okay. You don't need to apologize…"
"No, I do.” Harry pressed. “Liz, she… just wanted to have a little fun. She told me to bring you along and… well, I guess I just wanted to impress her."
"Harry seriously, it’s okay. I'm over it," Pete was too tired and hurt to care much about the events of the party, which felt like a lifetime ago. His fight with the Green Goblin had put his social troubles into perspective, and above all, Peter missed Harry. "Let's just get to class man."
Harry nodded.
"Okay."
They walked together in silence. Peter could still tell that Harry still felt bad.
"Hey Pete, you wouldn't happen to have Friday's economics homework, would you?"
Peter rolled his eyes.
Some things never change.
"Actually, I was going to ask you.” Peter admitted. “I didn't do it either."
Harry was taken aback.
"Wow, what has the world come to now that Peter Parker doesn't do his homework."
Peter laughed.
"This weekend has been a complete debacle, my friend, let me just say."
"Seriously though what are we going to do? We could ask Felicia, but I don't know if she… Pete? Where are you going?" Peter had suddenly veered course and was walking away.
"I got to do something, I'll catch you later." Peter called back.
Gwen Stacy was fiddling with her own locker when Peter tapped her on the shoulder.
"Peter, what's..." Her smile fell from her face when she saw him. "Oh my god, your face. Are you okay?" She reached out to touch his cheek and Peter felt his face begin to fill with blood.
"I'm uh… I'm okay, My bike…"
Can’t even talk around her. You’re in trouble, bud.
Luckily, he didn’t have to fully explain himself, Gwen had a knowing look in her eye. She hugged him quickly and he gasped; one part out of surprise, another out of glee, and lastly pain since he was currently seventy-five percent bruises and aches.
"It's really good to see you Peter." She said, pulling away as quickly as she’d grabbed him.
"It's really good to see you too… just so good."
“Do you need, to like, go to the nurse or something?”
“No, really.” Peter smiled, attempting to show just how fine he was, but only succeeded in opening a partially-healed split in his lip. “Just a wild weekend.”
“Yeah it has. My dad has been working overtime after… what happened downtown, you know?”
“I know.” Peter gently used his tongue to prod the socket when previously housed his molar, clotted with blood and oozing. “So, Gwen,” He changed the subject, courage bolstered by the weekend’s events. “I wanted to ask if maybe you would like to… to uh… see a movie with me or something… sometime… maybe."
"I'd like that."
“Wait, really?”
"Yeah," Gwen repeated. "Yeah I would."
"Okay, well… sweet.” Peter was stunned, but he new the proper protocol: “So, I'll call you later?" He asked.
"Sounds good to me."
They hugged again, a little more awkward now, despite their plans; and Gwen waved as she walked to class. Peter closed his eyes and smiled.
Life, you can be freaking crazy sometimes. Thank you.
Later, following Peter’s biology class, he was caught by Doctor Connors.
"Can I speak with you for one second." He asked.
"Yeah," Peter squeezed between two classmates and bounced up to Connors' desk. "What's up?"
"I called you over the weekend, but your aunt said that you were...” Connors gave Peter’s wounds a once-over. “Er- sick.” He continued in a hushed voice. “Anyways, it is very important that you come to my lab sometime this week. There is something we need to discuss."
Peter hesitated. He had never seen the doctor like this.
"Alright, I'll… try to come."
Connors nodded and as Peter hurried for his next class, he could feel the doctor’s eyes on the back of his head.
He can’t know I took his bio-cable, right?
He’d have to find out later.
Later that night, there was a knock at the Parker's front door. The last two members of the family were eating a dinner prepared by Anna Watson.
"I'll get it." He said to Aunt May, rising quickly before her.
"It better not be another solicitor,” She scolded. “Tell them we aren't interested."
Peter laughed as he twisted the knob and pulled the door open to reveal a man that he had never seen before.
"Uh, hello," The man said. "Is this the Parker residence?"
Peter nodded.
"My name is Max Dillon," He extended his hand towards Peter. "I worked with Benjamin Parker. You must be his nephew Peter, I've heard a lot about you."
Peter took his hand and shook it.
"Nice to meet you, so you're an electrician?"
"Almost, Ben was in the process of training me when he uh…" Max bowed his head. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to the funeral, was it nice?"
"Yeah, it was," Peter remembered that day as a blur. "The service was nice."
"Well that's good, I just wanted to drop by and give my condolences. Ben was a good man. If there is anything I can do for you, just give me a call," Max handed Peter a business card.
"Thanks. If I need any electric work done I know who to ask."
Max grinned, nodding
"For sure. Take it easy, Peter." And with that, Max stepped of the porch and headed towards the bus stop. Peter watched him go
"Who was that?" Aunt May asked when Peter returned to the table.
"Just someone who used to work with Uncle Ben. He's a nice guy."
"Well it was nice of him to pay a visit. You should have invited him in."
"Yeah sorry, I'll do that next time."
They returned to eating, quieter after Max’s visit. The mood in the house always soured when Uncle Ben was brought up.
"I'm very proud of you for getting that job at the newspaper.” May said after a moment. “Just promise me that you'll be careful taking photographs of that Spider-Man. It's bad enough you're already running around town all day falling off bikes."
Peter fought back a smile.
"I promise to be more careful.” He agreed. “So long as you promise me that you'll take that money and use it to pay for your treatment."
May reached out and took Peter’s hand, much larger and rougher than hers, and squeezed his fingers.
When had he gotten so big? She thought to herself.
"I promise."
It was just the two of them now, the last of the Parkers.
The tender moment was broken by the sound of police sirens, rushing past the front window outside, heading towards the city.
Peter reluctantly pulled away from his Aunt.
"I got some homework to do, I'll be upstairs okay." He left before his Aunt could answer.
Closing the door to his room, Peter fished his suit out from under his bed. He had forgotten how damaged it was.
Maybe I can take a break? Just long enough to get my suit fixed.
He looked out his bedroom window. The skyscrapers in the distance were framed perfectly, tall, majestic, and cold. It looked almost peaceful in the early twilight hours.
He sighed and looked down at the frayed spandex in his hands.
"I don't deserve to take breaks." He pulled his costume on. The crack in his lens didn't impair his vision all too much and the majority of the suit was intact. It would do for now.
I'm responsible for the death of two people. One of whom was the greatest man I had ever known.
He opened his window and hauled himself to the roof. Peter checked his web shooters. They had enough Bio-Cable fluid in them to last the night. He looked once again at the city. The moon was slowly beginning to rise over the skyline.
He crouched, coiling like a spring, and then Spider-Man took off, into the sky.
END OF THE MISTAKES WE MAKE