FIC: Fraction, Peter-centric, G
Title: Fraction
Author: Dementis
Fandom: Spider-Man
Characters: Peter Parker, May Reilly Parker
Rated: G
Disclaimer: Spider-Man and characters belong to Steve Ditko and Stan Lee.
Summary: Christmas has always been an important Parker tradition.
The quiet days of winter were always the most cherished in the Parker household. Uncle Ben always went out to get the biggest tree he could find, drag it back "to the cave," as he would jokingly put it, prop it up in the window and light it up bright enough for the whole world to see. Delicate little Christmas balls hung from the branches, and the narrower the tree got, the more fragile and intricate the decorations. The star atop the tree was always the main attraction, and Peter would hold his aunt's hand and his uncle's hand and pull them downstairs Christmas morning in his childish excitement and make Uncle Ben wear the Santa Claus hat and beard. Together, the family - as little as they were - would sit around the tree and open presents and eat chocolate until they were elbow-deep in painfully colorful wrapping paper and their stomachs hurt.
Peter loved Christmas more than any other holiday of the year. Even now, at sixteen instead of six, he woke up early and crept quietly down the stairs in his socks and pajama bottoms; but instead of waking his aunt and dragging her downstairs, he attempted to make her pancakes and eggs, the smell of his failed breakfast no doubt rousing her from sleep. His aunt - older but not at all "old," not to him, anyway - came slowly down the steps to see the tree lit up, the presents beneath it fewer and fewer with each passing year and with each new pile of pills and debts to pay off, but she smiled nonetheless, and Peter smiled too.
"I got this for you," he told her over their plates of half raw pancakes and burnt scrambled eggs. With sure hands, he handed her a small gift, rectangular and wrapped in simple white and red wrapping paper, and she opened it with a smile on her face. When she saw what was inside, the smile faded and her eyes began to well with tears.
"Peter..."
"It's our first Christmas without him," he told her, holding her hand as well as the photograph of the three of them - Ben, May, and Peter - with Ben in his chair and his family on either side. "I thought... I thought he'd want to spend it with us too."
And it hurt, and each of them felt the aching vacancy in that armchair. Since Ben's death, Peter had only sat in it in his most depressive moods, hoping that the cigarettes-and-whiskey smell of his uncle would somehow come back to him. But the smell of Uncle Ben had faded months ago, and only the smell of laundry detergent and May's perfume remained.
"He'd love this," she told him, cupping the side of his face with one hand as she set the photograph in its brand new frame on the mantle above the fireplace. "Come here." Pulling him forward, he followed into her embrace, May shorter than him by an inch but still somehow so... so, so strong. The strongest woman he'd ever met. His eyes flooded and he closed them, pressing his face into her thin white hair as her hands stroked up and down his back.
"I miss him so much sometimes."
Aunt May smiled against his shoulder, holding her boy close to her. "He'd be so proud of you, Peter. Of the man you're becoming." The words made his heart swell and he almost broke right there in her arms. He held onto her tighter, and it was only when she pulled back did he finally let go.
Together, the remainder of the Parker family opened their few presents on a cold Christmas morning. The photo of Ben smiled down at them, and strangely, it was almost like he'd never left at all.
Author: Dementis
Fandom: Spider-Man
Characters: Peter Parker, May Reilly Parker
Rated: G
Disclaimer: Spider-Man and characters belong to Steve Ditko and Stan Lee.
Summary: Christmas has always been an important Parker tradition.
The quiet days of winter were always the most cherished in the Parker household. Uncle Ben always went out to get the biggest tree he could find, drag it back "to the cave," as he would jokingly put it, prop it up in the window and light it up bright enough for the whole world to see. Delicate little Christmas balls hung from the branches, and the narrower the tree got, the more fragile and intricate the decorations. The star atop the tree was always the main attraction, and Peter would hold his aunt's hand and his uncle's hand and pull them downstairs Christmas morning in his childish excitement and make Uncle Ben wear the Santa Claus hat and beard. Together, the family - as little as they were - would sit around the tree and open presents and eat chocolate until they were elbow-deep in painfully colorful wrapping paper and their stomachs hurt.
Peter loved Christmas more than any other holiday of the year. Even now, at sixteen instead of six, he woke up early and crept quietly down the stairs in his socks and pajama bottoms; but instead of waking his aunt and dragging her downstairs, he attempted to make her pancakes and eggs, the smell of his failed breakfast no doubt rousing her from sleep. His aunt - older but not at all "old," not to him, anyway - came slowly down the steps to see the tree lit up, the presents beneath it fewer and fewer with each passing year and with each new pile of pills and debts to pay off, but she smiled nonetheless, and Peter smiled too.
"I got this for you," he told her over their plates of half raw pancakes and burnt scrambled eggs. With sure hands, he handed her a small gift, rectangular and wrapped in simple white and red wrapping paper, and she opened it with a smile on her face. When she saw what was inside, the smile faded and her eyes began to well with tears.
"Peter..."
"It's our first Christmas without him," he told her, holding her hand as well as the photograph of the three of them - Ben, May, and Peter - with Ben in his chair and his family on either side. "I thought... I thought he'd want to spend it with us too."
And it hurt, and each of them felt the aching vacancy in that armchair. Since Ben's death, Peter had only sat in it in his most depressive moods, hoping that the cigarettes-and-whiskey smell of his uncle would somehow come back to him. But the smell of Uncle Ben had faded months ago, and only the smell of laundry detergent and May's perfume remained.
"He'd love this," she told him, cupping the side of his face with one hand as she set the photograph in its brand new frame on the mantle above the fireplace. "Come here." Pulling him forward, he followed into her embrace, May shorter than him by an inch but still somehow so... so, so strong. The strongest woman he'd ever met. His eyes flooded and he closed them, pressing his face into her thin white hair as her hands stroked up and down his back.
"I miss him so much sometimes."
Aunt May smiled against his shoulder, holding her boy close to her. "He'd be so proud of you, Peter. Of the man you're becoming." The words made his heart swell and he almost broke right there in her arms. He held onto her tighter, and it was only when she pulled back did he finally let go.
Together, the remainder of the Parker family opened their few presents on a cold Christmas morning. The photo of Ben smiled down at them, and strangely, it was almost like he'd never left at all.