yeehawdemon

[yeehawdemon]

Hello, to the very few people who followed me! I am alive and I am working on another chapter, I promise.

I've been sick on and off the past few months while also hunting for another job because I am having money troubles. I haven't had a lot of time or motivation to sit down and write, so chapter 2 is slow going.

Thank you for your patience. 🩷

- Trinket

[yeehawdemon]

The Heavy Burden of a Human Heart

"Creature" Ben Reilly x reader | Frankenstein-esq AU about grief, something inhuman becoming man, and a new heart learning to love.

All character descriptions used are based on the characterizations from the Ultimate Spider-Man cartoon that ran on Disney XD from 2012 to 2017. If that actually bothers you, go cry about it.

Chapter 1 - The Image of the Dead

There was something that settled in your chest, like the overgrowth of weeds. A thorny unwanted pain, almost impossible to get rid of. Pounding in your heart, wisping in your mind. No, not the present shaking fear of the dark or a vampire beyond the threshold of your home- but instead, the gentle cry of an anguished heart. Pitiful grief that grips you like a starved dog grips a rabbit in its jaws. The violent thrashing of a predator executing its prey, dancing in your chest like the most dreaded ballet. Your conscience is torn apart by the loss of your very dear friend.

The rain of the summer storm pours heavily down onto the roof of your home, groaning loudly as if sobbing for you. The thick sheets of water weep down the glass pane of your window, the only light in the room being from the thick gray clouds above. Your eyes flick about the room, never staying too long- never ever longer then the time two heartbeats take out of a minute. You couldn't stay for too long, lest your mind settle and begin to wander. It, however, did not work. Your mind began to drift, a sunny afternoon, waving an early goodbye to a smiling face you will never get to see again.

Three weeks, you believe. It's been three weeks since the accident that took the lives of Peter Parker and three other people, and you have yet to let yourself accept it. The old house groans as you suck in a deep breath, soothed by nothing but your own thoughts. It was no one's fault. An accident is an accident, and he died a hero. A hero, but still gone.

The sheets fall from your chest as you sit up, looking out at the trees beyond your window. Living just outside of town has its perks, including the silent company of such lovely giants. Slipping from bed, you tug the duvet off with you. Dragging it across the ground as you make your way over to the seat in your window. The wooden boards squeak under your feet as you shift your weight onto the cushioned extension of the window. Curling up into the pink satin seat, you press your warm face into the cool glass, fogging it slightly.

For as long as you could remember it's always been the four of you. You, Mary-Jane, Harry, and Peter. Always. And of course people and things change, friends change- but not like this. It was never supposed to be like this. What is there for the three of you to do now that... That's a stupid question now isn't that? What other choice is there but to go on without your friend? Your eyes flick over to the newest letter from your parents, states away they write you from the sea-side you chose not to see. Wanting to spend the last summer with your friends before they went off to college instead. They are blissfully unaware of the news, and of your quiet suffering.

It's been two weeks since that actual funeral, and you haven't seen anyone since. Locked yourself away, unwilling to see anyone. You should, however, go food shopping soon. Your parents sent money again, and you shouldn't let it sit while you commit suicide via malnourishment. However, if you didn't, at least you could see him again. You find yourself gazing outside again, down at the wide clearing your parents called a courtyard. No grass, creating a goopy, muddy mess. That would probably be a nightmare to traverse until it was dry... maybe locking yourself away wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

Your eyes wander the courtyard, allowing your thoughts to go blank and hum a lullaby your mother hasn't sung to you in years. It's a gentle comfort, one needed beyond even you know.

From the side of the house, emerges a figure. Stumbling all over themselves and getting stuck in the thick mud. The notes catch in your throat, an abrupt stop as you are ripped from your thoughts. Your heart pounds as the very worst possibilities formulate in your head. Was this person here to try and break in? Did they know you were home alone? Through the sound of the pouring rain and the natural muffling from the window pane, you can hear them grunt in distress. Your eyes flutter in surprise as a worry builds in your chest.

No. No, this person was not someone with sinister intentions. They look... disoriented, mostly confused, partially hunched over as they stumble about... and this is no type of night for anyone to be out. They'll get ill. Whoever they are obviously they need help.

Help. That's what he'd want you to do, at least.

Quick as a whip, you grab the oil lamp you kept on your writing desk and pull a long old hat pin your grandmother had willed to you. Quickly rushing to your bedroom door. With a short turn of the nob, your surroundings are illuminated dimly. The small amount of light guides you to the stairs and down them as quickly as possible. Your steps are rushed and unsteady as you almost trip over yourself just to get to the front door. Rushing so quick, you don't even give the floorboards time to groan under your weight.

The front door swings open with you. Practically falling out onto the porch, you brace yourself against the railing, chest heaving. A waft of damp air hits your skin, causing your hair to stand on end. "Hello!?" You yell out to them as they stumble to a stable stop. They're not too far away and they're facing you, but you can't make out any discernible features. Their elbows are bared outwards as they hold the sides of their head. Letting out pained and definitely confused grunts. You step forward to the edge of the porch. "What are you doing out here in this rain? Do you need-" Turning the knob of the lamp to increase the brightness, you illuminate most of a courtyard to a certain degree. "...Help?" Your eyes widen in a cocktail of emotions that swirl like a hurricane.

They stand up straight, a broad form looking directly at you like a scared deer. Rain rolls down their pale skin, cold and unforgiving. Their chest heaves, but they don't much more. And well, it's not hard to tell that they... Are actually a he.

He's nude, completely bare as if this was the day he was born. Hair cut short, around half an inch from his scalp. Skin covered with these long stitched up wounds, red with freshness, that wrapped around the circumference of his limbs and torso just above the joint areas. There's one that draws your attention far longer than the others. It forms a 'v' on his chest, the point of which continues in a singular line all the way down to his mound. There was something else off... just wrong about the way his body looked in a way you just can not place. But that wasn't what you came to fixate on. The hat pin, which you had grabbed to use as self defense just in case, slips from your fingers. The metal clattering down the step before sheathing itself in the mud. His nose had a wound that stretched from the bridge to below his left eye and was bruised like it had been broken. It had obviously been reshaped through the break, but that didn't stop your recognition.

The sharp contours of his jaw and famously chapped lips. Wide blue eyes- not blue like the sky at noon or a body of water, but blue like the world during the first licks of morning's newborn light. They bore into you like inhuman beacons, seemingly picking up your fear and reflecting it out back to you. A face you know well, a face you had recently said a very last goodbye to.

You step forward and down into the stairs, voice strung high in disbelief. Bitter, cold rain hits your scalp and slides down the back of your neck, heart twinging at the vision before you. It's not- no. There's no way it is. "Pete-" The movement and sound of your voice seems to scare him, causing him to stumble around again with an angered grunt. The very second he finds his balance, he turns, sprinting straight for the woods. The wave of shock and confusion renders your critical thinking ineffective. "Peter!" You scream into the night, taking off after him. Into the rain and the disgustingly thick mud. Not nearly as fast as him, you trail behind. Pushing through the tree line after him as fast you possibly could. Only being able to follow him by the light glinting off his back.

"Peter, Peter please! Come back! Come back, please!" You yell, slowly losing him in your sights. A loose root finds itself looped over your now dirty feet, sending you flying forwards into the wet ground. The lamp in your hand shatters, glass shards embedding themselves into the palm of your hand.

-

Even days after, those eyes haunted you. Cutting into you like the blade of a bayonet. You already know the gunshot of the loss of your friend, what a horrible comedy is the stab of seeing his face on a body that wasn't his. That... that wasn't him. It couldn't have been. Too tall, too broad, too... alive. Your heart beats with a confused pattern, mind a mess of confuddled thoughts mixing with murmurs of rationality and denial. There was a part of the rational thoughts that tried to convince itself that it was all a dream. Your grief manifested itself in the realm of your rest, concocting a traumatizing vision in spite of your healing mind. However the bruises on your knees and the deep gashes in your palms tell a much different story.

The market was just as full as it always was. Had the summer rain continued any longer, the street would have been baren except for the willing few. Everyone was dressed nicely, including yourself. Arm in arm with either a parent or a partner, excluding yourself. While you've always preferred colder, wetter weather, you've found yourself glad the storm has gone. There is a pleasant warmth in the air accompanied by a light breeze, it's something more akin to late spring or early summer. Either way, the change is a pleasant and welcome one. Wandering past vendors and barely even looking at what they had to offer. Everything around you felt muddled. Speech, faces, prices. The only things that had found their way into your hand basket was a single jar of lavender honey and loaf of fresh bread. Nothing else seemed to be appealing.

Even though you feel as if your head is a million miles away, being out and surrounded by people makes you feel less alone. Less crazy. Like you could ignore what had happened only a few nights ago. Allowing yourself to only dwell on your friends' loss as former school mates and their mothers pass and shoot you sympathetic glances. Some men, giving you solemn nods. While he left an impression on those he was close to, Peter Parker was not a particularly popular boy. Smart, a bit geekish sometimes, but kind, snarky, and overwhelmingly funny. Not this many people knew or had any attachment to him in life. The only times he stood out were when he got to flaunt his intelligence, and when he had lost his uncle. Other then the accident itself, people knew of his death so widely and acted like this for one reason.

His Aunt.

May Parker is a kind, fun, and spunky woman armed endlessly with the most dangerous thing imaginable- Compassion. She's warm, bright, and is the type of person who can make everyone in a room love her without even trying. She isn't naïve or weak, like some might assume of someone with these traits. She's intelligent, professionally cautious, and unimaginably strong. She's the breadwinner of her home, took care of her nephew and maintained her social and professional relationships even after losing the love of her life.

Now that you think about it, you wonder how she's doing now. She is so strong, but... her husband and the nephew they raised, within only a few years of each other. You only hope she's found some way to not destroy herself, to not be like you.

A startled noise leaves you as another body slams into yours. It's not hard enough to hurt or knock you back, but enough to bring you out of the confines of your head. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I've been so distracted..." You take the blame immediately, because you know it is your fault. If you had been paying attention it wouldn't have happened. Oh. They say that if you wake up in the middle of the night it's because someone is thinking of you, maybe this is similar. Thinking about someone enough to make them appear before you.

She's just as shocked as you are for a split second before she forces a smile. Something unlike her, because she's rarely not smiling. A smile is as natural to her as waves are to the ocean. However you understand and wished there was something you could do to take that away. She says your name gently, and your heart pangs with sympathy. Her smile and tone have the same amount of unhideable melancholy.

With a small tilt of your head, you give her a smile as well- but you're sure it's not too far off from hers. "Hello, Mrs. Parker." You say, knowing she prefers to be referred to by her first name, but wanting to show her respect is such a trying and delicate time. There was a soft hum from her, followed by a light chuckle.

"Oh sweetie, there's no need to be so formal." Her tone holds that sweetness that she is known for, and you can tell that it wasn't forced. She reaches out, and places her hands on your upper arms. "How have you been?" She asks. How like her to ask about someone else's life and feelings during what is probably the worst time in her life.

"I'm..." You can't get a solid answer out, or rather, you can't say anything at all. When you try, all you can see in your mind is the wooden box covered in flowers, nailed shut with one of your best friends inside. Beside it, her. Head down, lips pursed as she tries not to cry again, even though she knows not a soul would blame her if she did. The shared silence says more than any combination of words ever could. Both of your smiles drop flat in a shared knowing. You're both hurting, and you hate that now she knows that you are. You know how upset thinking about you, M.J., and Harry grieving this loss will make her. That's the very last thing you'd want her to worry about.

In that, she wraps her arms around you, and you her. Tucked into one another in a tight embrace. You hadn't gotten to hug her like this at the funeral, one small hug before everyone was rushed to the graveside. She was much too busy with everything else, and you stood off to the side. Hand in hand with Mary-Jane. The two of you gripping each other as if you were to let go, the other would slip away for good. It felt good in a way, once again less alone, but like everything you were feeling was tangible and real. Your grief was nowhere near as intense as what she feels, and you know that with every part of your being- but maybe, just maybe, she's getting some relief from that empty longing pain too.

-

The other side of the park is a much more suitable place to talk, in the warm summer breeze floats the sounds of the farmers market in the distance. Quiet enough to not mean anything at all. The both of you sit on the park bench. Quietly discussing how you were dealing. You tried your hardest to be honest with her, but one large thing gnawed at you. Something you couldn't possibly tell her. A terrible, delusional, secret. Try as you may to keep it from her and swallow it, it keeps coming back up. Like rich, fatty food in an unsettled stomach.

Your incisors and canines tearing into the wet, fleshy warmth of your inner lips. Chewing them and dotting your tongue with the taste of blood. The taste of blood complimented by the smell of the lavender grown out around the bench legs, the summer-y purple blooms licking at your ankles as they sway in the aforementioned breeze. In fact, many flowers were in bloom despite the scorching afternoons. Small, white daisies are grouped together just behind you and you can only see them out of the corner of your eye. The unseasonal storm must have done them well to have survived this long. Farther on behind May are meadow-like bushels of tiny purple flowers with thin, vine-like stems... behind May.

Oh.

The sound of your name being repeated sucks you right back out of the cozy hiding spot you'd crafted out of full flower beds in your head. Your eyes widen as you notice her worried expression. She says your name again, but this time in a firm and caring tone. "There's something bothering you, isn't there?" Of course there was, but you couldn't tell her. Right?

"A couple of days ago, I... I had a dream, and I saw Peter."

The concern in her eyes washes away, gaze softening as that same sad smile returns. Gently placing one of her hands over yours. "Would you like to talk about it?" It's a simple question, but it makes your heart pang.

No. No you don't. You don't even want her to know something so awful. That there's a... 'man' out there running around with her nephew's face? Even with you framing it as a dream, that's still not a dream you'd want her to know about. "No. It... was dark, and terrible. I don't want you to have to think about it." Your voice cracks as you look down at your folded hands. Hers holding onto yours with such a gentle and reassuring grasp. All the years you've known this wonderful woman, she's always been so kind and accepting. The last thing you'd want to do in the wake of your friend's death is upset her even more.

She gives your hand another squeeze, causing you to look back up at her. There's a look in her eyes, it's too many things for you to possibly place. Concern, grief, fear... knowing. A lump forms in your throat as you force your eyes open wider, trying to fight tears. You didn't want to do this to her, you didn't want to lay everything you were feeling on a woman who is quite literally going through the unimaginable. You wished your mother and father were here. That you could curl up in their laps like a child and sob into their shoulders.

Her chest deflates with a sigh, shoulders relaxing as her lips press flat, something she wants to say resting just on the tip of her tongue. There's an unimaginable weight on her right now, and you're beginning to see how much it's aged her. May Parker was always known for how active and lively she is, but... she just looks so tired. Gently, you rub your thumb over the back of her hand, trying to give back the support she had just given you. "Well, I think we've all been struggling with... some darker thoughts since what happened to Peter's grave."