The Weight of The Web
The night Ben died, something deep within Peter shifted—like a gear grinding into place after years of spinning aimlessly. He stumbled home from the 7/11, still clutching the half-empty bottle of chocolate milk, the cold of the plastic pressing into his fingers as if it could anchor him to reality.
But reality was merciless.
May was waiting, as always. She didn’t yell this time; she didn’t need to. The glare in her eyes did all the shouting. Peter endured her silent condemnation, slipping past her and locking himself in his room. He collapsed onto his bed, the events of the night replaying like a broken record.
The sting on the back of his neck where the spider had bitten him days ago flared suddenly. It burned like fire spreading beneath his skin. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead as his body contorted.
Peter wasn’t just changing; he was transforming.
---
He woke up the next morning to a strange stillness in his room. His senses buzzed—sounds from the street outside were sharper, every creak of the floorboards more pronounced. The world had become louder, brighter, *more*. He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror above his desk. His brown eyes seemed darker, richer, as if they contained the shadows of the things he’d seen.
And then he saw them.
His fangs. Two sharp, gleaming points protruded slightly from his gums. He ran his tongue over them in disbelief. On the palms of his hands, thin spinnerets emerged, oozing small threads of silk that glistened in the morning light.
He stumbled back, his breath hitching. He was no longer just Peter Parker. He didn’t know what he was anymore.
---
The next few days were a blur. Peter stayed out of May’s way, slipping out of the house whenever he could. He tested his abilities in secret, discovering the impossible things his body could do. Climbing walls, swinging from the webbing that shot from his wrists, sensing danger before it happened—it was exhilarating.
But it was terrifying too.
He felt the weight of it all, a crushing burden that settled over his shoulders like a shroud. For every exhilarating discovery, there was a memory of Ben’s lifeless body, of the robber’s cold, detached stare. Power, Peter realized, wasn’t a gift. It was a responsibility. And he had failed the one person who had tried to teach him that.
---
Peter retreated into his online persona, Dr. PWBP. Late at night, when May’s footsteps stopped echoing through the house, he buried himself in emails to Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho, trading theories and ideas that momentarily pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts.
But even this wasn’t enough. He was living multiple lives: the boy May and Ben had raised, the online prodigy who talked to the brightest minds in science, and now…whatever this new version of himself was becoming.
The masks began to feel heavier.
---
One night, Peter sat on the roof of his apartment building, staring at the sprawling city below. The sounds of Queens rose up to meet him—car horns, laughter, arguments. He could hear it all, feel it all.
He realized that no matter what mask he wore, he could never escape who he was or where he came from. The weight of his past, the abuse, the guilt, the loss—it would always be there, pressing down on him. But maybe, just maybe, the masks could also be his salvation.
If he couldn’t escape his past, he could fight for his future. He could wear the mask of Spider-Man, not to forget, but to protect. To make sure no one else had to feel the pain he carried.
Peter stood, the city’s lights casting long shadows behind him. He clenched his fists, webbing oozing between his fingers. He wasn’t ready, but he didn’t have a choice.
The masks would always be there. And so would he.