"PETERRR!" Aunt May’s voice boomed from the living room. I rushed downstairs, my heart pounding, and found her and Uncle Ben glued to the TV. The news was playing, and to my horror, it was a segment about me. "As we can see from the video, the young man handles the situation remarkably well, almost like a trained fighter. The ease with which he disassembled the gun suggests he might come from a military family or have a police relative who taught him. Our experts also commend his use of the flashlight as a distraction, a clever move that clearly disoriented the robber, as shown in the video. The local community has expressed their admiration for his bravery..."

Aunt May and Uncle Ben watched as the TV replayed my takedown of the robber over and over, each time making me look more like a professional action hero. I coughed awkwardly, catching their attention. They both turned to me in unison. Aunt May was the first to speak.

"Who taught you how to do that?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it off. "The internet, mostly."

Aunt May’s face paled as she shouted, "Oh my God, did you buy a gun to practice that stuff?!"

I widened my eyes in panic and quickly responded, "No! That was the first time I even held a gun!"

She seemed to calm down at that, pulling me into a tight hug. "Look, Peter, I used to have a lot of anxiety when Ben was still on the force, and this... this makes me feel the same way. Please, don’t ever do something like that again."

I looked into her worried eyes and said softly, "You know I can't promise that."

She glanced at Ben, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "You’re just like him," she said.

I smiled back, trying to lighten the mood. "I can never be Uncle Ben."

The atmosphere in the room shifted suddenly, becoming heavier, more somber. Uncle Ben shook his head slightly, while Aunt May seemed saddened by my words. Confused and worried that I’d said something wrong, I looked to Uncle Ben for an explanation.

He sighed, "She meant your dad, Peter."

I nodded in understanding, feeling a wave of gloom wash over me as Peter's memories brought back the pain of losing his parents.

Not wanting to dwell on the sadness, I quickly changed the subject. "Hey, let’s watch the YouTube video now!"

They both understood I was trying to dodge the topic but allowed it. "Yeah, let’s watch it," Aunt May agreed.

I headed up to my room, took a few deep breaths to push the memories aside, and grabbed the pen drive with the video. When I returned, I plugged it into our old but upgraded (thanks to me) TV. We all sat together—me in the middle, Aunt May on one side, Uncle Ben on the other—as the video played.

When the part with the swearing came up, Aunt May gave me a stern look. "Peter, that kind of language isn’t allowed."

I ducked my head, grinning sheepishly. As the video continued into the more technical, sciencey parts, Aunt May asked in surprise, "Is this what they teach in school these days?"

I was about to answer when Uncle Ben cut in, "Hell no! At least not until the damn government changes. They want kids to stay dumb so they can be easily controlled citiz—"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Ben, I told you to stop listening to conspiracy theorists!" Aunt May scolded, cutting him off.

Uncle Ben defended himself. "I didn’t 'hear it' from somewhere; I know it from what I’ve observed."

Aunt May gave him a pointed look. "So what you’re saying is, you’re a conspiracy theorist."

Uncle Ben sputtered in protest. "No, I’m not! Let’s just watch the video."

We all laughed, letting him off the hook, and continued watching. When the video reached the part with the watermelon experiment, I winced as the room fell into a tense silence.

"Don’t tell me you did that?" Aunt May exclaimed, clearly horrified.

Panicking, I blurted out, "No, I didn’t!" But the Peter in the video betrayed me with his voiceover: "So, I’m gonna test this thing on myself."

"PETERRR!" Aunt May yelled again.

"What? He’s going to explain himself—look!" I pointed desperately at the TV.

When the diving part came up, Aunt May’s concern spiked again. "Does he know how to dive?" she asked, looking at Uncle Ben.

"He doesn’t," Uncle Ben replied, just in time for the video version of himself to say, "You don’t know how to dive."

Aunt May’s mouth hung open in shock as she turned to me. "I don’t want you making any more videos if you’re going to be doing dangerous things all the time."

I started whining. "Come on, Aunt May, nobody got hurt!"

She nodded but didn’t reply, clearly still worried.

As the video finished, I nervously asked, "So, what do you guys think?"

They both smiled, offering praise for the video. But Aunt May had a question. "By the way, did you use two cameras? How did you film the last dive both underwater and you jumping?"

I explained, "Oh no, I just dived twice, and Uncle Ben got in the water to shoot that part."

She nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "Do you want to learn how to dive... properly?"

I was confused. "Why?"

She looked pensive before answering. "Your father was a great diver too."

Her words hit me like a truck, and my body instinctively froze, a response to the mention of Peter’s parents.

"I’ll think about it," I muttered before running back to my room. As I closed the door, I heard Uncle Ben’s concerned voice through my heightened senses. "You shouldn’t have said that, May. You know how he is."

Ignoring Aunt May’s reply, I slumped against the door, overwhelmed. I didn’t have the same attachment to Peter’s parents, but the familiar feeling of missing my own parents from my universe hit me hard. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. For some reason, I never could cry just from feelings alone—I always needed a movie or a song to help me release the emotions.

I turned on my laptop, searching for a song that might help me cry and get this emotional turmoil over with. But to my surprise, I couldn’t find the song I had in mind.

Confused, I searched for other familiar tracks and discovered something shocking—neither I nor the original Peter had noticed until now. The music in this world was completely different from what I knew. The realization that I couldn’t find the music to cry myself to sleep to only deepened the sadness in my heart, locking my throat tight.

---

**Uncle Ben’s POV:**

I watched as Peter hurried off to his room and turned to May. "You shouldn’t have said that, May. You know how he is."

May turned to me, her eyes red. "How much longer?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"What?" I was confused.

"How much longer are we going to ignore his parents’ death?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Twenty years of instinct and love made me pull her into a hug before the tears started falling. She clung to me, sobbing softly. "I don’t want to ignore their sacrifice," she mumbled into my shoulder.

"I know," I said gently, "that’s why you insist on him calling us Aunt and Uncle."

She nodded, her tears soaking into my shirt. "I don’t want him to forget them. They were good people and deserved better."

I didn’t say anything to that, just held her closer. After a while, she cried herself to sleep, mumbling, "Go check on Peter. I’m tired... I’ll go to sleep."

I let her rest on the sofa, covering her with a blanket, and went upstairs to Peter’s room. Before I could knock, I heard rapid breathing from inside—Peter was having a panic attack.

"Peter, are you okay?" I asked through the door, recognizing the symptoms from my time in the force.

The breathing didn’t stop, so I gently guided him. "Peter, listen to me. Breathe slowly, really slowly, okay?"

I listened as his breathing began to slow down.

"What triggered the panic attack?" I asked softly.

There was a long pause before Peter’s voice came through the door, shaky and strained.

"Music."