Maxwell Dillon

Max woke up in his bed, staring at the peeling ceiling above him. His ribs ached from the beating he'd received the night before, each breath a painful reminder. The room was dim, the only light filtering through the grimy window. He pulled himself up slowly, wincing as he moved. From the other room, he could hear his father's gruff voice, already grumbling despite the early hour. The sound of a bottle clinking against the table made Max's stomach churn. He knew what was coming. His father, a perpetually drunk man, had a routine as predictable as it was terrifying. Mornings began with a drink and often escalated to violence.

"Max! Get your useless ass in here!" his father bellowed.

Max flinched, his body reacting instinctively to the threat. He slid out of bed, his feet landing softly on the cold floor. As he dressed, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bruises painted his face, a purple hue that seemed to spread with each day. He tried to smile, to muster some courage, but it felt hollow.

"Boy, if I have to call you again, I'll break your other ribs!" his father shouted again, his voice slurred and angry.

Max hurried out of his room, keeping his eyes downcast as he entered the living room. His father was slouched on the couch, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The stench of alcohol and sweat was overwhelming.

"Get me another drink," his father growled, eyes narrowing.

Max moved quickly, grabbing a fresh bottle from the kitchen. As he handed it over, his father's hand lashed out, smacking him across the face. Max stumbled back, clutching his cheek.

"Worthless piece of shit," his father muttered, taking a swig.

Max's mother lay on the other couch, barely stirring. Her arm was stretched out, track marks visible even in the dim light. She was in a drug-induced stupor, a state that had become her norm. Max's heart ached as he looked at her. In his mind, he believed she needed him. She was his mother, and he couldn't abandon her, even if she was too far gone to recognize him most days.

"Morning, Mom," he said softly, hoping for a response. There was none.

He moved to the kitchen to make himself a bowl of cereal, his mind drifting. The picture of Spider-Man he'd taped to the fridge seemed to wink at him. The hero spoke to him in his mind, urging him to be brave.

"You can be a hero too, Max," the picture seemed to say. "This city needs people like you."

Max smiled weakly, the words a small comfort. He sat at the table, eating in silence, trying to ignore the bruises and the pain. He told himself that Spider-Man was right. He could endure this. He had to.

Max's mom stirred on the couch, her eyes fluttering open with a groggy look that quickly turned to a glare as she focused on Max. "Max! Get over here," she demanded, her voice hoarse but sharp. Max hurried to her side, his heart racing.

"Mom, are you okay?" he asked softly, kneeling beside her.

Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength. "I need money, Max. You gotta get it for me. You hear me? Get out there and bring me what I need," she snarled, her breath reeking of old cigarettes and something sour.

In Max's mind, her harsh words and scowl were filtered into something softer, more pleading. "Mommy needs your help, Max. Please help her," he heard instead. He nodded, his eyes wide with concern.

"I'll do it, Mom. I'll get what you need," he promised, his voice trembling with emotion.

His father laughed from the couch, a cruel, mocking sound that made Max flinch. "Look at you, you crack whore, begging your own kid for money. Pathetic," he sneered, taking another swig from his bottle.

"Shut up, you worthless drunk!" his mom spat back, her eyes blazing with fury. "At least I'm trying to do something, unlike you, rotting away on that couch!"

"Yeah? What're you gonna do? Shoot up again and pass out? Great plan," he retorted, his words slurred but cutting. Max stood between them, his heart aching. He didn't see the venom in his mother's eyes or hear the malice in her voice. He only saw her as someone who needed him, someone he had to help.

"I'll get the money, Mom," he said again, trying to block out the sounds of their argument.

His mother's grip on his wrist tightened for a moment before she let go, pushing him away. "Good. Now get out of here," she snapped, her attention already drifting back to her own misery.

Max backed away, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned and headed for the door. "Thank you, Max," he whispered under his breath, pretending to hear the words he longed for.

"I'll be back soon, Mom," Max said, his voice steady. "I promise." Max shuffled into the bathroom, his body aching with each step. The small, grimy space smelled of mold and vomit. He turned on the dim light, casting a sickly yellow glow over everything. He stood in front of the cracked mirror, staring at his reflection. His face was a canvas of fresh bruises and old scars, his ribs still throbbing from his father's latest attack.

Opening the medicine cabinet, Max took out some antiseptic wipes and bandages. He gritted his teeth as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes on his face and arms, the antiseptic stinging his raw skin. Each wipe brought a fresh wave of pain, but he endured it silently, his mind focused on the task. Max examined the deep purple bruise on his side. He carefully pressed on it, wincing as he checked for broken ribs. Satisfied that nothing was broken, he wrapped a bandage around his torso for support.

With his injuries tended to, Max turned his attention back to the mirror. He practised a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. "I tripped," he said to his reflection, trying to keep his voice steady. "I tripped and fell. That's all." He repeated it several times, working to make it sound casual and believable. He knew the teachers would ask, and he had to be ready with an answer that wouldn't lead to more questions. Satisfied with his rehearsal, Max left the bathroom and went to his small bedroom. He gathered his schoolbooks and shoved them into his worn backpack. He looked around at the clutter of belongings that once brought him joy. Gifts from birthdays and Christmases are now just reminders of better times. His eyes settled on his old video game console, something he hadn't touched in months. He picked it up, along with a stack of games, and placed them gently into his backpack.

Next, he grabbed a few action figures and comic books that used to be his prized possessions. He paused for a moment, feeling a pang of nostalgia and sadness, but he shook it off quickly. There was no time for sentimentality. His mother needed money, and this was the only way he could think to help her. As he was about to leave, he paused, looking at the picture of Spider-Man pinned to his wall. He carefully took it down and folded it, placing it in his front pocket.

"Thanks for being there for me, Spidey," he whispered.

...

Max trudged through the rough neighbourhood on his way to Midtown High, his heavy backpack weighing him down. The streets of New York were as chaotic as ever. He watched a car chase unfold right in front of him, the squeal of tyres and blare of sirens echoing in his ears. People screamed as the car careened around corners, narrowly missing pedestrians. Max's eyes darted around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Spider-Man swinging into action, but the web-slinger was nowhere to be seen. A few blocks further, Max passed a building engulfed in flames. Firefighters were battling the inferno, their hoses spraying torrents of water. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. He coughed, wishing for Spider-Man to swoop in and save the day. But once again, he reminded himself that Spider-Man was just one man. He couldn't be everywhere at once.

On the next street, Max saw a mugging in progress. A group of thugs had cornered a man, demanding his wallet. Max's heart raced as he watched, frozen in place. His eyes scanned the rooftops, hoping to see the familiar red and blue suit. But Spider-Man didn't appear. The thugs ran off with their loot, leaving the man shaken and terrified. Max clenched his fists, feeling helpless and frustrated. Spider-Man needed help. He couldn't do it all alone.

As Max finally reached Midtown High, he noticed the stares from his classmates. They glanced at the bruises on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. In Max's mind, their looks turned into sneers and whispers. He imagined them laughing at him, making cruel comments about his appearance.

"There goes Max again, looking like he got hit by a truck," he imagined one of them saying.

"Why's he always so beat up? He must be asking for it," another voice sneered in his head.

Max tried to ignore them, but the imagined voices grew louder, more insistent. His grip on the straps of his backpack tightened as he walked through the halls, keeping his head down. He felt like everyone was against him, mocking him for his weakness. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, filled with faces that he saw as twisted with malice. In reality, most of his classmates were concerned, though some were curious. They saw the bruises and wondered what was going on at home. But Max's mind twisted their concern into something darker, something more threatening. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, surrounded by people who wanted to see him suffer.

He finally made it to his locker, trying to block out the noise in his head. He took a deep breath, reminding himself of Spider-Man's words. The city needed more people like him.

Max trudged through the school halls, head down, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. The familiar weight of his backpack dug into his shoulders, a comforting reminder of the electronics kit inside. The first period was math, a subject he excelled in but found utterly mundane. He sat at the back, hoping the teacher wouldn't call on him. Numbers and formulas blurred together as he scribbled in his notebook, his mind drifting to the discovery he'd made yesterday.

In English, Max sat through the lesson on Shakespeare, barely paying attention. The teacher's voice was a dull hum in the background as he doodled schematics for a new circuit board. He glanced around occasionally, feeling eyes on him, hearing snickers and whispers that he was sure were about him. "Freak," a voice hissed from somewhere behind him. He clenched his fists, trying to ignore it, knowing it was just in his head but unable to shake the feeling.

Lunchtime was the worst. Max found a secluded corner in the cafeteria, away from the noise and crowds. He unwrapped his sandwich, taking small bites as he observed the chaos around him. A group of kids walked by, laughing loudly. "Look at him, all alone," a voice sneered in his mind. He ducked his head lower, wishing he could disappear. His thoughts were his only company, a constant stream of doubts and fears.

Finally, the workshop class arrived. The familiar smell of metal and soldering filled the room, a welcome escape from the turmoil inside his head. Max settled at his workstation, carefully laying out the components for his EMP device. His hands moved with practised precision, each connection and solder joint calming his racing thoughts.

"Hey, Max," Sarah said, approaching his table. "That looks really cool. What are you working on?"

Max's heart pounded. "EMP device," he mumbled, not looking up. He felt her eyes on him, making him uncomfortable.

"You're really good at this," she said. "I could never make something like that."

Max shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment. He wished she would go away, but also didn't want her to leave. As soon as she walked away, the whispers started again. "She thinks you're weird," a voice hissed. "She's laughing at you." He shook his head, trying to focus on his work, but the doubts clung to him like a shadow.

The bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Max packed up his things, relief and dread mingling in his chest. Mr. Thompson, the workshop teacher, approached him. "Max, can you stay for a minute?"

Max's stomach dropped. He nodded, waiting as the room emptied. "I noticed you have some bruises," Mr. Thompson said gently. "Is everything okay at home?"

"I tripped," Max lied, staring at the floor. "I'm just clumsy."

Mr. Thompson didn't look convinced but let it go. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Max nodded again, grabbing his bag and fleeing the classroom. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the figure coming around the corner until it was too late. They collided, and both went tumbling to the ground. Max's bag split open, scattering his belongings everywhere. MJ was the first to recover, quickly standing up and brushing herself off. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, extending a hand to help Max up.

Max, flustered and embarrassed, scrambled to his feet. "I'm so sorry," he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

MJ laughed softly. "Don't worry about it. Accidents happen."

As Max bent down to gather his things, he noticed MJ holding something. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it was the picture of Spider-Man he always carried with him. His face turned bright red as he tried to think of a way to explain.

"Are you a fan of Spider-Man?" MJ asked, a friendly smile on her face.

Max nodded, still feeling mortified. "Yeah, I am," he mumbled.

MJ handed the picture back to him. "Me too," she said. "He's pretty amazing."

Max took the picture, grateful but still eager to leave before he embarrassed himself further. As he turned to go, MJ called after him, "Wait up!"

He paused, turning around reluctantly. His heart pounded in his chest as MJ approached, still smiling. "You're Maxwell Dillon, right? The one who won the state science competition?"

Max blinked, surprised. "Yeah, that's me," he said, unsure how she knew that.

MJ grinned. "I'm Mary Jane Watson, but you can call me MJ everyone does. My friend totally geeked out about you when you won. He said you constructed a miniature railgun capable of launching a coin three times faster than a bullet."

Max looked down, feeling humbled. "I just built the base and the electromagnetic system," he said quietly.

MJ's eyes sparkled with interest. "That's still really impressive. Are you busy right now? My friend would love to meet you."

Max hesitated, thinking of the pawnshop and the things he needed to sell. "I have to go to the pawnshop," he said. "Sell some things."

MJ's smile widened. "Perfect! My friend works at Broken Things down in Queens. Let's go!"

Before Max could protest, MJ grabbed his arm and started leading him out of the school.

...

As they walked to Broken Things, MJ tried to engage Max in conversation about his project. "So, tell me more about your railgun project. How did you come up with the idea?"

Max shrugged, his eyes on the sidewalk. "I saw a documentary on electromagnetic propulsion. Thought it would be cool to try it myself."

MJ nodded, waiting for more. "What materials did you use?"

"Mostly scrap metal and parts from old electronics. The hardest part was getting the power source right," Max replied briefly, still avoiding eye contact.

"That sounds really complex. How long did it take you to build?" MJ probed further.

"A few months. I had to do a lot of trial and error," Max said, giving minimal details.

MJ sensed his reluctance to talk about it. "It must feel good to see it work after all that effort."

"Yeah, I guess," Max mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

MJ decided to switch tactics. "Spider-Man is pretty amazing, huh? Do you remember when he fought Tombstone on the bridge?"

Max's eyes lit up at the mention of Spider-Man. "Yeah! That was his first big public fight. He took down Tombstone and saved all those kids. The way he used his webs to stop the truck... it was incredible."

MJ smiled, seeing the enthusiasm in his eyes. "He's done so much for the city. What's your favourite Spider-Man moment?"

Max thought for a moment. "I think when he saved all those people from the collapsing building last month. He was so fast and the way he stopped the debris from hitting the crowd, I've never seen anything like it."

"He really is something. Though he probably gets tired," MJ asked.

Max shook his head. "I don't think so. He always seems so confident. Like, nothing can stop him."

"He's human too, though. Even heroes have their moments," MJ said softly.

Max seemed to consider this. "Not him he's still amazing."

MJ then decided to share something more personal. "You know, he was active even before Tombstone."

Max's eyes widened in surprise. "Before Tombstone? What do you mean?"

MJ nodded. "Yeah, he saved me from a few thugs before he even had the costume. Just a guy in a hoodie and a mask."

Max bombarded her with questions. "What did he look like? How did he fight? Did he use his webs then too?"

MJ laughed softly. "He was quick and strong, but he didn't have the webs then. He used his fists and agility more."

Max's curiosity grew. "What was he like?"

MJ thought for a moment. "He seemed determined. Like he knew he had to help, no matter what."

As Max talked animatedly about Spider-Man, MJ thought about him. With the bruises on his face, and his introverted nature, it wasn't hard to recognize the signs of abuse. She couldn't turn her back when she saw someone in need. She hoped she could help him, and if not her, maybe Peter. She wondered if she would've ended up like him if she didn't have Peter, it was cause of him that she wasn't afraid of being close to people. If Max was being abused she would help him, she wouldn't let someone suffer the same thing she went through.

Max's questions came rapid-fire. "What else did he do? Did he say anything to you?"

MJ smiled. "He told me to stay safe and that he'd always be around to help. It was comforting."

Max nodded, absorbing every word. "He's always helping people. I want to be like that too."

MJ smiled as she walked alongside Max, thinking to herself, 'If only more people thought that way.' Max animatedly talked about Spider-Man, recounting various heroic deeds and battles. They finally reached Broken Things, and MJ greeted Mr. Green, who was behind the counter on his laptop.

"Hey, Mr. Green," MJ said, smiling. "This is Max. He's another brainiac."

Mr. Green looked up and grinned. "Seems like my shop's filled with them nowadays." He chuckled and added, "Peter's in the back, fiddling with some drone."

MJ nodded, then said, "Max here will be back soon with some stuff to sell. You better give him a good price."

Mr. Green laughed and waved them off. "I'll make sure of it."

As they walked around the counter, MJ explained, "Mr. Green is a nice guy. He's been really helpful to Peter."

Max nodded, taking it all in. When they got to the back, they found Peter sitting on the floor with his sleeves rolled up, deeply engrossed in his work on a small red drone.

"Peter," MJ called with a smile.

Peter looked up, surprised. "MJ? Is something wrong?"

MJ shook her head. "I just thought I'd visit."

Peter's eyes shifted to Max. "Who's your friend?"

MJ's smile widened. "I'm surprised you don't recognize him. You couldn't stop talking about his railgun a few months ago."

Peter's eyes widened. "Maxwell Dillon?" He put down the drone and stood up, extending his hand. "It's good to meet you. Your design for the railgun was incredible."

Max felt anxious under his stare but nodded, shaking Peter's hand. "Thank you," he said in a low voice.

"What're you working on?" MJ asked, glancing at the red drone on the ground.

Peter stumbled over his words before saying, "It's a drone I've been working on."

Max's eyebrows raised slightly as he saw the spider-shaped design. MJ noticed and said, "Peter's a huge Spider-Man fan too."

Peter laughed sheepishly and nodded. Max, however, seemed lost in thought, his eyes scanning the room and the various broken electronics.

"The wiring from your drone is pretty inefficient. It'll affect the propulsion by at least 20%," Max blurted out.

Both Peter and MJ looked at him, surprised. "I'm sorry…" Max apologized quickly and went back to looking at the ground.

Peter laughed. "No, please don't apologize. You're right. But I've been limited in what I could work with. The wiring isn't ideal, but at least it won't fuse if subjected to higher temperatures."

Max nodded, rubbing his palms together. "You could bypass that by intertwining two different metals, like copper and aluminium."

Peter looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding. "You're right." He walked back to the drone, knelt down, and began stripping the battery wires.

MJ rolled her eyes. "Peter!" she chided. "You still have company."

Peter looked up at her, then at Max. "My bad. Would you like to help?" He handed a set of pliers to Max.

Max usually would have declined and made an excuse to leave, but this was his passion. Without thinking, he took the pliers from Peter and began stripping various electronics of their wires.

MJ sighed and shook her head. "I need normal friends," she muttered to herself before heading back into the main shop.

In the workshop, the atmosphere grew more focused as Peter and Max worked together on the drone. Peter explained his process in more detail, showing Max how he had repurposed parts from broken electronics to fit the drone's design. Max listened intently, occasionally offering suggestions and improvements. Peter pointed to a circuit board. "This is where the main control unit is. It's not perfect, but it works well." Peter had made the discovery that even though he'd spent a large amount on the drone parts it still wasn't up to snuff for what he wanted it for.

Max nodded, examining it closely. "You could optimize the power distribution by using a multi-layered board. It would reduce the risk of overheating."

Peter looked impressed. "That's a good idea. I'll have to try that, but they'd need to be of a similar design which may be a bit difficult."

They continued working in silence for a while, the only sounds being the clinking of tools and the hum of electronics. Peter found himself appreciating Max's insights. Despite his quiet demeanour, Max's knowledge and skills were evident. Peter felt a slight pain throb in his chest as he worked with Max, it reminded him of all the projects he had with Ned.  As they worked, MJ returned, holding a sandwich. "You guys need to eat," she said, handing the sandwich to Peter and Max.

Peter smiled and took it. "Thanks, MJ."

"I'll be out front if you need me," she said, giving them a wave.

Peter nodded. "I'll see you in a bit."

Peter and Max sat on the floor, eating their sandwiches. Peter looked over at Max and asked, "So, what do you like about Spider-Man?"

Max swallowed his bite and glanced at Peter. "He saved me once. I was about to get hit by a car after I pushed someone out of the way. Spider-Man swung in and pulled me to safety. Then he said, 'The city needs more people like you.' It was the first time I felt like someone saw me."

Peter's eyes widened slightly, recognizing the story. He schooled his features, realizing that he remembered Max from that incident. He had always wondered about the boy he saved that day. "The city does need more people like you," Peter said, smiling at Max.

Max returned the smile but shook his head. "I could never be like Spider-Man. He's what the city needs."

Peter finished his sandwich and stood up, helping Max to his feet. "You don't have to be Spider-Man, Max. Just be yourself, that'll always be enough."

Max's smile widened, genuine for the first time since he met Peter. "Thanks for your help with the drone, Max. If you have some time, come back. I could always use help from a genius." Peter laughed. "My background's more in chemistry, physics, and mechanics. I've not got much experience in electronics." Max agreed to come back and help, feeling a surge of confidence. They said their goodbyes, and Max headed back to the front of the shop to sell his belongings. Mr. Green inspected the items and offered him three-quarters of the retail price, which shocked Max.

"Are you sure?" Max asked, looking at the money in disbelief.

Mr. Green winked. "You're a smart kid. Use it well. Goodbye, Max."

Max left the shop with a small smile on his face, thinking about the possibility of having two friends. He thought about the drone and how he could improve it, feeling a sense of purpose he hadn't felt in a long time.

As he walked, he saw someone being mugged. Max paused, his heart racing. He wanted to act, just like he did that morning, but he wasn't Spider-Man. He couldn't make a difference.

*Just be yourself, Max. That'll always be enough.* Peter's words echoed in his head.

Max pressed himself against the wall, unzipping his backpack and pulling out the EMP device he'd been working on. He made a few adjustments, modifying it to discharge a painful electric shock. Taking a deep breath, he activated it and rushed toward the mugger, who only saw him at the last second. Max pressed the EMP to the mugger's neck, causing him to seize up and fall to the ground, unconscious. Max stood there, shocked, staring at the mugger on the ground. The man who was being mugged thanked him profusely, but Max was too overwhelmed to respond. He ran, adrenaline pumping through his veins, until he reached home. He thanked God his father wasn't there as he slipped into his room and sat on his bed, staring at the burnt-out device in his hand.

"I saved someone," he whispered to himself.

For Max, this was one of the best days he'd had in a long time.

(AN: So a bit more character development for Max, as I'm sure you can tell he's not well, he's also not getting any treatment for this and it's only going to get worse. Home life certainly isn't helping. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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