Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prelude: 

Five people have died trying to save Peter.

He counts them on his fingers. 

Part One:

Peter Parker was four years old.

His favorite thing to do with his mother was to bake with her. Well— His mother was the one that did the actual baking. She let Peter lick the spoon after he mixed the batter, sometimes. Peter especially loved to lick the spoon after they’d been mixing brownie batter, but nothing beat the finished brownies when they were fresh out of the oven.

One time, Peter had decided to help more than just mixing. When the timer went off and his mother was washing her hands in the bathroom down the hall, bare four-year-old hands pulled the oven opened and made a grab for the pan of brownies.

Peter didn’t try to open the oven again after that.

His favorite thing to do with his father was to race with the little robots the older man brought home from his lab at Stark Industries. His father always won. Peter didn’t get upset about it, he just tried harder next round. He knew he was getting closer to winning with every round.

One time, Peter used his own robot that his Uncle Ben had helped him work on last time Peter stayed the weekend. It could hardly stay standing on its own two legs— Uncle Ben may have given Peter a book on how to build robots for his birthday, but he did not know how to do many of the things written in the book. But their robot won anyway, stumbling right past Peter’s father’s robot, which stood still while the owner watched his son’s creation with a dazzling smile that only grew when the shutter of a camera was heard.

It was the next weekend when Peter got dropped off at his aunt and uncle’s house for the entire week when everything changed. It was the second to last day of his stay and Peter had been working on his little robot when it happened. All of the phones in the house started ringing at once. He looked up, mildly interested as Ben got up to answer his cell phone, but quickly redirected his attention back to the pile of scrap metals and circuits on the table in front of him.

The earliest clear memory Peter actually has of this day without needing to be filled in was the heart-wrenching scream that left his aunt’s mouth after Ben hung up the phone. It jolted him out of his work, and he almost fell out of his chair, heart beginning to race in his chest as he stared at the doorway that his uncle had disappeared through.

Nervous energy caused his palms to sweat as he climbed down from his stool in the garage and tottered towards the door that led inside, goosebumps erupting all over his arms even as he walked into the heated room. May was sitting at the kitchen table in the next room over, sobbing with her face in her hands and Ben by her side.

Peter was confused. He waddled in and took her hand, very large compared to his own, but dwarfed by the size of Ben’s when he joined them. Peter very gently asked his aunt why she was crying, part of him thinking that perhaps one of the brownies he had brought with him might make her feel better— but she just pulled him close, hugging him tightly to her chest and crying harder still.

Frantic confusion and desperation started to mask all other emotions as Peter struggled to grasp the situation, hugging her back as tears started to well up in his own eyes. Ben hugged them, too, his big arms looping around both of them at once and providing a comfort that Peter deeply desired.

The next day, waiting for his parents to come take him home, Peter discovered why his aunt had been so upset.

His parents weren’t coming to take him home.

Peter’s stuff was moved from his house, his room, to May and Ben’s house. He started staying in his room there instead. They still took him to the same school even though it wasn’t the closest by far. Peter never ate the brownies that his mother had dropped off for him, and he threw a fit when they started to grow stale and Ben tried to throw them away. He lost the fight in the end, and the last creation of his mother’s hand disappeared down the street in a garbage truck.

So Peter stayed with his aunt and uncle, told that his parents had died on their plane ride home when it crashed.

(Much, much later, Peter would discover that the crash resulting in his parents death was set up as a result of an investigation set to take down the Red Skull and make the world a safer place for everyone— including himself.)

Chapter Text

Part Two : 

Peter Parker was thirteen years old.

His favorite thing to do with his Aunt May was to take photos with her. She would take him out into the city, give him the camera, and let him run wild. He had only ever dropped it once, and he had been lucky enough to be on the ground anyway— There had been a bug on the ground that he had never seen before. He wasn’t taking a picture, but he wanted to see it up close, and the camera tumbled from his hands, falling the mere inch between his hands and the ground. He had been horrified with himself, but May had just laughed it off.

Peter liked to people-watch. He didn’t go to the park to take pictures of nature, he had May drive him into the very heart of Queens to snap photos of people on their ways to work, or appointments, or other business-related things. He had a few good ones, but since he was still a beginner, most of them were still blurry. He and May would always make up stories about where the people in the photos were going.

There was one of a woman who had a bag full of books and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, though it was clear that she was struggling to maintain her balance due to the angle of her arms as she stepped down from the curb— Her expression was a dead-giveaway, too. Eyebrows high on her forehead and her mouth fallen opened into an ‘o’ of shock as she nearly lost her footing. Peter liked the picture because it captured a girl who’s clothes and hairdo suggested she was normally very composed in a situation where her humanity was showing.

Her name was Sasha, Peter had told May as soon as they stepped into the café the girl had just been leaving. She was a student at Queens College majoring in psychology, and she had stopped for coffee on her way to class. All those books were for her classes on the studies of body language and the human brain, which was why she needed coffee— To make her own brain work, so she could learn to make other people's work as well.

May had liked that story. She bought Peter a smoothie since he didn’t care much for coffee, and they spent the rest of the day looking for more interesting photography. They never did capture any more moments as exciting as a psychology major tripping off of a sidewalk, but Peter never struggled to think up another outrageous story for every face he found in his photos.

Peter’s favorite thing to do with his Uncle Ben was to get ready in the morning. Ben didn’t have a steady job, but he had a routine, and Peter would always follow it with him when he was getting up in the morning. They would rise at 6:30 and meet in the kitchen to share a glorious breakfast of cereal and a glass of OJ (though, on weekends, they would often make pancakes and ‘surprise’ May— She began to expect it). After breakfast, they took turns showering and getting dressed, then brushed their teeth in front of the mirror over the sink. Ben would shave, and Peter would pretend to do the same, even though he wasn’t old enough to do it for real yet. After that, Peter would head to school.

He liked getting ready with Uncle Ben because it made him feel like he was an adult. He liked feeling responsible and old enough to decide what to wear, instead of his Aunt picking his clothes out for him— Even though he knew that May picked out a lot of Ben’s clothes for him anyway. It was just fun.

Peter’s favorite thing to do by himself was to work on his science projects. He was still tinkering with the robot that he and Ben had created ten years prior— It was much more complex than it was before, now that Peter had a better grasp on what he was doing. He had watched every single show and documentary about Tony Stark and Bruce Banner that was in existence, whether it was actually about inventions or not, but it was especially great when they were about inventions. Particularly robots, although Peter loved Mr. Banner’s talks about Gamma Radiation and Mr. Stark’s chats about what it was like to be Iron Man just as much as he liked the robotics.

Sometimes when there were do-it-yourself moments on the shows that were announced ahead of time, Peter would save up his money for weeks just so he could get the scraps he would need to follow along. Eyes shining, he would sit in front of the glowing screen, hands flying as one of the scientists at Stark Industries would demonstrate a simple experiment, or how to build a miniature robot.

Most of his projects ended up on hold out in the garage, but Ben and May didn’t mind as long as he kept his mess out of their house. It was mostly May who didn’t want the clutter— Ben sometimes just watched Peter work, watched Peter stare at the men on screen with a huge smile, or watched Peter talk animatedly about his idols with literal stars in his eyes.

Peter didn’t own a lot of books, since May didn’t make enough to splurge on stuff like that, but whenever he could, the kid would ask his uncle to drive him to the library. Sometimes he would spend hours there, and if he wasn’t finished, he would take the books home with him. Every work about Tony Stark, every work by Bruce Banner, and sometimes a few about other famous engineers or scientists, or the occasional history book that was centered around Steve Rogers and his Howling Commandos.

Whenever Peter got sick, which happened often, Uncle Ben would go pick out a book from the library for Peter to read while he was stuck in bed. He usually picked ones Peter had read already, but the pre-teen didn’t mind. He loved his uncle for even thinking of something like that. Sometimes he would. Migrate to the couch and read with a documentary he had already seen buzzing quietly in the background, but sometimes he couldn’t even leave his bed. Those were the days when Ben moved the spare TV into Peter’s room— “ This is temporary, so don’t get too comfortable!”— and let him watch from the comfort of his covers.

Needless to say, Peter was happy with his aunt and uncle. He knew it wasn’t ideal that they got stuck with him, what with Ben struggling to keep a job, and May trying to support herself and two others, but it just made him even more thankful that they would do so. He couldn’t remember enough about his parents to miss them that much, but he did anyway. He had their pictures on his bedside table, smiling down at him every night as he slept and up at him every time he rose in the morning.

(Much, much later, Peter would discover that his parents had worked very closely with one Tony Stark, and it wasn’t much of a surprise at all that he had inherited such intelligence.)

Peter Parker was fourteen years old, and it was his freshman year of high school.

He was enrolled in Midtown High School, which was rather exciting, considering the fact that it had a great Science department and the Decathlon team was supposed to be really great. The Captain last year had won them the championships, from what Peter had heard, and he was excited to see if they could make it happen again.

The first day of school had gone pretty smoothly, all things considered. Peter knew that his glasses were too big for his face, and some of his clothes were too big for his body , so that was going to get some stares. He had been prepared for that. He had been prepared for the droning lectures about the expectations in every single class (all honors, which May was probably more proud of than Peter was), and the awkward dad jokes that no male teacher seemed to be capable of forgetting.

Peter’s favorite teacher by far was his science teacher, Mr. Warren. He wasn’t awkward about anything. He was blunt, and straight to the point, but he didn’t dance around the kids like the rest of Peter’s teachers seemed a little too fond of doing. He had safety contracts, and that alone got Peter excited about the possibilities. The shows he had watched never had any experiments that could be potentially dangerous— The amount of equipment in this room and the number of rules on that piece of paper were stretching to limits beyond that of Peter’s television.

Peter’s least favorite teacher, again, by far, was Coach Murch, the gym teacher. Peter was already uncomfortable with gym class in middle school, and high school was even worse. Everyone knew that a high school gym class was the most hellish place on Earth. They had all seen the movies. I mean, come on. Just One Of The Guys was a great example of why Peter wanted nothing to do with this at all.

The worst part was that the classes had students from all four grades. Peter, with his rotten Parker Luck, wound up choosing a locker that a bulky senior had already called dibs on four years earlier. He learned very quickly that freshmen do not get the luxury of having their own locker, and ended up forcing his bulging backpack into the same locker as another boy who looked like he belonged in a magazine and smelled like he bathed in Axe body spray.

Five minutes later, Peter was dressed in one of Ben’s old t-shirts that was almost hanging off of his shoulders and, thankfully, his own basketball shorts that he had gotten for his birthday a few weeks before school started. He hastily tucked a large amount of the shirt into his shorts, pulling the collar up his shoulder every few minutes and ducking away from the sneers of the older boys as he dove out into the gymnasium.

Almost immediately after class begun, he got yelled at.

“Hey, you! Yeah, the little one with the glasses!” The boy in question nearly jumped out of his skin, then froze, looking over his shoulder at the hulking figure that towered over him, glowering down with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Childishly, Peter observed the way Coach Murch’s shadow swamped him almost completely, and tried to pretend this was some kind of cartoon, but the words that came out of his teacher’s mouth next shattered that fantasy into a million pieces.

“What’s with the cartoonish glasses, kid? This is real life. You can’t play sports with those falling off your face every other second.” Peter really didn’t like the coach’s voice. It was really low and gravelly. It wasn’t pleasant. A shiver ran down his spine as he averted his eyes, subconsciously pushing his glasses up his nose and running his fingers through his hair.

“Um, I need these to see, Mr. Coach Murch, Sir,” he said quickly, cheeks becoming slightly pink. The coach raised an eyebrow, straightening up to his full height, and Peter stared up at him with slight wonder, mouth falling opened. He quickly closed it again, growing self-conscious of the fact that he was now starting to feel multiple gazes train themselves on his back.

“Not in here, you don’t,” Murch said finally, tone sounding uncomfortably final as he held out his hand. “Give them here. You can pick them up at the end of class.” Peter was slightly taken aback. He had never had his glasses taken from him before. Not even in middle school gym class. Aunt May and Uncle Ben has signed something saying that he couldn’t see without them. Maybe he’d have to ask them to do the same here.

“Um, I don’t think you understand—“ Peter tried to explain, but was cut off.

“Listen, punk. Don’t test me.” The warning in his voice was clear enough. Peter swallowed thickly and took off his glasses, blinking a few times as his world was blurred out completely. He squinted, missing Murch’s hand three times before he finally placed his frames on the man’s palm and the shadow over his was gone.

Peter stumbled away and almost immediately bumped into someone, apologizing profusely, and then stuck to the walls for the rest of class. Apparently, the older boys took this as an invitation to aim for him at dodgeball, like hitting him was the biggest challenge. Maybe it was because he was far away, maybe it was just because he was the youngest. He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it left his cheek stinging and his stomach throbbing where he got hit with flying rubber balls of fire.

True to his word, Murch gave Peter his glasses back at the end of the period. The boy was just relieved he got them back before he had to change, because it would have been a disaster if he didn’t.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, until school ended and Decathlon began. This was what Peter had been looking forward to all summer, but being one of the first people there was not something he had been prepared for.

He could see a few familiar faces amongst freshmen as they came in and looked for seats. There was a girl who he saw in his English class, a boy who was in his math and history classes, and then one more boy who sat next to him in his science class.

The last of the three made an awkward but noticeable beeline for Peter the second he saw him and practically threw himself down beside him, taking a breath, and then freezing. He cast a short look at Peter, who was staring at him with huge eyes, even bigger behind his glasses, then straightened up with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I just didn’t see anyone else I knew. Is it alright if I sit with you?” He asked, hunching his shoulders slightly. Peter just nodded, slight warmth bubbling up in his stomach at the idea of making a new friend. The blonde also sported glasses, which fit his face much better than Peter’s fit his own, but he had a rather large nose.

“I’m Peter,” Peter introduced himself, holding out his hand. The boy took it and they shook hands.

“I’m Charlie,” the boy replied with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter. Glad to finally meet a friendly face.” And with that, the tension melted.

“I know, right?!” Peter whisper-shouted, glancing around a bit self-consciously. “Everyone either already knows each other, or just doesn’t want to know me.”

“Well, not everyone!” Charlie supplied helpfully, and finally, Peter smiled. Maybe this high school thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

(Later, Peter would discover that not all people who wanted to know him then would want to know him forever, and high school was so bad after all.)

Peter Parker was still fourteen years old, and Charlie Weiderman was nothing but trouble.

To spare Charlie’s father and Peter’s aunt and uncle the gas money, both boys had opted to start walking home from school. Peter saw no problem with it, and even brought May’s camera once or twice, taking pictures of pedestrians as well as the occasional snapshot of Charlie himself.

Three months into school, Peter was mostly glad to have someone to share his enthusiasm with. Nobody else even spared him a glance aside from Mr. Warren. Mr. Harrington was the teacher who was in charge of the Decathlon team, but all he really did was supervise the meetings (if sitting in the corner on his phone counted as supervising) and set up the field trips, according to one of the sophomore girls that Peter had overheard walking in to his fourth or fifth meeting.

The only downside to being friends with Charlie was that Peter knew without him, he would be a lot more invisible to the jocks of the school. He was small, and easy to look past. Charlie, however, practically threw himself into dangerous situations with dangerous people. People like Eugene Thompson and his crew of juniors.

Eugene, or as he liked to be called, ‘Flash’, was honest to God the most disappointing human being Peter had ever had the displeasure of knowing. He was a sophomore, in the grade above Peter, but he somehow got a gang of surly juniors who were on the varsity football team to do his dirty work every once in a while. The footballers weren’t in Decathlon, but Flash was, and sometimes words hurt more than fists, in Peter’s opinion.

However, it seemed like Charlie didn’t think either thing hurt enough, because he was always picking fights with them. Every day he showed up with some new bruises. It was making Peter regret agreeing to walk home, because every day he was 98% certain to get his ass handed to him after school.

Like today.

Peter closed his locker and pushed his glasses up on his nose, heaving a soft sigh as he turned and started down the mostly empty hallway. Most other people booked it out without going to their lockers, or had clubs and sports, so he was generally one of the few freshman who actually utilized the space. Swinging his heavy bag over his shoulder, Peter pinched his brow and paused at the top of the stairs.

His head was aching a little already. He could only hope that yesterday’s beating had made up for Charlie’s mouth, but he had a feeling it hadn’t. Not in Flash’s book. Sometimes Peter felt bitter towards his friend. Why did Charlie have to go and say rude things to people like Flash? Why did he have to egg on the footballers when they were beating the shit out of them?

Part of Peter just accepted it at this point, but there was no denying the anxiety bubbling in his stomach as he walked down the stairs. He had been lucky enough to avoid any facial hits that would bruise so far, but he had a feeling Ben knew about his tormentors by the way he sometimes looked at Charlie’s bruises whenever he came by the house.

Peter knew some of the marks were from someone else, because sometimes Charlie showed up with fresh cuts and bruises when they hadn’t been jumped the previous day, and Peter’s best guess was that his friend’s father wasn’t as friendly as one could hope. It wasn’t exactly fair that someone who actually got to have a father didn’t get to enjoy it, in Peter’s opinion, but there was nothing he could do outside of having Charlie over as often as possible.

Walking out into the sun, Peter took a breath of fresh air, tugging his rather large sweatshirt around his shoulders and shivering a little bit. It was the dead of autumn, soon to turn towards winter. He was going to need to talk to May about saving up for a better coat. His old one was way too small.

Before he could even take another step out of the building, someone bumped against his shoulder hard, and he stumbled. Looking up, Peter’s churning stomach only settled when he saw that it was Charlie, not Flash or Seymour, or any of those other jocks. The blonde had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Peter’s heart sank when he saw the sweat dripping from his friend’s brow, because it could only mean one thing.

“You feeling like a run today?” The kid asked breathily.

“There he is!” A voice echoed across the clearing. Peter looked up sharply, eyes narrowing behind his frames as he spotted Seymour O’Reilly, Flash’s no. 1 hitman when it came to hunting down people like Charlie.

“Charlie,” Peter said sternly, stumbling when his friend grabbed his wrist and yanked him along, walking fast and talking faster.

“Save it, Parker!” Charlie crowed, slinging his arm around Peter’s shoulders and rubbing his knuckles into the boy’s head roughly. Peter flinched, squeaking in pain as he pushed the kid away, cheeks flushed red.

“You’re going to be the death of me!” Peter complained, breaking into a jog to catch up to the boy, and then quickening his pace into a run as Seymour’s voice got a bit louder. “Let’s go, maybe we can make the subway before he figures out which way we went.” Charlie just laughed, but followed willingly as Peter led the way. They had discovered a few shortcuts that the jocks didn’t know about. Granted, they were generally really thin alleyways that the boys wouldn’t be able to follow them down anyway, but it was still witty in Peter’s opinion.

They didn’t speak while they ran, Peter wheezing after hardly a mile, and despite his skinny frame, Charlie was actually doing pretty good for himself. Peter thought it may be because he’s used to this, which made him sad, but he figured he would be used to it eventually, too, if this continued, so he pressed on, ignoring the growing cramp in his side.

They reached the subway in just under fifteen minutes and hurried down the steps, Peter waiting anxiously for Charlie to buy their tickets. The train was supposed to leave in two minutes, this was the most high-speed chase of his life. He glanced at the entrance a few times, shifting his feet antsily. He saw a mop of brown hair heading down the steps at a fast pace and his heart skipped a beat.

“Hurry!” He hissed to Charlie, who threw down the money and took the tickets, rushing off. Peter followed closely, his heart sitting in his throat as they rushed through the halls, searching for the right train. The announcement for the departure rang over the loudspeaker, and Peter flinched. If they didn’t get on that train now , there was a good chance it would leave without them.

He grabbed Charlie’s wrist and yanked him in a different direction, ducking under arms and around random people until finally there was a clear patch and he made a break for the train.

“I see them!” A voice rang out, and Peter shoved Charlie ahead of him as the doors started to close, squishing him into the train as quickly as he could. The gap was too small for him to follow, so he backed off, shaking his head disapprovingly as Charlie, who just shrugged sheepishly through the window of the train. Peter turned around as the train started to roll away, watching the familiar kids emerge from the crowd and zero in on him.

“Well, what have we got here?” Seymour asked with a snarky grin, pushing to the front of the group. He grabbed Peter by the front of his hoodie, dragging him back through the station. Peter struggled, glancing around helplessly at a few passers by who were rushing around. He didn’t dare yell out, and that seemed to be the death of him— Everyone was in too much of a rush to notice a scrawny kid being dragged across the train station and up the steps, then thrown onto the sidewalk outside.

Peter scrambled away, getting to his feet and turning to run, only to feel a hefty shove to his back and fall forwards, skinning his palms on the pavement. He sucked in a harsh breath, clutching his hands to his chest and walking on his knees.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Seymour asked, amusement dripping from his voice, and even though Peter couldn’t see him, he knew the jock was smiling that malicious smile he always got when he was about to drill his fist into Charlie’s stomach.

Because it was always Charlie. Seymour never had a go at Peter. Peter was never the one he was after. But now Charlie was gone, and there were five boys here ready to pound on him.

“He thinks he can run away from the problems his friend caused for us,” Flash’s voice chimed in. Peter was yanked to his feet and pushed forwards. His heart was beating unnaturally fast in his chest as he was directed into the nearest alley, one that was definitely big enough for all of the boys there.

The two boys who had Peter by the arms turned him around and stripped his backpack off, throwing it further into the shadows. Peter gasped when they started to yank his sweatshirt upwards, their cold fingers brushing against his stomach when his shirt had a little lift as well.

“S-Stop,” he gasped, tears prickling in his eyes as a distant memory began to resurface, but they just shoved his shirt back down and took the sweatshirt the rest of the way off.

“Aww, is Penis Parker gonna cry?” Flash mocked, earning a chuckle from the rest of the group. Peter blinked, and a few of the tears fell, blurring his vision. Or, no.. He didn’t have his glasses on. Someone had taken them off. The real panic started to set in as he realized he couldn’t see a thing, and five boys were surrounding him with violent intentions.

“Stop it… Let me go!” Peter demanded, struggling against the two holding his arms, but their grips just tightened. There was a harsh sneer right next to his ear, and he flinched, hot tears hitting his cheeks as someone’s breath fanned out against the back of his neck.

“I’ll decide when they’re done with you, Parker,” Flash sneere. “And it looks like you’re serving double today. Once for your stupid friend and once for yourself.” That was when the first punch connected with Peter’s face. His head snapped back on his neck as pain crackled in his nose, and he felt a sticky liquid start to dribble down immediately. His ears were ringing, and the tears were really falling now, though these were involuntary, due to the pain. He drew in a shuddering breath, and then it left his body as a fist collided with his stomach, stealing all of the air in his lungs.

Peter fell slack in the two boys’ arms, head lolling forward, but he was held up as Seymour swung at him thrice more. All he knew were blobs of color and immense pain in his face and torso as everything else began to dull down, and he closed in on himself.

“Put his glasses on,” a faint voice said. Peter blinked, flinching at the feel of cold plastic against his swelling nose, and squinted up at Flash, who was grinning like this was the best day of his life.

“God, Parker, you should see yourself. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He smirked, and Peter just looked away, waiting for it to be over. He knew better than to fight back. He would just get another dose of pain. “I bet your parents will be real upset when they see you like this.” That hit home. Peter flinched harder than he had when Seymour hit him the first time. Flash’s laughter rang in his eardrums, but Peter just bit his lip, ignoring how obviously swollen and bloody it was as he worried it between his teeth. “Oh, wait…”

“Anything else, Flash?” Seymour asked, voice suddenly rather bored-sounding. “If not, you’d better pay up and scram, ‘cause you’re on thin ice as it is.” Peter looked up sharply, eyes widening. Flash looked stricken, and his face darkened in color. Peter was the one smirking now as Flash dug around in his pockets and pulled out a few bills, handing one to each of the other boys. The two holding Peter let go, and he slumped to his knees, but he was still snickering as the four jocks walked away, counting their dough.

“So that’s how you got a bunch of juniors to hang out with you?” Peter mocked. He wasn’t afraid of Flash, especially not since his dignity had just been stripped before Peter's very eyes. Flash glared at him and turned around, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, how else am I supposed to make you two losers pay for your mouths?” He spat over his shoulder. Peter heaved a sigh, shaking his head even though it hurt.

“Flash, this isn’t making you better than us. You realize that, right?”

The boy didn’t answer. Shoulders hunched, he walked out of the alley, leaving Peter on his knees with blood on his face and half a mind to go after him.

(Later, Peter will discover that had he gone after Flash then, he might have saved himself and his future friends a lot of unneeded trouble.)

Despite the parts of being friends with Charlie that made it hard, there were other parts that made up for that on a grand level.

For instance, Charlie was always willing to listen when Peter had something to say, and it was always easy to listen when Charlie had something to say. Despite their friendship being rather new (only about three months old, to be exact), they already had a working system that Peter adored and he had never had one quite like it with anyone his age before this.

“You don’t gotta study so hard, Pete. It’s just a quiz,” Charlie pointed out. They were settled on the couch with the heat on and mugs of hot chocolate at their sides. Charlie was focusing lazily on the television where a Christmas movie was playing. The holidays were approaching. The blonde was laying across Peter’s legs just below the knees while the brunet himself had a book and some note cards in his lap that he was looking over extremely closely.

“I’m not just studying for Spanish, I’m studying for Decathlon, too,” Peter replied absentmindedly. Charlie’s hair kept tickling his fingers whenever he went to turn a page, but he didn’t mind.

“Well, take a break. You’ve been studying all afternoon, we should do something fun.” Charlie rolled over, putting his chin on the book and looking up at Peter with puppy dog eyes. Peter sighed, turning his attention onto the Spanish note cards instead.

“Your idea of fun is prodding at Flash until he chases us to the subway and you nearly get caught,” Peter countered. “I took the brunt of that attack, remember? You ran off and they didn’t even touch you. Forgive me if I’d rather stick to my own for a while.”

“You’re still mad about that?” Charlie whined, hugging Peter’s knees and pressing his cheek into the pages of the book. “I told you, I’m sorry. I was gonna go get Ben once I dropped my stuff at home, but Dad wasn’t really in a good mood.” His voice got quieter as the sentence progressed, and immediately, Peter felt a twinge of guilt. He frowned, looking up from his work and peering at his friend, who was poking the couch cushions absently.

It wasn’t like Peter didn’t know Charlie’s dad was an asshole. He really was. He was an asshole who beat his kid when he didn’t get his way, and who didn’t work, leaving his mother-in-law to pick up his slack. The brunet sighed again, brushing his fingertips against his friend’s hair. He had quickly discovered that it comforted the boy after first learning of the father’s antics, and it just stuck.

“Fine,” he finally relented. “Let’s go pick up Sarah and go to the park.”

It took them a while, but eventually the two kids got off the couch. It started with a scuffle that Charlie initiated— Rubbing his knuckles into the top of Peter’s head and messing up his already-disastrous hair— and settled into a few lazy smiles as Peter got to his feet and pulled the blonde into a standing position, slinging his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Sneaking Sarah out of the house was usually pretty easy, since Mr. Weiderman was hardly ever home. She didn’t even have to climb out any windows. They simply rapped their knuckles against the door and waited.

“She has a crush on you,” Charlie would tell Peter snidely from time to time while they waited, which left Peter a mess of red cheeks and sputtering denial when the girl opened the door. Today they just waited quietly, though, leaning against each other gently and staring at the faded paint on the wood.

“Hey!” The door swung open and a cheerful 12-year-old girl with dark hair and pale skin hopped outside, clad in an old wool hat and a pair of mittens with so many holes that they might as well have been fingerless gloves. Anticipating this, Peter threw the extra jacket of May’s that he had brought around her shoulders and offered the gloves he had bought at the Dollar Tree around the corner. They weren’t the best, but at least they didn’t have holes.

“Thanks, Peter,” she smiled shyly as he zipped up her coat, cheeks dusted pink, and Peter told himself it was because of the cold, but he wasn’t sure he was convinced. Charlie wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk, but Peter just bumped shoulders with him, heart swelling with affection for the both of them.

The sound of a car had them freezing in their tracks. Peter felt a hand close around his wrist. Charlie. Sarah grabbed his sleeve. He turned, watching Mr. Weiderman weave his way drunkenly up the driveway in broad daylight with slight apprehension.

“Where d’you think—“ the man began to slur, but his voice trailed off into a grumble at the end. Charlie lifted his chin, pushing Peter behind him slightly, much to the brunet’s distaste— Charlie, always trying to be the hero. Brave, kind, selfless Charlie.

“For a walk,” the boy answered calmly, and there was only a hint of defiance in his voice. “We’ll be back before sundown. Go take a shower, you smell like shit.” And with that, Peter was being dragged down the driveway, Sarah close behind.

“Why, you little fucker!” Mr. Weiderman shouted after them, but Charlie ignored him, turning the corner and continuing to speed down the street. Peter twisted his wrist in Charlie’s grip, catching the boy’s fingers with his own and threading them together before doing the same with Sarah to make sure they didn’t get separated. He was pretty sure they weren’t being followed, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

They didn’t stop until they got all the way to the park. Peter was wheezing uncontrollably, and he let go of both Charlie and Sarah’s hands to take a breather by himself. He stood a few feet away, calming his erratic heartbeat and taking deep breaths.

“Never again,” he promised both kids when he returned, the creases in his forehead deepening as he sat on the frosty grass. The park was relatively empty due to it being the winter time. All three of the kids sat in their usual positions, which were as follows— Peter, with Charlie’s head in his lap, and Sarah to his left, occasionally tugging on one of his curls. Peter had his own fingers threaded through Charlie’s hair, too.

They would sit like that for hours on any day they felt like it. Sometimes it was freezing like that day, but earlier in the year it had been pretty warm for the most part. Peter’s favorite part was that they usually let him do all of the talking, which he didn’t get elsewhere. Normally it was the usual stuff about Tony Stark, or Bruce Banner, but sometimes it was about a fictional book he had rather enjoyed, or a project they were doing in school.

They never kept track of time. Peter’s phone was on silent, and he never thought to pull it out. That day in particular was rather quiet, but the three gradually got closer, huddling against the cold, until all three bodies were in a heap and the sun was a lot further down than it was supposed to be when Charlie and Sarah headed home.

“You guys can come back to my place,” Peter offered as they started to stand up. Charlie smiled, and Peter couldn’t help but smile back, standing up and shifting his feet against the frozen ground.

“Thanks, Pete. But we can’t.” Charlie stretched, and Peter’s smile faded. Sometimes Charlie did agree to go home with him. This was one of the occasions where he just didn’t.

“Oh—“ Peter said, then shrugged like it was no big deal. “Sure. I mean, no problem. You can hold on to the coat, May never wears it anymore. She got a new one as an early a Christmas present. Actually, I think—“

“Peter,” Charlie cut him off, and Peter was suddenly very aware of a heavy hand on his shoulder as well as the intensity of his friend’s gaze into his own eyes. He swallowed thickly, cheeks heating up slightly, and then he got shocked out of his system as Charlie pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh— We do— We do hugs now?” Peter stammered awkwardly. “I mean, I’m down, I just— We just— I mean, I knew we were close, and you put your head in my lap and all that, but we’ve just never—“

“Peter!” Charlie said again, laughter in his voice as he pulled away. “You’re babbling about nothing. Just hug me back so I can take my sister home.” Peter stared, dumbfounded. Then he glanced at Sarah, who was covering her smile with a gloved hand.

“Okay,” he relented, and then Charlie was hugging him again, and he was hugging back. It was kind of nice. He had never hugged someone the same size as him before.

It was almost too soon when his friend pulled away. Peter shivered a little, and waved awkwardly as the two siblings walked off, holding hands and bumping shoulders.

They didn’t look back.

(Later, Peter realizes he wishes he had hugged Charlie more often— This was the only one he ever got.)

Peter Parker is still fourteen years old, and he is halfway through his first year of high school.

Midterms were hell. And that was putting it nicely. Peter had slaved over his books for hours in the month leading up to those stupid exams. Charlie had helped him a few times, but between Decathlon and science class, Peter didn’t see a lot of his friend.

He had started getting rides home from Uncle Ben ever since the incident outside the subway. Peter had been upset with Charlie for a while after that, especially after finding out that the boy had simply gone home without telling anyone Peter was in trouble. Instead, Peter got his ass handed to him, and then dragged himself home late to a worried sick Aunt May and a stern Uncle Ben.

So, needless to say, Peter had two pairs of eyes watching him closely, and Charlie had some pretty close eyes on him as well after Peter told Uncle Ben why the boys had been after them in the first place.

Peter pulled a few all-nighters leading up to midterms. He tried to eat when Mays left food, but he didn’t drink anything unless it was within arm’s reach, and it hadn’t done very well for his head during the actual exams. He came out with a pounding headache and a parched throat, eyes red and bloodshot behind his glasses, and craving the weekend.

May had made his favorite dinner that night, and Peter forced himself to stay awake long enough to eat it, then fell asleep on the couch with his head in Ben’s lap and his favorite episode of a documentary on Stark Industries playing on the television.

That weekend, Charlie was staying over.

“God, midterms were shit, huh?” The blonde asked, flopping back on Peter’s bed as he entered the room. Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and tightened his blanket around himself as he flipped the page of a book that Ben had gotten him from the library. It was one of the few he hadn’t read about Tony Stark, but he knew most of the information he had read so far. Still. It was Tony freaking Stark, and dammit if Peter was going to pass up on reading anything about that man.

“Yup,” Peter grunted, taking a sip of water and squinting at the page. He hadn’t known that Tony knew Peggy Carter. Of course, it was a given that Howard Stark would have, as both historical figures were close with Steve Rogers, or, Captain America, but it was interesting to know that Tony knew the woman too. Perhaps Howard had just never lost touch.

“How do you think you did?” Charlie asked, and Peter knew that his friend knew it was the wrong question, because resentment started to fill his chest at the thought of his own midterms, just as it did for almost every other test ever.

“Do you really want to know?” Peter grumbled, gripping his book tightly, even though he was hardly taking in what was on the page anymore. “Terrible. I didn’t even get in the last few hours of study time I wanted because I fell asleep on the last night. The last night, Charlie!”

“Oh my God, relax, Peter. You ace every test. There’s no way you failed this.” Charlie rolled his eyes, pulling one of Peter’s cheapo comic books off of his barren shelves and opening it. “Plus, I think I did pretty good, and I’m not as smart as you, so you definitely did great.” Peter scoffed, shaking his head. He knew it was true. Charlie was brilliant, a great asset in Decathlon, but he definitely wasn’t as smart as Peter. Not that Peter would ever admit that. He knew he was smart, but it always felt impossible that he had actually succeeded at something like a test or an exam.

“I don’t know,” he huffed, shrugging. “We’ll see.”

“What you need,” Charlie said, lowering the comic book to peer at Peter, who looked at him over his book with raised eyebrows, “is to get your mind off of all of that shit. We should go somewhere this weekend.”

“We should not, ” Peter countered, shaking his head. “No way Ben will let us. Besides, where would we even go?”

“I don’t know!” Charlie replied, exasperated. “Someone from school is throwing a party, open invite. We could go to that. It’s tonight at nine.”

“Absolutely not,” Peter replied in his best gruff imitation of Uncle Ben. Charlie snorted, laughing as Peter continued. “There could be drugs, or alcohol! All too easy for one of you to say, ‘Fuck it!’ and become an addict! I am not risking it!” Charlie fell off the bed, clutching his stomach. Peter managed a small smile, and a half-hearted chuckle, but he wasn’t totally kidding. Charlie calmed down and looked over at him, smile fading.

“You were serious,” the boy deadpanned, frowning. Peter shrugged helplessly, turning the page of his book, then half-closing it to peer at the cover. A neat, pristine Tony Stark stared back at him. He sighed, marking his page and closing the book fully.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Charlie,” Peter reasoned, putting his book aside and sitting up straighter. “I mean, Ben wouldn’t like it—“

“So we don’t tell him!” Charlie said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Peter blanched. Go somewhere without telling his uncle? What if he needed him? He had a phone, but what if the service was crappy wherever they were going? And Peter had never been to a party before. What if Flash was there? What Peter had said in the alley really seemed to have riled him up, because his friends had been giving Peter equal treatment to Charlie whenever they caught them lately. This just wasn’t a good idea.

“That— No. This is a horrible, horrible idea,” Peter protested, shaking his head. “We should just stay here, and— And—“

“And watch your stupid Tony Stark documentaries all night long?” Charlie asked bitterly. Peter tensed and gave Charlie a look, hurt. His friend closed his eyes and pinched his brow, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant—“

“No, it is,” Peter interrupted. “That is absolutely what you meant. You just could have said it nicer, but you didn’t.”

“Alright, yes, I’m sorry,” Charlie insisted, shaking his head. “Look, it’s just.. We watch those things every time I’m here, and it’s not that I don’t love how invested you are in his science stuff, but it gets old.” Peter didn’t really understand how that was possible, but he didn’t say anything, regarding Charlie with guarded eyes. His friend rolled his eyes, getting up and pacing around the room.

“Look,” Charlie said, voice suddenly exasperated, “the party is at 157 Hillside Avenue, so if you wanna go, I’m going. If you don’t, then whatever. I guess I’ll just see you on Monday.” Peter watched him leave the room then glanced at the clock. It was 8:45 now. If he changed and left now, he would make it by 9:00. He groaned and put his head in his hands.

“God, why does he have to be so difficult? ” Peter asked himself lowly. He shook his head and straightened up, pulling out a white long-sleeve shirt and switching his t-shirt for it, then throwing on a pair of jeans. It was one of his growing number of outfits that actually fit. He pulled on his old sneakers and grabbed an old backpack, throwing a water bottle, his unfinished book, his phone, a charger, and after a moment of hesitation, the unused pepper spray that May had given him after the day outside the subway station. He didn’t bother doing his hair, he just ran his fingers through it a few times, watching as his wild curls bounced around his forehead with a soft sigh.

Peter left a note on the table despite Charlie’s suggestion of not telling anyone. He left the house quickly, feeling comforted with the idea that Ben will at least know where he is if Peter needs him, or vice versa. His anxiety dwindled regardless of how dark it was as he strolled down the street, breathing in the cold air and suddenly wishing he had brought a jacket.

It was only about a ten minute walk, and as he checked his watch, he saw that it was about 8:55. Being right on time was uncool, anyway, he assured himself. He pulled his phone and his book out of his bag, using the flashlight application to read on the go, losing himself in the words. He looked up before crossing streets and turning corners, but it was mostly sidewalk anyway, and the streets were oddly quiet.

Peter could hear the music from the end of the street. He seriously hoped it was outside, and the death speakers weren’t in the house making people’s eardrums burst. His phone buzzed as he approached the house, and he glanced down at his phone, smiling as a text from May telling him to be careful popped up. He opened it and read her request for him to take a coat next time and let her know if he needed a ride home with a warm feeling in his chest, typing a quick reply that he definitely would, and to be there by the end of the hour.

Parties were not Peter’s scene. He hated every second of that night. Walking into the house was like walking into another dimension. Music blared and the smell of cigarette smoke hit Peter’s nose before he was ready, sending him into a gagging, coughing mess. He forced himself to calm down, ducking around people and searching vainly for Charlie, who was nowhere in sight.

He ended up squished into the furthest corner next to a boy who looked vaguely familiar. Peter realized quickly that he was the other freshman boy in Decathlon who was also in Peter’s English and math classes. He looked totally out of his element, although Peter found himself staring at the boy’s hat for a few moments longer than necessary.

“Um, hi,” Peter said before he could stop himself, flushing a deep red color. This boy probably didn’t want to talk to him. Although, Peter found himself thinking crudely, he didn’t seem to have anyone around who wanted to talk to him, either.

“I’m Ned!” The boy shouted over the music, then face-palmed. “I mean— Hi! Hi first.” He tensed, peering at Peter as if he just remembered that he was still there. “I’m Ned,” he finished again rather lamely. Peter cracked a smile, laughing a little. He could tell he liked this boy.

“I’m Peter!” He introduced himself. “We’re in Decathlon together.”

“Yeah, I know!” Ned replied. “I’ve seen you there, you’re really great!” Pride swelled in Peter’s chest.

“Really?” He asked, and Ned’s eyes widened.

“Dude, seriously? I thought you knew? You’re like, the smartest kid there. Everyone talks about you.”

“They do?” Peter gaped, eyes huge. Ned nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t, I just sit behind the people who do— Nobody actually talks to me— But yeah! They all think you’re like, really valuable to the team!” Ned was smiling now, and Peter was beaming. Nothing about this felt awkward anymore.

“I would tell you to come sit with my friend Charlie and I, but I think I might just have you keep spying,” he joked. Ned gasped, eyes widening.

“It could be like a secret mission!” He agreed in a hushed voice— The Music almost drowned him out.

“What— Ned, no. I was joking!” For the first time, Peter didn’t feel frustrated having to correct a friend. He just felt amused, and maybe slightly exasperated. Was this how it was supposed to be? “You can just come sit with us next time, if you want. I’d love to have someone else to talk to.”

“Cool!” Ned said, shrugging as if it was no big deal, but Peter could see the poorly-masked excitement in his eyes. He chuckled, all thoughts of finding Charlie gone from his mind.

“I’ve gotta warn you, though,” Peter said, suddenly slightly self-conscious, but still smiling. “I talk about famous engineers and scientists a lot. Sometimes Charlie gets angry with me. So just let me know if you’re done listening, okay?” Peter was pretty sure if Ned’s eyes got any wider they would pop out of his head.

“Are you kidding me?!” He demanded. “I love stuff like that! It’s what being in Decathlon is all about, at least, for me! Please tell me you like Tony Stark, because I know a lot of people don’t necessarily approve of him, but I think he’s—“

“ Great! ” They both said at the same time, and Peter could hardly believe his ears.

“Ohmigod, Tony Stark is literally my idol!” He told Ned hurriedly, eyes almost as wide as his new friend’s. “I own every single documentary and show that even mentions him! I’ve read every book on him, I even have one in my bag right now! And Bruce Banner, with his work on gamma radiation? I mean, are you kidding me?! Who doesn’t love that stuff?”

“Oh my God please be my best friend,” Ned practically moaned, tilting his head backwards. Peter laughed, pulling the library book out of his bag. Ned nearly dropped it he was so fast to get his hands on it. “This is amazing! When you turn it in can I borrow it?!”

“Absolutely, yeah!” Peter agreed enthusiastically. “I can have my Uncle Ben drive us both to the library. Do you live near here?”

“Yeah, pretty close,” Ned answered. “This is the best day of my life, thank you Jesus, I love you!” He looked up again, making a praying motion with his hands. “You said you have documentaries, too?! I’ve never been able to catch one when it’s on, I only have like two recorded!”

“You can come back to my house and we can watch them!” Peter suggested immediately, heart pounding in sync with the music, which was very fast-paced. He hoped he wasn’t overstepping. But Ned’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Seriously?!” He asked. “Like, that would be okay? I would love that, if it’s okay with, like, your parents!” Peter hesitated, biting his lip. Parents.

“I live with my aunt and uncle, but I’m sure they’ll be fine with it!” He amended quickly. Aunt May was going to LOVE this boy, he could already tell. “I’ll text my Aunt May right now!”

“I’ll ask my mom if she can come drive us, that way she can bring me some clothes!” Ned said quickly.

Peter whipped out his phone, shooting a text to May. It was twenty minutes before he had told her to be there, but she told him she would send Ben early if he wanted to bring a friend home. Peter felt excitement build up in his chest as he told her that wouldn’t be necessary.

“She said it’s okay!” He confirmed. Ned looked up from his own phone with a thumbs up.

“My mom is gonna come get us. You can give her directions to your house.”

“Okay, cool!” Peter said, grinning practically from ear to ear. “It’s not far, probably five minutes or so.”

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he had been this excited for someone to come over. Probably never. Not even the first time he invited Charlie over.

Peter stiffened, glancing around. Where was Charlie? That was who he came to see in the first place. He turned to Ned, who was still talking about engineering and whatnot, cutting him off.

“Hey, sorry, but Ned, have you seen Charlie?” His new friend shook his head, glancing around. Peter hesitated. “Okay. Listen, I’m going to put your number in my phone. Text me when your mom gets here. I’ve gotta tell Charlie I’m leaving.” Ned nodded, and Peter gave him his number. Technically he had never even told Charlie he was there in the first place, but he just sighed, disappearing into the crowd to look for his friend. It was too congested to even begin looking inside, so Peter escaped outside, where the music was even louder.

A few cars were parked in the front and side yards, and there was a bonfire out back a few yards away from the pool. Charlie wasn’t near the fire or in the pool, so Peter continued searching around the side of the house, heart nearly stopping when he bumped into who else but Seymour O’Reilly.

The boy gave him a once over, then scoffed. “Relax, Parker. I only give you shit when Flash pays up. He hasn’t got me on duty tonight. You could say it’s my day off, right boys?” The guys around him cheered. Peter still shied away from them, creeping away with his shoulders hunched. He approached the cars, glancing left and right.

There was a sudden popping sound that caused him to jump, nails digging into his palms as he clutched his hands into fists. The sound came again a few seconds later. It was kind of like a rubbery pop followed by a hiss of air. Peter’s heart sank. He broke into a jog, peering around each side of every car until he found a dark figure crouched beside the back wheel of a large truck.

“Charlie?” Peter hissed, and the figure froze with his knife driven deep into the tire. He withdrew it, and the hissing sound escaped. Peter backed away as Charlie stood, frustration written all over his face.

“Peter, I—“ Before he could finish, Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and pinged loudly. The brunette pulled the device out and glanced down at it. Ned was around front. Peter looked up at Charlie, brows furrowed.

“Why?” He demanded, gesturing to the car.

“Because that asshole Seymour does nothing but give us shit just for a few extra bucks, so I thought, why not take that money right back out of his pocket?!” Charlie in asked, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. Peter shook his head vigorously.

“Charlie, you can’t just do these things! You could get into so much trouble! I could get into trouble if I don’t tell anyone!” Peter cried, backing away. Charlie shook his head, anger flaring in his eyes.

“Peter, you just don’t understand,” he began, but Peter was having none of it.

“No, Charlie! I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you make stupid choices that just get both of us hurt in the end!”

“Peter!” Charlie shouted, causing the brunette to pause in his rambling and just look at him, eyes huge. Charlie sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“I have nowhere to get rid of all of my steam!” He admitted finally. “You know how bad my dad can get. Its infuriating that I can’t do anything to stop him, especially when he goes after Sarah.” Peter flinched at the mention of his friend’s little sister.

“I know it’s tough,” Peter told him firmly, averting his eyes. “But this is the time for you to seek help. Not more trouble.” With that, he turned and ran around the side of the house, ignoring Charlie’s shouts for him to come back. He saw Ned standing beside a car, looking around confusedly, and made a beeline for him.

“Let’s go!” Peter gasped, climbing into the car. “Quickly, please.” The woman in the driver’s seat looked back at him, concerned as Ned climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Are you okay, Hon?” She asked gently, but she did start driving, which made Peter feel a little better.

“Um— Yes!” Peter lied, hoping he looked convincing. “I’m just, uh, hungry! And they didn’t have a lot of snacks in there. I couldn’t find the kitchen.” He prayed to God that Ned wouldn’t say anything, and deflated when he didn’t, relief taking over. The ride was short and quiet, Peter feeding soft instructions from the back and relaxing himself slowly. He thanked Ned’s mother (who asked him very kindly to call her Mrs. Leeds) profusely.

He led Ned inside and into his room so he could put his stuff down, stopping in the doorway when he saw the television set up in his room. Smiling softly to himself, Peter let Ned in and quickly walked out to the kitchen, where Uncle Ben sat with a cup of coffee and a faint smile of his own. Ned hadn’t followed, so Peter assumed he was making himself comfortable and sat across from his uncle, smile fading.

The man looked up, and his expression turned grim.

“Got something you wanna say, Pete?” He asked softly, offering his coffee cup. Peter shook his head in refusal to the coffee, but opened his mouth to speak, reluctance causing him to hesitate. But Ben just waited patiently.

“Charlie slashed Seymour O’Reilly’s tires,” Peter blurted out before he could chicken out. “He’s always giving them reasons to look for us, and I don’t know what to do about it.” Ben didn’t say anything for a long moment, and his silence was worrying Peter immensely.

“Well, I was expecting a thank-you for putting the television in your room, but I guess this is important too.”

(Later, Peter would hear news of a boy hanging himself from a tree in his back yard. The note assured him that it was for his own good, but Peter was never so sure.)

Peter is still fourteen years old, and he is trying to be happy.

It wasn’t supposed to be hard, but when someone kills themself with the belief that it would be making your life easier, it certainly made things more difficult. Ever since Charlie had died, Peter found himself struggling for even worse reasons than he had been struggling in the first place.

Of course, he had Ben and May to help him. Peter knew that Ben had never liked Charlie, but when Peter turned to look at him with tears shining in his eyes after the announcement on their television the next morning, he had pushed his feelings of dislike aside in favor of caring for his nephew.

May had made Peter’s favorite breakfast that morning. Ned had asked for a charger so he could call his mom, but Peter told him he could stay if he like, and he did. It was a little awkward, but Peter figured that if Ned was willing to stick with him after seeing him like this, then maybe he really was going to be okay.

Peter pretended to shake it off quicker than he actually did. He didn’t want May to worry, and he knew Ben didn’t want to see him cry over Charlie, so he didn’t. He held back the initial tears and sucked it up.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t fall that night after Ned had gone home and Ben was no longer in the room, but that was Peter’s little secret.

It wasn’t until the day after the town discovered Charlie’s body that Peter was contacted. There were news reporters outside his house when the policemen showed up, and May let them in reluctantly, calling Peter out of his room.

The brunette partially wished that he had made himself more presentable, because as he sat across from the officer, he felt even smaller than he normally did in his sweatshirt that was three sizes too big. The man glared down at him, and Peter’s shoulders hunched as a piece of paper was slid across the counter towards him. He took one look at it and choked back a sob, eyes welling up with tears all over again.

It was a note.

Peter picked it up with tentative fingers, feeling as if he was going to be sick. The officer was talking to him, but Peter hardly heard him. Something about his guardians agreeing to show him, if he should want to see the letter, or something like that. But Peter was already far gone.

‘ To Peter, ’ it read, almost cheerfully, and Peter could see so much Charlie in the way this note was written already. He didn’t want to cry on the paper, so he held it away from his face, sniffling grossly as he scanned the page.

‘ You are the type of person to blame yourself. You always have been.

Don’t.

This isn’t because of you. This is for you. ’

Peter took a minute, looking away and wiping his cheeks, but they just got wet again immediately. His breaths were coming a bit more shallowly now, and he was beginning to regret picking up the paper at all. His stomach churned, nausea causing his vision to swim. Or maybe that was the tears. He couldn’t tell anymore. He kept reading.

‘ All this time, I never really thought about how my actions could affect other people. I think that’s something I got from my dad, and of all people, he is the last person I ever want to be compared to.

I yelled at Sarah before I went to your house this afternoon. Who knows, by the time you see this, it might have been last week, or even last year. Maybe you’ll never see this at all. I hope you do, because you deserve to know that this wasn’t your fault.

I figure if I’m this much like my dad already, I’m just going to get more and more like him as time goes by. I can’t stand that. You’ve got to understand that this is my way out of hurting people the way he did.

Which brings me back to the point of this note.

I hurt you.

Through my actions at school, and at the party tonight, I hurt you. By running my mouth at those boys, especially Flash, I dragged you into something you never should have been a part of. I’m so sorry for that. I will be forever, even if my forever is running out with every word I write. ’

Peter looked down again, putting his face in his hands for a few moments and taking deep, shuddering breaths. He hoped to God nobody was recording this and that thenrecorders had been successfully kept out and away from the windows.

‘ Think of this as my apology. What better way to fix something than to stop it entirely? Without me there to make things hard for you, you can fly under their radars. They might not leave you alone completely, but they definitely won’t beat on you as much as they did when I got us into trouble.

So this is it. My goodbye.

Thank you for being my friend, Peter. Nobody else in this world seemed to want to. I hope you make some who can be better than me.

See you in a long, long time (because I’ll never forgive you if it’s too soon).

Your friend, Charlie. ’

This time, Peter really was sick. He threw the paper across the table and stumbled over to the trash, throwing up whatever remained of last night’s dinner. May rubbed his back gently, pulling him close once he had finished and running her fingers through his curls gently. She wiped his mouth with a cloth and murmured soothing words to calm him, though Peter forgot what the word calm even meant.

His aunt and uncle shared a few more words with the police, before the officers left, and the noisy reporters outside were sent away without a statement. Peter spent the rest of the day with his aunt and uncle on the couch. They ordered takeout and watched the same old documentaries as always. Peter told them he was okay.

Maybe he wasn’t happy, but with the feeling of his aunt’s fingers in his hair and his uncle’s arm around his shoulders while Tony Stark’s image flickered on the television, Peter was definitely comfortable.

(Later, Peter would realize that he should have cherished these moments where they were all together, because despite losing someone that year already, they weren’t going to last much longer at all.)

Chapter Text

Part Three:  

Peter is still fourteen years old.

Charlie’s funeral was hard to get through. Even at the wake, Peter was adjusting his glasses and fumbling with his sleeves every few minutes, despite the looks his aunt and uncle kept giving him. That boy Ned attended the wake as well, but Peter didn’t speak to him. Not that day. He didn’t think Ned wanted to talk to him, anyway.

The service was rushed, and sloppy. Charlie had only been found the day before. His father had told the morgue that he didn’t care, and the cheapest possible wake was set up. Yet, despite this, almost the entire town came. The entire school, too.

Some people were fakers. Peter saw kids from Decathlon who had never once spared them a glance sobbing next to boxes of tissues. It was a little frustrating, to say the least, but Peter hated confrontation, so he minded his own business and stuck to his own tissues which he brought from home.

Charlie didn’t have a lot of extended family. His grandmother on his mother’s side, who he spoke the world of, stood the closest to his body. Peter could see Sarah standing next to her and holding her hand, looking at people with big, shimmering eyes. Mr. Weiderman wasn’t there.

Peter approached quietly, tears leaking out of his eyes. Sarah threw herself forward, arms locking around Peter, and that was when he truly broke for the first time that day. Sobs erupted from his mouth as he leaned in and pulled the girl into a tight embrace.

“Peter,” she squealed, and God, Peter thought hazily to himself through his tears, she’s only twelve. She shouldn’t know death yet.

None of us should.

“Hey, Sarah,” he replied, trying to mask the shaking in his voice, but another strangled sound escaped and he pressed his face into the girl’s silky hair. Memories of taking her out on weekends with Charlie flooded through his mind, and after a deep, shuddering breath, he pulled away.

“It’s okay,” she told him, and her fingers came up to move his glasses and wipe his tears away. He stared at her, mouth hanging opened, but no words came. She smiled and straightened his lenses again, tugging on one of his curls just like she enjoyed doing on lazy Saturday afternoons in the park.

“You won’t stop coming and taking me for walks, will you?” She asked, pouting. Peter forced a laugh, looking down at his feet. “He loved you, you know,” she added, and the sincerity in her voice scared him a little bit, but he met her huge brown eyes again anyway. “Charlie loved you.”

Peter didn’t answer. He swallowed thickly, looking away again and shuffling his feet anxiously as he searched for a response. She waited patiently, watching him carefully. Pulling back, Peter cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses on his shirt. They had fogged up with tears.

“I’ll still take you for walks,” he told her finally, avoiding the end of her sentences like the plague. It wasn’t that he didn’t— Ugh. Peter shook his head to clear it, running his hand down the side of his face. When he looked back at her, she was just smiling sadly. Peter hugged her once more and moved to their grandmother, who had watched the interaction quietly.

“My grandson spoke the world of you,” she told him with a watery smile, her cheeks were slick with tears as well. Peter bit back another soft cry, and simply nodded in fear that his mouth would betray his mind. “You were all he would talk about. ‘Peter this,’ and ‘Peter that’. He was so proud of being your friend.” Peter took a deep, shuddering breath and threw himself into her arms, hugging her tightly.

“Thank you,” he choked softly. “Thank you for being one of the only positive figures in his life. He told me how good you were to him and Sarah. That means more than you’ll ever know.” She held him close until he pulled away, composing himself. As much as a blubbering, tearful mess could be considered ‘composed’.

When he walked over to the coffin, Peter didn’t want to look down. But May was by his side, finished with her condolences, and Ben was on his way, and the line was progressing, so Peter looked.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Charlie’s, which were closed, and he almost looked as if he could be asleep. Except, Peter had seen Charlie sleep, and he was never that calm or peaceful.

It was almost physically painful. Peter felt like his heart was cracking in more than one place. His friend was paler than ever and missing his glasses. Peter considered giving his own, and even began to lean down, but he froze.

There, on Charlie’s neck, almost completely hidden by his collar, but not quite, was the shadow of a bruise. Peter stiffened, his eyes following the path of the thin scarring and purpleness as it faded under makeup, but it was still there, around the length of his neck. Peter felt like he was going to be sick.

“ His twelve year old sister found him hanging in his back yard. ” The newscast echoed in his head dully, and suddenly Peter wanted to go back to Sarah and ask if she was alright, because she had comforted him, but he had done nothing to comfort her.

“Come on, Peter,” May murmured. “People are waiting.” But Peter didn’t move, simply staring at the thick rope of purple around his friend’s neck that seemed so obvious now, so hideously covered up. The tears began to resurface and Peter felt himself struggling to breathe. A hand closed around his wrist, but he didn’t budge, clutching at his own head as he struggled to grasp the situation.

Charlie couldn’t be dead.

But the rope burn and bruises were there in his memory, and on the body in front of him, clear as day. After another moment, he realized he was moving, and looked down. Ben was pulling him by the arm as he struggled, leaning back towards the coffin, but there was no use.

“Let me go,” Peter mumbled, salty tears touching his tongue as he licked his lips to wet them. “Let me go, I need to see him! Let me go!” They were outside now, and Peter shouted, pulling away as hard as he could, but Ben just picked him up and started to carry him, ignoring the looks they got from newcomers and departing guests.

“Peter,” May was begging, and she had tears in her own eyes as she watched him struggle, but he just pounded on Ben’s back, choking on his own sobs.

“Let me go,” he cried pitifully, but he didn’t resist as Ben buckled him into the car, closing his door and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Peter cried the whole way home, and when he saw May’s eyes as they walked in the house, he had a feeling she did, too.

(Later, Peter would realize that crying did not bring back the dead. Nothing did.)

Peter is still fourteen years old.

There were four months left of his freshman year, and Peter didn’t want to spend it thinking about Charlie. That being said, most of his downtime was being spent on LEGO sets with Ned or catching his friend up on all of the Stark Industries docs. Sometimes, the two would just sit and read. Together, but apart all the same. Depending on the occasion, that was Peter’s favorite thing to do with his newer friend.

Ned was quick to mold himself into a person who fit Peter’s needs snugly. That wasn’t to say that he changed himself for Peter, the brunette would never have forgiven himself if Ned did that, but it was blatantly obvious that Ned was keeping tabs on Peter’s allergies, because every time he discovered a new one, his mother presented one less option for a snack whenever Peter hung out there. Ned had no filter, but that didn’t bother Peter as much as it had when he was friends with Charlie, because Ned’s mind didn’t fill itself with jeers towards dangerous classmates, but rather, with nerdy rants and geeky facts. There was also the fact that Ned couldn’t keep a secret for the life of him, but Peter didn’t have any big secrets that needed keeping anyway.

Part of Peter felt guilty for locking Charlie’s memory away in his heart, but he couldn’t dwell on him forever. He talked about him with Sarah every weekend when he walked with her to the park. She took his place and Peter slid into Charlie’s role, so his head was on her lap and she would play with his hair and talk for hours.

Usually it was about Charlie.

It was Peter’s weekly dose of memories, and not a weekend went by where his eyes were dry after his visit with Sarah. Despite the fact that she did most of the talking, Peter did chip in every so often, telling his own stories of the trouble his friend had gotten them into.

“One time he forgot to study for the mock-competition in Decathlon practice,” Peter had explained once, a smile spreading across his face as he spoke, “and the team captain had told us all that if we weren’t prepared we were off the team. He panicked. Turns out, he really did know most of it, but it wasn’t because he studied— It was because I talked about it for so long in front of him that he just knew the gist of our material.”

They had laughed about that for a while— A running joke was that Charlie had never listened to anyone— But if anything was proof of that not being true, it was the story itself.

“He was a good listener when it really counted,” Sarah said on one of their weekends. Peter remained silent, but he secretly agreed. When Flash was on his case in one of the honors classes they shared and he said something that really struck a nerve, Charlie was always there to listen and talk him through it afterwards. Peter hadn’t always told the boy when he was bothered, because it usually ended in a scuffle after school, but Charlie listened when he did.

Remembering Charlie was almost as hard as losing him when it came to school.

The chair next to his own in science sat painfully empty, and Peter could see the pity in Mr. Warren’s eyes whenever they swept past. A bunch of people had tried to talk to him as if they had been close with Charlie, too. Peter never pushed them away, but he wasn’t exactly friendly to them, either. Some of them looked like they were trying to decide if they had been insulted as they left.

The worst of it all was Flash. He may not have been paying Seymour and his friends to beat Peter anymore, but it was becoming evident that he had realized how much his words could hurt.

“Hey, look, it’s Penis Parker!” The familiar voice would shout from the end of the hallway, and Peter would slouch his shoulders, continuing on his way with his head hung low.

“Hey, Penis, I heard that your boyfriend left a note before he did it, is that true?” Flash asked, pushing in between Peter and Ned in the hallway. Peter tensed at the mention of the note, steps faltering, but he pressed on anyway.

“Dude, that’s messed up. Just leave him alone,” Ned said, trying to get back beside Peter, but Flash just moved to the teen’s other side instead, falling into step next to him smoothly.

“Answer the question, freak,” Flash prodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to treat someone so terribly. Perhaps it was, and if that was true, it made Peter feel even worse.

“Go away, Flash,” Ned tried again, and Peter felt his heart flutter with affection for his new friend of one month who was already sticking up for him, and in a peaceful way, at that.

“I’ll go where I want to, Fat Man—“

“Yes!” Peter hissed, glaring daggers at Flash. This was where he drew the line. Picking on Ned was a different story. Flash’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

“Knew it!” He muttered under his breath. “So what did it say? Was he in love with you? Because you two totally had fag vibes, you know.” Peter rolled his eyes, Sarah’s voice echoing in the back of his mind.

‘He loved you, you know. Charlie loved you.’

He shook his head to clear it and ducked into math with Ned, trying to ignore Flash’s loud comment as he walked away.

“If you two were screwing, I totally called it!”

(Later, Peter would tell Ned how much he hated the things Flash said to him, but for now, he simply smiled at him gratefully and walked to his seat in a silent turmoil.)

Peter is still fourteen years old, and he is going on a field trip with Ned in one week. There are three months of school left.

“A diagnostic tool that tests for the presence of specific antibodies produced by the immune system in response to an infection.”

The two teens were finding themselves especially invested in Decathlon lately. Peter had made sets upon sets of flash cards to practice with whenever they had spare time, and sometimes they would quiz each other with the television or the radio buzzing softly in the background.

“Antigen-capture enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay,” Peter piped up with minimal hesitation, biting his nail. “You’re just picking longer ones because they look harder, aren’t you?”

“Am not!” Ned protested. “Dude, we’ve been through this whole set like, five times. I can’t choose them if we’ve used all of them anyway.”

“So you’re saying I should make harder flash cards?” Peter teased, pulling out his trusty notecards and pens. Ned’s complaints were drowned out by Peter’s loud speaking as he read out loud a few definitions he had yet to write down out of the book with a cheeky grin, beginning to write in his big looping letters.

“Peter!” Ned begged, wringing his hands desperately from where he was sitting at the end of the brunet’s bed. Peter pretended not to hear him, raising his eyebrows and leaning against his headboard as he wrote the term on the white side.

“What is the unit measurement for the activity of a radioactive source?” Peter asked loudly, scrambling to his feet as Ned reached towards him to take his notecards. He ran out the door of his room, scribbling the answer down a little sloppily. “The Becquerel, Ned! Get with the program!” He laughed, dashing into the kitchen where he nearly ran straight into Ben.

“Settle down, Pete,” the man chided, but a fond smile spread across his face. Peter made a face at him, ducking under his arm and perching on a chair. He wasn’t sitting, exactly— It was more of a crouch, his knees going out in opposite directions to keep himself balanced while he sat on his toes, fiddling with his cards.

“Do you know what the unit of measurement for the activity of a radioactive source is?” He challenged, smirking as his uncle scratched at the stubble on his chin, moving aside so that Ned could enter the room.

“No,” Ben replied firmly, furrowing his brows. “But frankly, I’m more worried about your legs than I am about anything else. How are they that spread apart? You must be tearing something in there.”

“I’m flexible,” Peter snarked, wrinkling his nose. “Just because you’re an old man doesn’t mean we young people can’t stretch every once in a while…” Peter laughed at the offended expression on Ben’s face. It was exactly a lie. Peter had taken up yoga with May every weekend. Despite the early rising, it was truly relaxing. He had invited Ned a few times, but his friend never woke up in time. Or so he said.

“Peter does yoga!” Ned supplied helpfully, earning a snort from Ben, who shook his head, sipping coffee from a mug he had just poured himself.

“Yeah, and I’m great at it!” Peter interrupted before his uncle could make fun of him. “I’ll have you know, Marissa says I’m the best in the class.”

“Oh, so she’s Marissa now?” Ned asked, looking impressed. “Last week she was still ‘ Miss Tracy ’—“

“Shut up, Ned!” Peter hissed, cheeks darkening into a lovely shade of red while Ben howled with laughter. Embarrassment swamped Peter to the point where he threw his cards at Ned, covering his red face with his hands.

“ Marissa! ” Ben cooed, raising his voice into a high falsetto. “ Marissa says I’m the best in the class! Sometimes she takes me into the back room for private lessons on my flexibility! ”

“ Oh my God stop— “

Ben and Ned were laughing too hard to notice Peter’s frustrated glare.

“May!” Peter shouted at the top of his lungs. That got both of their attentions.

“ No, ” Ned said quickly. “Peter, I’m sorry—“

“Come on, Leeds!” Ben clapped him on the shoulder and shoved his coffee into Ned’s hands. “Man up. What can May do to us?” Ned took a sip of the coffee and gagged, forcing it down with a vile expression, but he nodded anyway, tensing as he heard footsteps heading for the room.

“What’s going on, Peter?” May asked as she entered the room, putting a hand on the back of the chair he was sitting on. “Lookin’ good. Marissa will be happy to know you’ve been keeping up with your stretches.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and immediately Peter’s smug grin dissipated. Ned and Ben were laughing again, all nervousness forgotten with that single sentence.

“Hear that, Petey, Marissa’ll be proud, ” Ben jabbed, earning a glare with no force behind it. Despite Peter’s embarrassment, this was the norm lately. He acted like a little shit, and in turn, Ben and Ned would put him in his place. Peter really had to learn to stop bringing May into it, because more often than not, she just joined in.

“You’re all just jealous,” he sighed, stepping off of his chair and flouncing over to his backpack. “Too bad. Anyway, May, I need you to sign this thing sayin’ I can go on a trip with Ned and the rest of our Science class.” He pulled the permission slip out and slapped it down on the table, picking up the pen he had thrown earlier with his notecards and placing it neatly beside the paper.

“Maybe you should ask Marissa—“ Ned mumbled under his breath, earning a bark of laughter from Ben and a well-hidden smile from May, but her eyes were sparkling with good humor. Peter made a face at his friend, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up, why dont’cha?” He asked grouchily, but his smile broke through for a split second when Ben made a pouty face.

“All of you are such children. Especially you, Benjamin,” May scolded as she signed the paper, checking off Peter’s various allergies and whatnot. “I expected more out of you.”

“Oh, come on, May, we were just having a little fun,” Ben protested, walking over as she turned around. He slung an arm around her waist with a sly smile. “Why, were you feeling left out? We can go have some fun together right now, just you and me.” May rolled her eyes and pushed him away, but anyone could see the glimmer of warmth and love in her eyes as she did so.

“Come on, Ned, let’s go to the library,” Peter suggested, grabbing his friend’s wrist and tugging him outside with a quick ‘You nasty’ look at Ben. Ned followed eagerly, and the two set off, bumping shoulders and teasing further still.

(Later, Peter would clean up the notecards he had thrown all over the floor and go over his memories of the day, and wishing he could make a million more like them. He couldn’t.)

Peter is still fourteen years old, and he is going on a field trip to a new museum that was sponsored by Stark Industries with Mr. Warren’s class.

Peter was more excited about the exhibits than most of the other kids in his grade— aside from Ned, of course. It kinda sucked that they weren’t on the same bus. Charlie would have been right next to Peter, just like his seat in science class, which was unbearably empty on most days.

Most students were just happy to skip school, but Peter was psyched to see all of the exhibits in the museum, especially the Design Lab. Tickets were usually really expensive, and Peter had never been, but the school was taking their grade for much less than the original prices.

Peter was disappointed in the idea of not sharing the bulk of the experience with Ned, but he knew he’d see the boy once they got fully into the museum, since their teachers were working closely together.

“I’m setting a few ground rules now while I have your attention!” Mr. Warren said loudly at the front of the bus. Peter was sitting in one of the front rows by himself, but he didn’t mind. The faster he could get into the exhibits, the happier he would be. When the kids all settled down and the bus was moving, Mr. Warren continued.

“There will be no running, yelling, swearing, or roughhousing of any kind while we are in that building,” he stated firmly. There were a few chuckles that were silenced by a look. “Do not touch anything unless you are instructed to do so, which most likely won’t be until our detour into the Design Lab. This field trip is being sponsored by Stark Industries, so it is likely that we will have a few employees of SI talk to us before the end of the trip.” Excited murmurs erupted amongst the students, but it was nothing compared to the way Peter’s heart was near,y pounding out of his chest. He thrust his hand into the air, biting his lip and glancing around awkwardly.

“Mr. Parker, do you have a question?” Mr. Warren asked. Peter lowered his hand, pushing his glasses up on his face and hesitating, before nodding quickly.

“So…” He took a deep breath, aware of how stupid the question actually was. “Will the employees of Stark Industries be observing the whole time? Like, will they watch us build in the Design Lab? Or will they just meet us to speak at the end of the tour?” There were a few hushed giggles, and Peter flushed, averting his eyes. He shied away from the gaze of a dark-skinned girl sitting in the row across from him who was glaring over the top of her book.

“That is an excellent question, Peter,” Mr. Warren said, but it did little to ease the brunet’s conscience. “I do not believe that the SI employees will be observing, but you never know. They might introduce themselves when we least expect it. Make sure your questions for them are fresh on your mind in case we encounter a surprise intern!” Embarrassment caused Peter to sink even further back into his seat. He knew his teacher wasn’t trying to humiliate him, but it was flustering nonetheless. The girl across from him just rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

“Loser,” she muttered quietly, and Peter frowned, glaring at the spine of her book and wishing he could make it burst into flames. How cool would it be to be able to do something like that, he asked himself.

Shaking off the shaky start, Peter was the first to hop off of the bus when they arrived at their destination. He waited patiently for his teacher, and the rest of the chaperones, as well as the rest of his grade. Ned met him at the front of the group, just in front of the girl with the book. She wasn’t even looking up to walk, which concerned Peter, but he had a weird feeling that she knew he was looking at her, so he focused on his own path after a few awkward moments of silence.

Ned talked the whole way into the museum, and Peter listened, occasionally cutting in with his own excited exclamations.

“Nerds.”

It took Peter a minute to figure out who had spoken before he realized that the voice belonged to the same girl who had glared at him and called him a loser on the bus. He narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a once-over. The book in her hands was on science and technologies, which suggested that she really shouldn’t be talking, but for all Peter knew, it was assigned reading.

Unlikely, since she was on his bus and seemingly in his class, which had no such assigned reading, but regardless, Peter was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Um, hi,” he said, brows furrowing as they got in line and the teachers started handing out cheap lanyards with their day passes on them. Peter put his on and fidgeted with it anxiously. Security always made him nervous. “I’m Peter, and this is Ned.”

“I don’t care.”

Well. Peter was slightly taken aback. He looked at Ned, who was just staring at the girl with a dumbfounded expression. She finally looked up from her book, squinting at them. A sea of students nudged her a bit closer, and Peter watched cautiously as she composed herself, making it look as if she meant to step forward without any effort at all. It was something to envy.

“Okay,” he replied, wrinkling his nose and peering at the name on her pass, “ Michelle Jones. ” She just lifted her book back up to her face, ignoring him. Peter sighed, turning back around. He put his bag on the table as they entered the building and went through the metal detector, collecting his bag on the other side. He was through quick, along with Ned, since they were in the front of the line to begin with. Giddy with excitement and forgetting all about the sour girl behind them, Peter surged towards the entrance, following the teachers as they led them into the depths of the exhibits.

The classes began to split up, but Ned’s was lucky enough to stick with Peter’s, and they headed off to the first exhibit, which was the one about space. It was called ‘Search For Life Beyond Earth’, which was a little bit unnerving, considering the fact that aliens had attacked New York in 2012, so it wasn’t like it had been before that where humans were searching aimlessly with hardly any equipment that was actually efficient.

Peter was thrilled regardless. There was, naturally, a large exhibit dedicated to those aliens that had overtaken New York, and Peter hurried over to it immediately, gaping up at the large photographs and sculptures. There was, of course, the overbearing Captain America plaque, and Peter skimmed that. He loved Cap, but he was searching for a specific Avenger.

“Peter, I found him!” Ned shouted from a few yards away near the end of the exhibit. Peter rushed over, looking up at the hulking red and gold figure towering over his friend and him, jaw going slack.

“He’s beautiful,” Peter said sincerely, before looking down at the plaque and reading it through. “Ned, do you know how much I would actually pay to meet this man in person?”

“A million dollars?” Ned guessed. Peter scoffed, shaking his head.

“Ned, the guy’s a billionaire, he wouldn’t care if I stole a million dollars.” Peter looked up at his idol’s statue with shining eyes, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “No. I would pay with my happiness. I would pay with everything of value that I even possess. I would pay with my intelligence.” He could practically feel Ned rolling his eyes. Peter turned to face him, smiling hugely.

“Dude. For Tony Stark, I would give up my life. ”

(Much, much later, Peter actually would.)

The Design Lab was better than Peter could have ever imagined. He and Ned were amongst the few students who actually wanted to participate in it, so they sat down at one of the benches as got to work, tinkering away with little circuit boards and metals and bolts, building their own miniature constructs.

“It kinda sucks that we don’t have any programming equipment,” Peter pointed out as nearly two hours later, his robot started walking unsteadily across the bench without any rhyme or reason to it’s directions. He had to redirect it a few times, and it couldn’t go beyond the cord connecting it to it’s power source.

“Yeah, I guess. But I don’t think anyone else in this class could make a robot that fast,” Ned pointed out. His wasn’t quite finished yet, though it was the same as Peter’s. He had taken his time. It was part of the reason they had cut into their lunch time. Peter’s stomach growled angrily at him for that decision, but he was satisfied with his contraption, smiling a little bit as it waddled across the table. He grabbed it and spun it around before it walked off the edge, unwilling to see it break.

“Did you dorks build that?” Peter turned around to see the girl from earlier, Michelle, holding a sandwich in one hand and her book in the other. But her eyes were trained on Peter’s robot instead of the pages, which was a first.

“Peter built it,” Ned piped up quickly. “Mine’s not finished. I can’t get it to work like his does.” The girl eyed Peter strangely for a second, then walked away.

“We’re going outside!” She called without looking back. Peter scrambled out of his chair, pulling the cord of his robot’s power source and leaving it built on the table for someone else to play with.

“Hurry up, Ned!” He yelled, grabbing two sandwiches that were wrapped in clear wrap and hurrying after his classmates. He threw one at Ned, who fumbled with it, but didn’t drop it, surprisingly.

“Peter, this is peanut butter! Don’t open it!” Ned called. Peter looked down at his sandwich with distaste, but discovered that his actually wasn’t peanut butter. It was ham and cheese.

“Mine’s not, you’re fine!” He replied as they stepped outside, and he unwrapped the food, biting into it with a satisfied groan. Michelle shot him a grossed-out look from just ahead, and he just made a face back and swallowed his bite of food. The class moved towards the animals outside, and Peter gravitated towards the goats.

“This has to be directed towards the kids,” Ned pointed out, and Peter silently agreed. This was more like a petting zoo than a museum exhibit. Watching the animals and quietly enjoying his food, Peter moved onto the pigs.

“Peter!” Ned hissed. “Don’t eat that in front of them!” He gestured to Peter’s ham and cheese sandwich, and the brunet scoffed, glaring at his friend.

“I’ll eat this where I want, Ned. They’re pigs,” he shook his head, leaning against the wooden fence and watching the animals. Ned stood beside him and they stared at the pigs in silence for a few moments.

“I’m so glad we didn’t descend from these animals,” Ned said suddenly. Peter snorted with laughter, lowering his head a bit. There was a sign requesting that nobody feed the animals, but Peter threw a bit of bread he didn’t want after eating that last pieces of ham and cheese.

“It looks like people are starting to head back in. I think we’re going home soon, the animals were supposed to be the last stop.” Peter hummed in agreement, but didn’t move. He smiled a little, watching a small spider crawl along the fence.

“Hey, Ned, you ever seen this kinda spider before?” He pointed at it, heart skipping a beat as the creature climbed up his finger and onto his hand. He squeaked in pain as it’s pincers sank into his skin, smacking his hand and crushing it. He shook the thing away, heart racing as he looked at the slightly red marks very closely. When he turned to hear Ned’s answer, he discovered that all of his classmates were already disappearing back into the building.

“N-Ned, wait!” Peter called, breath hitching as he scrambled after his friend. Nervous energy started to bubble up inside him when he saw the bite beginning to swell, but he didn’t say anything more. Perhaps it would just go away. If it didn’t, he would see a doctor. But there weren’t supposed to be any poisonous spiders around that were that size, anyway. So Peter went home that day without batting an eye, deciding that worrying about it would just give him one more thing to stress about, which he definitely didn’t need.

(Later, Peter might regret that for some reasons, but for others, it was the best decision of his life.)

It was like someone had taken a remote and turned up the volume of the entire world.

Peter had been reading Charlie’s letter— The cops had let him keep it once he calmed down enough to take it back from them— and thinking about that week’s talk with Sarah. Technically, it was almost midnight, and he should really be sleeping, but something was keeping him awake. And then it all started to happen at once.

Car alarms were shrieking, sirens were wailing, dogs were barking, and tires were screeching along pavement. Peter could hear the television in his neighbor’s house, he could hear the toilet flushing at the end of the street, and he was pretty sure he could even hear the conversation going on between a girl and her sister on the other side of town— Only it wasn’t exactly like he could hear all of it, but rather that he could feel it.

It hit him like a sack of bricks, and it was so sudden that he woke in a panic, tumbling out of his bed and hitting the ground with a loud thud. His skull smacked against his wood floors, and that certainly didn’t help with the pounding ache that was already overtaking it, the overcrowding of noise and smells and colors, oh God, turn the lights back off—

“Peter?! What’s going on?”

— her voice is too loud talk quieter turn the lights off make everything stop—

A cool hand pressed against Peter’s burning cheeks and he was suddenly grounded, gasping for breath, face wet with tears and eyes huge as he stared into the pair belonging to his aunt. Everything was so loud and his entire body hurt, and Peter looked down at his hand, eyes widening because the spider, oh God, it’s because of the spider—

“— going to get the thermometer,” May was saying firmly, and Peter flinched away from the volume of her voice, head throbbing. “You’re burning up, Honey. What happened? Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling good?”

“ Quiet, ” Peter choked out in a soft whisper, his own voice jarring his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut as the television next door grew slightly louder, and somewhere, a cat yowled into the night sky.

Moments that felt like hours later, Ben entered the room with a glass of water and the thermometer. Peter stuck the device under his tongue and watched the temperature skyrocket at a rather alarming pace. His heartbeat started to speed up, and he realized with a sudden horror that he could hear that, too. He could hear all of their hearts.

Ben knelt down, holding out the glass of water, and then everything went ballistic in Peter’s mind. Time seemed to slow down as Peter’s head screamed at him to move, but where, what was he supposed to do—

The water glass tumbled from Ben’s hand, but Peter’s shot out and caught it in midair. The liquid sloshed in the cup, and a few drops landed on his nightshirt, but it was otherwise intact. Both Ben and May stared at Peter with odd expressions, but he was busy having a panic attack.

“What the hell is happening to me,” he moaned as the sounds just got louder, and this time the water spilled from his hands, getting himself and the floor all wet. May caught the thermometer as he spoke, reading it out loud, and Peter heard her but didn’t comprehend— It hadn’t sounded normal, he knew that much.

Something about hospitals, and then he was out of it again, sweat pouring down his brow and tears soaking his cheeks further. He lifted his hands to clutch at his head, threading his fingers through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut as he curled in on himself.

“Peter, we’ve got to move you to the couch. It’s hot in here and the living room is cooler, we have to get your fever to break.” May’s voice was blaring at him from above, and he forced himself to listen, registering her words carefully.

“May,” he croaked, reaching out with shaking arms. “Need help.”

“Of course, Sweetie. Ben is opening the windows and getting the fans out.” Petter shuddered, feeling an icy coldness wash over him, and the hairs on his arms stood up as if someone had just blown cold air in his ear. May helped him stand, and his knees buckled beneath him, but she held him up as best as she could. Peter blinked, and forced himself to open his eyes, squinting against the vibrancy of the colors and the way he could see everything—

“May, I c’n see,” he mumbled, listening to her heart quicken a little bit. It felt weird spying on her emotions like this, but then again, what wasn’t weird about listening to the entire city like it was a radio? Peter looked over at where his glasses sat on his bedside table. “I c’n see.”

“Come on, Petey, let's get you settled down,” she mumbled in reply, but he could hear the nervous energy in her voice, the confusion.

“‘M gonna throw up,” Peter said suddenly, and then he did. May held him up, shushing him and helping him walk around the mess on the floor and out of his room. “Sorry,” he said distantly a few minutes later, once he was laying on the couch in a freezing living room.

“Don’t be sorry, Pete,” Ben said firmly, feeling his forehead again. Peter flinched away from his cold hands, and then closed his eyes against the sounds of his uncle’s clothes rustling with every movement.

“I got school t’morrow,” Peter grunted. “Decathlon practice. Can’t miss it.”

“Like hell you're going with a fever like this one,” Ben replied gruffly, covering him with a light sheet. “Want me to turn the TV on?”

“No!” Peter all but shouted, curling in on himself at the volume of his own voice. His brain pounded against his skull violently, and he pressed his palm to his forehead, taking a deep and shuddering breath. “I want… Earplugs, please.”

“I don’t know if we have any…” Ben trailed off, looking up at someone behind Peter, who the brunet could only assume was May.

“I’ll go get some at the pharmacy,” a female voice replied. Peter tried to relax, but his hands were working restlessly at the blanket, muscles tensing and relaxing over and over.

“Alright, Pete, May is goin’ to get you those earbuds,” Ben said softly. A cold hand touched one of Peter’s, and he forced himself to relax, letting his uncle work his fingernails out of his palms and clutch his hand firmly. The teen took deep and slow breaths, settling into the deafening ‘silence’.

May’s car door shut and the vehicle started. A bird screeched. May pulled away. The television next door turned off. May turned off of their street. The sisters talking across town went to bed. May’s car got further away. All over the city, clocks struck midnight.

Peter curled into a ball on his side and clutched at his head, palms desperately blocking his ears. A warm, large hand fell on his back and started to rub gently, and he leaned into it, closing his eyes tightly as the lights went out.

Thank you, he thought, hoping Uncle Ben knew that he appreciated the gesture.

He lay like that with Ben’s caring touches until May got back with a plastic bag that crinkled with every movement and a rapid heartbeat in her chest. Despite blocking his ears, he heard her entire journey clearly and sat up as she pulled into the driveway. He wanted to meet her at the door, and his head was pounding uncontrollably, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t keep a sip of water with Advil down if he tried.

When May walked in, opening the box, it was like bones were snapping, it was so loud. Peter groaned, covering his ears and shoving his face into the cushions. Someone was tugging at his arm, and he rolled, forcing his eyes opened to look blearily up at Aunt May. She held out earplugs, and he shoved them in his ears.

It muffled everything to a dull buzz. Peter sighed, relaxing against the cushions, and pulling the sheet up to his chin. May and Ben were talking— it was weird how clearly Peter could see them in the dark. It was weird how clearly Peter could see them at all, to be quite honest, but he could even read a few of the words on their lips—

“— Sensory overload—“

“— Could last all night—“

“— Fever is weird—“

“— Too high—“

“Uncle Ben,” Peter said softly, and was pleased that he could hardly even hear his own voice. His headache began to dull as well, which allowed his muscles to further relax, and he sank into the couch. “Can you put the TV on now?” He couldn’t hear what his uncle said, but the television turned on moments later and Peter’s favorite SI documentary came on. Tony Stark wasn’t in it, but it was all about the behind the scenes employees who made the company run.

Peter didn’t have to hear it to enjoy it. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as the hum of the tv became the only thing he could hear beyond his own heartbeat. May pressed a silent kiss to his forehead and Ben ruffled his hair gently. Peter smiled faintly and closed his eyes, listening to his own heartbeat with sleepy interest. He was exhausted.

(Later, Peter would look back on this and wonder how he became so calm so fast, but for the time being, he just slept.)

“Dude, that’s weird.” Ned shook his head disbelievingly after Peter explained his strange ordeal from two night prior. Ben and May had kept him home from school that day, despite waking up with a relatively normal temperature and the appetite of a bear. Peter didn’t understand it at all.

Everything was still a lot louder than it was supposed to be. He had reigned it in to the point where everything outside was more of a distant buzz, but he was still disoriented, and on top of that, Peter was exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes when he looked in the mirror that morning, and he was even paler than usual.

“I know,” Peter grunted as they walked into the school side-by-side. Peter took off the sunglasses he had been sporting, wincing as the lights glared down on him from above. “May thinks it’s some kind of weird sensory issue— She wants me to get it checked out.”

“You probably should,” Ned agreed. “There are types of therapy that can help you with that kind of stuff.” Peter shrugged as they approached his locker.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said reluctantly, turning the lock as he entered his combination. He made a face as he swung opened his locker and said, “I don’t really know, though. It was so sudden. Maybe it’ll just go away as suddenly as it came.” He pulled out the notebooks he was going to need for his first few periods and threw the sunglasses into his locker, flinching as they rattled against the metal surfaces and the sound rang in his sensitive ears.

“What about the fever, though?” Ned pointed out. “If that’s gonna happen every time you have an overload then it’s probably safer to just find someone who can help.”

“The fever?” Peter asked, brow furrowing. “Oh— No, Ned, the fever was just some weird kind of 24-hour virus thing. It was a coincidence that they happened at the same time.”

“Oh.” Ned looked confused, but he just shrugged as Peter closed his locker, then turned to walk away. He felt a tug at his hand and froze, looking back around. He pulled again, and his hand didn’t budge. Confusion quickly melded into anxiety as Ned looked through his notebooks for something and didn’t notice Peter’s struggle. The brunet glanced around frantically to see if anyone had noticed, but nobody was looking in their direction. Ned started to look up and Peter quickly pretended to lean against the wall, playing it cool.

“Did I give you yesterday’s work already?” Ned asked, voice nervous.

“Huh? What? Oh, yeah! I got that!” Peter said a bit loudly, earning some strange looks from passersby and a throbbing reminder from his head to keep his voice down.

“Hey, Parker!”

So much for quiet. Peter looked over his shoulder, panic rising in his chest as Flash approached him from behind. He looked back to Ned with huge eyes, but his friend just shrugged with an expression that told Peter everything he needed to know— Ned had no clue what to do.

“You gonna just ignore me, freak?” Flash asked, shoving his shoulder. Peter turned as far as he could without making it seem unnatural to have his hand on the lockers. Flash gave him a once-over, clearly confused, before just shaking it off and continuing his attempt. “I want to know why you missed Decathlon yesterday. You never miss school. What the hell was that?”

Peter was slightly taken aback. “I— Um, I was sick?” It came out as more of a question than a reply. Flash narrowed his eyes, allowing his gaze to rake up and down Peter’s body once more. Peter had never felt so exposed in his life, and he hated it. People’s conversations drifted in and out of his ears, clothing rustled with every movement, zippers zipped and unzipped loudly.

“You came into school with the flu at the end of first semester and you’re telling me you stayed home sick?” Flash asked disbelievingly. “Also, where are your freakishly big glasses?” Peter’s mouth opened and then closed again. It was true. He had forced May and Ben to let him attend school with the flu. He was missing his glasses, as well, which was also new. He had tripped five times with them on when he left and taken them off once he was on his way.

“Y-Yeah,” Peter stammered lamely. Ned stifled a laugh behind him as Flesh stepped forward, poking Peter hard in the chest. “I have contacts now,” he lied through his teeth. Flash squinted at him, and his heart rate quickened. He was a terrible liar.

“You’re a freaking weirdo, Parker.”

“Why do you even care?” Ned asked, finally joining the conversation. “It’s not like you’re worried about his well being.” Flash rolled his eyes, and Peter discreetly began peeling his hand from the locker. Luckily, neither Flash, nor Ned seemed to notice.

“You two dipshits may have forgotten that we have a Decathlon competition coming up in two weeks, but I sure as hell didn’t, and I showed up to practice. You may not have noticed, but we have a pretty small team, and as much as I hate to admit it, Parker here carries the weight of the majority of us.”

Whoa.

“That sounded like it was supposed to be an insult, but thank you?”

“It certainly wasn’t a compliment. Do better. ” And with that, Flash walked away. Peter was still surprised— And it wasn’t just because his hand, which he had washed that morning without touching anything aside from his bag and glasses since, had just stuck to a clean metal surface. Flash Thompson had just called him smart.

“Dude,” Ned said, awestruck. The bell rang, and people started to scramble.

“I know, Ned.”

“ Dude. ”

“I know!”

(Later, Peter would go to that decathlon competition and win it for his team, but it wasn’t because of what Flash had said to him. It was because Peter knew he could.)

When Peter first had the idea, he had to admit, it was a little crazy.

Okay, maybe a lot crazy, he thought, as he sat in front of his laptop on a website for extreme fighting and hovered his mouse over the button to sign up.

So maybe Peter had accidentally discovered that he had enhanced strength when he got frustrated with his math homework and punched a hole in his wall. That was definitely new.

So were the abs. Peter didn’t have a mirror in his room, so when he got changed it was a quick process where he didn’t worry too much about his appearance until he was in the bathroom doing his hair, which May finally made him cut— Peter’s usually-wild curls were now tame and styled almost every day.

But when Peter actually attended gym for the first time since the spider bite, a few of the guys looked at him a little weirdly in the locker room, and the fuckboy he had shared a locker with since the beginning of the year clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him on his progress.

Needless to say, Peter had Aunt May buy him a mirror after that, and he had spent a lot of time studying himself in the month since he had gained these new abilities. Peter was curious, to say the least. He had spent a lot of time out in old alleyways testing whether his hands were always sticky (he had been in quite a few situations up until this point that suggested they would only be sticky when he least wanted them to be), and just how strong he actually was. He was extremely hesitant to experiment with the sensory stuff, seeing as after two weeks of static, he had finally calmed them down enough that he was almost at normal standards.

He had started small, with things he knew he would have been able to lift anyway, and worked his way up. One day, he had looked at a dumpster, and thought, Hmm. He had laughed it off at first, because surely it wasn’t possible, but then again, there were people like Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers, so if they could do it, who was to say he wasn’t?

“Steve Rogers got enhanced with a serum that basically glorified his entire body, and Bruce Banner experimented with gamma radiation that makes him turn into a huge green monster that could rip you apart,” Peter had grumbled to himself the first time he bent down to get a grip on the edge of the metal box. Then he thought about it for a moment, and retorted incredulously, “You got bit by a freaky science-spider that gave you a fever of like, 120 degrees, and two weeks of sensory overloads. Why is any of this surprising you at this point?”

That was the main reason he didn’t crap himself when the dumpster was lifted high over his head with little strain.

So fine. Maybe Peter wanted to use these abilities for something. If he won this fight, he would get a pretty good amount of money. Maybe it was time he started pulling his weight.

Smirking a little, Peter clicked the button and got to work.

(Later, Peter would discover that there was a reason you were supposed to be over 18 to compete in these things. Peter was not over 18.)

Peter is still fourteen years old and he is about to fight someone on live television.

He’s still not quite sure how he got himself into this position— Okay, so maybe he signed up for it— But here he was, and he was just as doubtful of his own survival as the people in the audience.

“He’s huge, ” Peter muttered to himself disbelievingly as he watched the first few fights. He kept his mask on— A mask he had created with random scraps of old clothing he was never planning on wearing again along with a pair of goggles that protected his eyes— He knew he looked ridiculous, especially with his red hoodie with the sleeves torn off and blue sleeves from the literal onesie he had on underneath, and especially especially with the crappy hand-drawn spider on the front. He looked like an idiot and he knew it. But he couldn’t just walk in there with a t-shirt and sweatpants on.

(Later, when people started laughing, Peter would realize that maybe a t-shirt and sweatpants hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.)

“So where were you last night?”

The question nearly caused Peter to drop his plate, but he simply fumbled with it for a moment, face going pale. May was still sitting at the table behind him as he cleaned off his dishes and put them in the sink, searching for an answer.

“He was at the library,” Ben supplied, walking into the kitchen from the living room. Peter relaxed, scratching at the back of his neck. “I dropped him off so he could study for one of his fancy decathlon meets.” Almost as soon as the relief hit, it was washed away by guilt, because none of that was true. Well, aside from the part where Ben drove him to the library.

Peter knew what he was doing was wrong on many levels, but he knew May would never approve if she found out, and that meant he couldn’t tell Ben, either. The thing was, he had made money out of it.

The guy hadn’t touched Peter once. That was what Peter was most proud of. The cage walls had gone down, much to his displeasure at the beginning, and when he shouted at the referee about it, she had just one thing to say to him—

“That’s why there’s an age restriction, kid. Shit like this isn’t always what it seems like it’s gonna be. Good luck! Don’t die.”

Peter hadn’t died, and that much he was thankful for. He had claimed to be a late-bloomer when the lady at reception mentioned how young he seemed— Obviousky nobody believed it, but he was holding up the line, and apparently when the champion won it was good for business— So he got through.

It wasn’t good for business when fourteen-year-old underdogs in blue spandex and a red hoodie won. Peter got boo-ed out of the ring, but it did nothing to dump on his spirits— He was a champion.

Unfortunately, that meant he had to come back. When the reigning champion lost, it was the last fight of the night. The next day, he would fight until he lost or gave up his title. Peter was too proud to give anything up, and he had a feeling the old champion would not be too happy if he had to accept a forfeit win from a child who had beaten him.

So Peter was going to have to go back. The first thing he did when he got home with a fresh wad of cash in his pocket was call Ned and ask him if he could spend the night the next day. It was going to be a Saturday, so Ned had said yes, and Peter explained that he might not get there until very late— His excuse?

“I— Um, I’m going to see that really scary movie you don’t want to see!” He told his friend over the phone, looking up the schedule for the movie. “It’s at… 10:00. I’ll probably get to your house around 12:30.” Ned had been confused as to why he was seeing that late of a showing, but Peter insisted, and his friend had agreed. Now it was just down to getting Aunt May and Uncle Ben to agree.

Dinner had been quiet, and then Ben went to the bathroom, and Peter cleared his plate— Now he was here.

“Yeah,” he agreed quickly. “I was at the library until pretty late. By the way,” he began smoothly, easing May’s plate out of her grasp before she could even stand up and bringing it to the sink to wash it. “I was hoping I could go sleep over Ned’s tonight? He’s got this awesome new LEGO set and I’m really excited to start it.” Technically it wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

“I don’t see why not,” May shrugged. Peter grinned, biting his lip as he shoved May’s dish in the sink. “Do you need Ben to give you a ride there?”

“No!” He replied quickly, shaking his head and heading towards his room. “I’ll be fine, thanks!” He made a beeline for his door and closed it behind him, stuffing his ‘Spider-Man’ (he was still working on the name) outfit in his backpack along with a few discarded and half-empty water bottles to make it look like he had backed more.

There was a knock on his door, and Peter froze, eyes flitting over to the blueprints for a new device he was working on, which were sitting on his desk. He scrambled to grab them and shoved them into his bag, zipping it up quickly as he shouted, “Come in!”

Ben entered the room and stared at him on the floor for a moment, a grim expression on his face. Peter’s heart sped up a little bit and that weird sensory thing in the back of his head stirred. He hushed it silently, staring at his uncle, who was still silent.

“So,” Ben finally said, closing the door quietly. “I just wanted to come in here and have a talk.” Peter swallowed thickly. He didn’t like where this was going. Ben sat down on the edge of the teenager’s bed and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees.

“I’ve noticed that you’re being a little— Well, a little secretive. Ever since Charlie..” Ben trailed off, unclamping his hands to wave one loosely in the air. Peter’s expression hardened and his lips formed a slight scowl, but he didn’t say anything yet.

“You haven’t really been as talkative with May and I,” Ben clarified. “And, we’ve been talking. We think maybe this sudden change affected you more than we realized. I know you and Charlie were close, but I hadn’t realized you two were— Well—“

Oh. Oh. Peter’s cheeks immediately darkened to a deep red color, and his mouth fell opened slightly as Ben floundered awkwardly for an end to his sentence.

“ That close,” Ben finished lamely, and went silent. Peter was shocked. They thought he was avoiding them? Peter felt like he had been closer to them than ever before. Especially since Ned had come into the picture.

“Ned has helped a lot,” Ben said, as if he could hear Peter’s thoughts. “But we still think you might benefit from seeing someone, and really just hashing it out, you know? You shouldn’t still be coming home crying from your walks with Sarah like you did today, or reading Charlie’s note in the middle of the night—“

“How did you know about that?!” Peter interjected, shock filtering into his system. “Are you spying on me?” Ben opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, and angry replaced Peter’s surprise. “You shouldn’t be doing that. I have a right to privacy. And you can’t tell me not to cry about my friend who killed himself! ”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Ben protested, eyes widening. “I was just— May and I agree that you seem to have some feelings about it— About him— That need to be addressed, that’s all!”

“I wasn’t in love with him!” Peter’s voice broke, tears filling his eyes. “Everyone thinks I was, but I wasn’t! And he didn’t—“

Charlie loved you, you know.

“Charlie wasn’t—“

He loved you.

Peter was on his feet now, bag in hand, angry tears streaming down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he finished softly, voice shaking. “I don’t want to see anyone. I’m fine.”

“You’re not, Pete,” Ben disagreed, shaking his head. “Look at yourself. You’re shaking and crying over a simple conversation. I know you say you two weren’t like that—“ He held up a hand to silence Peter, who had opened his mouth angrily to argue. “and I believe you! I really do. But your Aunt and I have already agreed. We’ve already set up an appointment with a lady across town. She’s a therapist. She can help you.”

“I don’t need help!” Peter shouted, startling the man in his room with his volume as he backed towards the door. “I don’t need help, and you don’t get to control my life! You’re not my dad!” Ben rose to his feet, glaring heatedly.

“Well, I’m the closest thing you’ve got!” He yelled back. Peter stared at him with huge, glossy eyes, then turned and ran. He ran past Aunt May, who was standing outside and listening with tears in her eyes. He ran out the door and onto the street. He ran all the way to the arena from the night before.

(Later, Peter would look back on this night and realize that despite his crying the whole way there, he did not wheeze once.)

Every fight was more pathetic than the last. Peter had a feeling they were throwing the little guys at him first.

It wasn’t like he had any experience at all, but the only thing he really had to do was jump over them and let them tire themselves out running after him and while they were winded land a solid hit to them and put them out of their misery.

That was before the big guy showed up.

Peter was already exhausted from crying, running there, and then participating in three fights before this one— it was only 10:30. Then a man who looked more like a bear stomped into the ring.

He was even larger than the guy Peter had fought the night before and he was covered from head to toe in the thickest body hair Peter had ever seen— it was crazy.

“Hey, man, I don’t know about all this fur— It kinda makes you look like a lion, with the mane, y’know?” The second the fight started, Peter leaped up onto the cafe walls and started climbing out of his reach. The guy watched him— at least, Peter assumed he was watching him through that rat’s nest.

“Hey, where’s Nala, is she in the audience? I don’t see her—“

“Get down.” His voice was gruff, but it boomed over the screams of the audience.

“You want me to go down there?” Peter asked. “Okay.” He jumped down in front of the guy, and looked up, trying to hide his discomfort at the size difference. The man grumbled, and then there was a burst of movement. Peter automatically jumped to the side, only for that weird sense to spike up and the air on his arms to stand straight up under his sleeves. He was still in midair when a large hand closed around his arm and pulled him right back down.

“H-Hey, buddy, I—“ Peter was cut off as the man slammed him down into the mat and his head hit the ground with a loud thud. The audience was screaming as Peter was picked up and thrown at the cage walls, only to slide down and hit the floor again.

“Hey,” the low voice boomed, “where’s Charlotte? Is she in the audience?” He laughed a terrible laugh, lifting Peter by the front of his shirt and slamming him repeatedly into the cage bars. Peter cried out in pain, struggling to pry his fingers away, but his hands were sweaty and he couldn’t get a good grip.

“ Stop! ” He finally screamed. “ I yield! ” He hit the floor like a rag doll, back and head throbbing with pain, head pounding, and his ego deflating. Before he knew it, he was being ushered out of the ring and back up into the same office where he got paid the previous day with his mask in his bag and his head hanging low.

Peter sat in front of a cheapskate he had come to know as Mr. Goldstein, who was counting out a wad of cash considerately. He spared Peter a glance, then threw down three hundred bucks. Peter picked up the money and stared at it for a second.

“You gave me two hundred for one fight yesterday,” he said quietly. Mr. Goldstein just gave him a dirty look as if he couldn’t believe he was still here.

“What are you, twelve? What can you do about it? Take the damn money and beat it, kid. I ain’t got all day.”

“I’m fourteen,” Peter insisted. “You’re cheating me out of the money I earned.”

“I most certainly am not,” Mr. Goldstein snarked. “I paid you for winning a fight against a champion. That’s two hundred bucks. You beat three average joes. That’s one hundred bucks each. Now scram.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

Peter left the office and stormed down the hallway towards the elevator. Another man was walking past him with a nervous glint in his eyes. Peter wondered if they fights had gone on tonight since he had lost so early on, and this guy wanted in, but the way he was dressed in cargo pants and a loose sweatshirt suggested otherwise. Peter rapped the elevator button, clutching his bag and his money in dejected hands, and waited.

“Give me all of your money!”

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood up as he heard the muffled demand. There was the brief sound of a scuffle, and then the same nervous man came running out with frantic eyes and a bag full of what Peter rather cleverly deduced was probably money. The elevator dinged, and for a split second Peter considered stopping the guy, but his pettiness got the better of him and he allowed the man to run straight past him into the elevator.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Mr. Goldstein yelled as he ran down the hall. “Why didn’t you stop him?!”

“Sorry, Mr. Goldstein,” Peter answered dully, glaring up at him. “I’m only… What age did you say again? Twelve?” He shrugged. “What can I do about it?”

Peter took the stairs.

When he got down to the lobby, there was no sign of a scuffle. The guy had probably just slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out. Peter left the building and was standing on the front steps when he saw the last person on the planet that he wanted to see.

“I liked the little show you put on tonight,” Uncle Ben said stiffly. “That whole quip about the guy looking like a lion was real funny.” Peter walked past him, scowling deeply, but he heard footsteps coming after him. “Don’t run away, Pete. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“What makes you think I want to go home with you?” Peter asked rather harshly, but he turned towards the parking lot anyway.

“What’s this all about, Peter? There are grown men in those rings. They could seriously hurt you.” Ben sounded genuinely worried, and Peter’s anger faltered as well as his steps. He looked around for Ben’s car, taking a deep breath.

“I wanted to start pulling my load around here,” he finally admitted, turning to face him. “You and May never asked to have to take care of me. You probably wanted your own kid. The least I can do is pay for my own food and clothes—“

“Peter, you are our own kid,” Ben interrupted, and when Peter met his eyes, he saw all of the pain and hurt finally spilling over. “Why can’t you just see that? You are our kid. We could never ask for a better one. But shit like this?” He gestured at the building they had come from, and Peter smiled a little at the fact that Ben had sworn. “Yeah, that’s right, yuk it up. I said shit. Shit like this has to stop. You’ve gotta stop keeping secrets. You’ve gotta talk to us.” Peter bit his lip, and nodded, before throwing his arms around his uncle in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Ben just sighed, hugging him back tightly.

“I know, Pete. Just stick with us a couple more years, okay?” Peter pulled back, nodding, and they walked side by side to find their car. There were a few voices close by, and suddenly, Peter’s senses were flashing like crazy. He threw out his arm to stop Ben, staring straight at their car. There was a man on the driver’s side fiddling with the door.

Peter glanced at Ben, eyes wide with fear, but the man just smiled reassuringly.

“Call the police while I get his information.” Peter nodded obediently, pulling his phone out of his bag and dialing 911. It didn’t even ring, just picked up immediately.

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?” A young masculine voice asked.

“Someone is trying to steal my uncle’s car,” Peter answered calmly, eyes drifting away from the scene. He could hear Ben talking firmly, but he was too far away to pick up his exact words.

“Alright, I’ll send a police car. Can you give me your address?” The man asked.

“Uhhh—“ Peter hesitated. “Actually, yeah.” He recited the address over the phone. There was a moment of silence. Then, a deafening bang. All of the breath left Peter’s lungs as his eyes traveled back over to Ben and the thief. It was dark out, but under the light of the street lamp he could see the dark crimson expanding on his uncle’s clothes as he stumbled back.

“Sir? Sir, was that a gunshot?” The operator was asking firmly, but Peter hardly heard him. He walked towards Uncle Ben on shaking legs, mind going completely blank as time slowed down and the man fell backwards. His car revved to life and pulled away, dangerously close to Ben’s form on the ground, and finally, Peter screamed.

“Ben!” He cried, hurrying over to his uncle’s side and falling to his knees. “Oh my God, Uncle Ben, he shot you, he shot—“

“Peter,” Ben interrupted, lifting a hand to brush Peter’s cheek. “Give me the phone.” Peter did as he was asked with trembling hands, and Ben put the device to his ear, growing paler by the second. “Hello? Yes, he’s fine. I’m his uncle. I—“ Ben was cut off by a harsh cough, and Peter jumped, tears hitting the pavement as they fell from his eyes. “There was a— a gun, and we need— an ambulance—” Ben listened for a while, and finally, the sirens were being heard. Peter clutched the hand that was still on his cheek, sobbing quietly.

“Uncle Ben,” he whimpered miserably. The man was still just listening, staring up at the sky with the phone to his ear. “Uncle Ben, are they coming?” Peter squeezed his uncle’s hand, and he did not respond. Suddenly, Peter understood, and his blood ran cold. Ben had not been listening. He had died in the middle of speaking.

Peter uttered a choked scream and clutched Ben’s hand tighter, trembling violently as it grew colder and colder against his cheek. “Ben!” He shouted into the night, ignoring the crowd that was beginning to grow around him and his uncle. The sirens were so unbelievably loud now, they had to be there, and sure enough, armed figures flooded onto the scene almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

(Later, Peter would only remember the night as a blur of hectic memories, but the two things he would never forget were the terrible scream that May gave when she found out, and the freezing chill of his uncle’s skin against his own cheek.)

Chapter Text

Part Four:

Interlude

Peter Parker is still fourteen years old, and he is about to kill a man.

It hadn’t been so hard to believe at the time. He felt numb to the world around him, even with all of the camera flashes and sirens wailing, spiking his enhanced senses like crazy. Nothing felt real as Peter fled the scene, running as fast as he possibly could. His phone lay forgotten in Ben’s hand, buzzing as May called to make sure he had made it to Ned’s okay, because Ben wasn’t answering her. For obvious reasons.

Peter wiped his tears out of his eyes on the go, pelting down the street towards his own residence. May couldn’t see him if he was going to get this done. He hardly thought about what he was doing as he ran around the back of the house, leaping up onto the wall and climbing up to his window. He slid it opened and crawled in carefully, letting himself down from the ceiling as quietly as possible before he began digging in his drawers.

He found them quickly, latching them onto his wrists and checking them quickly. The prototypes had only been used a few times— It had taken a long time for him to figure out how to calibrate them in a way that was comfortable, and a way where he wouldn’t break his wrists during their usage, but he had managed. A lot could get done in a month if he put his mind to it, including dumpster-diving outside of a local laboratory for the parts he needed.

Peter pressed a fresh pellet of his home-made webs into the prototypes for his latest inventions— He had yet to decide what they were called, because web-shooters felt too forward, but that was what he had written on all of his papers so far. The fluid had been a lot easier to make. He glanced at the door when a floorboard outside creaked, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing up as his senses alerted him to the presence of another person. Moving quickly, Peter climbed back out the window as quietly as he could and slid it shut, before leaping off of the side of his house and breaking into a run after he hit the ground in a roll.

The moment he was in the part of the city with bigger buildings, he ducked down an alley and threw himself up onto the wall, running up the side of it a bit unsteadily. When he got to the top, he glanced around, watching the red and blue lights flash along random streets of the city. He ran to the far edge of the building, heart pounding. He had never tried this before, but he supposed sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith, and he had to force himself not to close his eyes when the surface of the building disappeared from beneath him and he aimed his wrist, pressing the pad of his shooter where it lay against his palm. There was a slight delay in which he panicked, then the web shot out and hit its target.

Instant relief hit Peter like a tidal wave as he started to swing unsteadily through the city. It quickly melted away as he concentrated on his multiple tasks, which included not falling to his untimely death, finding the man who had killed Ben, and taking him in.

Part of Peter wished he had changed into his suit before starting his journey across the city, but there was no time to regret it now. It was getting late, which meant it was dark out aside from the street lamps, which he stayed above in order to hide his appearance. There weren’t many people on the streets, but the ones who were stared— It was to be expected.

Peter felt like his heart had been crushed when he saw his uncle’s car driving along the street as if nothing was wrong. The sirens were on the completely wrong side of the city. He followed the car without confrontation, formulating some kind of plan in his head. The harder he thought about it, the more desperately he wanted to just attack the guy.

By the time Peter had made the decision to just wait and see where the guy went, they were approaching a dingy part of the city. Peter was shivering, and beginning to regret not calling the police when he got back home and telling them what he knew, or even just waiting for them at the scene of the crime. Guilt bubbled in his stomach as he realized that he had left Uncle Ben alone with all of those people to stare at him. Glancing at his watch as he swung, Peter’s stomach lurched. That had been nearly a half an hour ago.

The car slowed next to a clearly abandoned building and stopped. Peter landed on the side of a building and stuck to the wall, gripping the corner a bit harder than he probably had to— He was still unused to the idea that all he had to do was touch the surface. When the guy got out of the car, Peter strained to see him, but he was still too far away. Growing frustrated, Peter shot a web at a closer building and swung through the shadows towards it, grasping the edge tightly. When he turned his gaze back to the car, the man was gone.

Peter swung over to the car, landing on top of it and glancing around. There was a soft click that jolted him to his senses, and he glanced at the door to the abandoned building, running a hand through his hair. He slid off of the car, leaving it with a lingering touch, before heading into the building and closing the door much more quietly behind him. He leaped up into the air and caught his fingertips on the ceiling, pulling himself up and creeping along the top of the room in search of the man. Another door slammed shut, and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, gaze flitting across the lobby towards the door that lead to the stairs. He frowned and crawled towards it, glancing towards the elevators.

Peter made a quick decision and switched courses towards the elevator, prying the doors apart and looking up the shaft. He could see the bottom of the car from here. He shot a web up and started to climb carefully, but his weight made the box swing a little bit. Peter held his breath as the cords creaked, rusty and unused. When nothing seemed to happen, he started moving again, wincing at every little squeak and groan.

“Who’s there?!” A gruff voice demanded, echoing down from many floors up. Peter froze, eyes going wide as he clung onto his web for dear life, sweat pouring down his brow. Despite his perspiration, he was shivering like crazy— He felt freezing. When the voice didn’t call again for a few minutes, Peter tried to relax. His heart and mind were screaming at him to stop, but his hands disobeyed him. He began to climb again, a bit faster, the cords’ cries of protest becoming louder and more frantic. When he finally reached the box, he squeezed himself around the edge, climbing up the side and onto the top.

The breath of relief when he found himself sitting on a solid surface was short lived. He looked up, squinting into the darkness. There was a hushed whisper from above that set his blood on ice.

“ Found you. ”

Then Peter was falling. A choked scream tore from his throat as he reached up automatically, a web flying from his wrist-contraption. For a few terrifying seconds, nothing happened. Then there was a force that sent a white-hot pain shooting up Peter’s arm and down his side. He screamed out, clutching onto the web for dear life as his entire right side felt like it was on fire. He leaped from the web and landed on the wall, sticking with his feet and left hand while his right arm swung by his side. Hot tears streaked his cheek as he let go of the wall and clutched his arm to his side tightly, shoulder pulsating with searing pain.

Strained gasps and moans of pain continued to string from his mouth even after the loud crash of the elevator hitting the bottom sounded. Peter shook his head furiously, biting his lip so hard that it drew blood. He had to remain quieter if the man were to presume him dead.

“ Oh my God, ” Peter whispered to himself, choking on tears as he started to walk up the wall with his dislocated arm clutched tight to his side. “ Oh my God this is crazy what am I doing oh my God— “

When he reached the floor with the opened elevator door, Peter was hesitant. He peered over the edge carefully, scoping out the floor. It seemed to be pretty opened— There were a few pipes running up through the ground from previous floors where the walls should have been, and there were a few dusty piles of boxes covered with sheets, but other than that, it was empty. He hauled himself over the edge and into the open space, quickly rolling behind the cover of a stack of boxes when a hacking cough echoed from across the room. Dust mixed with the tears of his face, creating a rather grimly look, and Peter was sure his sweat wasn’t helping, but goosebumps were breaking out all over his skin.

He was extremely high up in a building with window-frames but no glass to keep him from falling, stuck with a man who had killed his uncle and was now trying to kill him. It was pitch black aside from the moonlight filtering in from said windows. Peter was totally unarmed except for his makeshift web-shooters that had only really been for experimental purposes anyway, and he had a dislocated shoulder on his dominant side.

So yeah, he was cool, he was going to be totally fine. Peter climbed up onto the wall and up to the ceiling, creeping along the roof and heading towards the heavy breathing across the room. He found his guy in a similar situation to the one he had been in only moments before— Hiding, and obviously terrified. Peter tried to hold his breath, but his heart was racing, and it wasn’t going to work. He shot a web quietly and lowered himself silently to the ground on the other side of the boxes where the man was hiding.

Panic started to build up in Peter’s mind as he struggled to think of what the hell he was supposed to do with this. What the hell had he come here for, anyway? He was just fourteen, what the hell was he supposed to do if he found this guy?

He was broken out of his mini panic attack by the sound of a gun being cocked. Peter’s face paled when the silhouette of a tall man cast a shadow down onto him, the moonlight glinting down onto the barrel of the gun that was being pointed directly at his face. Peter swallowed thickly, taking a deep and shuddering breath as he lifted his gaze to meet the man’s eyes.

The same nervous eyes as belonged to the thief from the wrestling place.

Peter’s breath hitched, and he began to tremble violently as the realization of what he’d done hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice cracking. “Oh my God. It’s you. ” The man raised an eyebrow.

“Have we met?” He asked, voice dangerously quiet. Peter shook his head vigorously, tears building up in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night, and he swallowed back a pitiful whimper. Then the criminal’s eyes lit up with sudden recognition. “Wait. You’re that kid. You’re the one who let me by at the elevator.” Peter kept shaking his head, turning his back to the man and squeaking shrilly when the cool metal touched the back of his head, forcing him to still completely.

“You did me a real solid earlier, kid,” the gruff voice said, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, a pathetic cry escaping him when the gun nudged his head gently. “I might be willing to let you go if you’ll do me another.”

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood up, and he flinched, throwing himself to the right mere milliseconds before the man pulled the trigger. Another scream tore itself from Peter’s throat as he landed on his bad arm, pain shooting up and down the limb. He scrambled to his feet, aiming his left wrist and shooting a web at the gun. He yanked it from the man’s hands and it skittered across the floor, echoing loudly.

“What the fuck?” The man mumbled to himself, but Peter moved quick, a web catching the guy’s mouth and sealing it shut. The momentum had him stumbling back, and before Peter could decide what to do next, the man was tripping over one of the many pipes sticking out of the floor. Peter gasped, lurching forward and extending his hand instinctively, but the guy was already falling when he got to the window. Peter shot a web down at his chest, clutching the edge of the window with his right arm. He cried out in pain when he was jolted forwards a bit, sending another stab of pain through his shoulder and arm, but he held on, peering down through eyes blurred with tears. He couldn’t see anything.

The boy didn’t bother muffling his sobs as he dragged the man back up into the building. He was expecting him to make a lot more noise, but he was silent, and when Peter was sure he was close enough to reach, he thrust out his hand for the man to grab. Cold dread dropped like a weight in his stomach when the guy didn’t move. Peter stared at him, knuckles turning white with how tightly he clutched the strand of webbing. Then his grip faltered.

The whiplash. This guy’s neck had snapped the second Peter’s web connected with his chest.

Then the man was free falling again.

He hit the ground, and even from all the way up in one of the top floors, Peter could hear the sickening crunch. He felt like throwing up. A few minutes later, he did.

Then he sat still for a long time.

(Later, Peter would go to the police station and tell them what had happened up until he ran away from Ben’s body. The search for Ben’s car continued, but Peter had a feeling it would be a while before they found it. Plenty of time for the webbing that had caused the man’s death to dissolve, leaving no evidence that Peter had ever been there at all.)

————————————

Peter Parker is still fourteen years old, and he has never in his life cried harder than he did the night his uncle died.

He cried himself to the point of dehydration and then some, sobbing even after the tears stopped falling. He cried for so long that he didn’t have a voice left to cry with, and he was just sobbing silently into his hands beside his aunt.

May was extremely brave about the entire situation. She held Peter close the entire night, shushing him gently. Peter had tried to take her hand and tell her that it was going to be okay, but when nothing came out of his mouth, it just looked like he was seeking more comfort. She had squeezed the life out of him when she got to the station, letting him cry into her shoulder while she cried into his hair.

There was a lot of crying.

Peter had given the best description he could of a man who he had only seen through the dark, but he had recognized that hoodie and that haunted face under the streetlamp. It was the same man he had let by onto the elevator only minutes before.

It was also the man who Peter had unintentionally killed in an attempt to rescue from a deadly fall, but he didn’t tell the officers that.

There was something soul-crushing about knowing his uncle had died due to his own ignorance. It hit Peter like a freight train. He knew he couldn’t keep it from the police, so he told them the truth, that the man had only gotten away because he let him into the elevator.

“I’m glad you let him by,” the same police officer who had given Peter Charlie’s note, Officer Davis, said, shaking his head. “You’re just a kid. What if he had shot you, too? Then you’d both be dead, and your aunt doesn’t deserve that.”

Peter had pondered this, but decided that it was besides the point. He never said so out loud. He had a feeling it showed in his eyes, though, because Officer Davis didn’t look convinced with his slow nod.

“Look, kid,” the man said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not here to be your therapist, but I don’t want to leave you like this. Your aunt is sleeping, and I can’t just leave you to your own devices while you’re thinking like that.” Peter cast him a sharp look.

“I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he spat. “I know better than to do that. I know how it makes people feel.” He curled his fingers tightly around his water cup, fighting back to hot pressure behind his eyes. He couldn’t afford to cry again.

“Listen,” Davis said, and suddenly, his voice wasn’t so gentle. “I get it. You’re a teenager, and you’ve lost your father-figure. It’s sad. But your aunt needs you to be strong for her right now.” Peter glanced guiltily to his side where May was snoring on the couch. “We’re looking for the guy who did this using yours and her information. Are you going to sit here and make her watch as her son wastes away, or are you going to be a man and make sure she doesn’t waste away on her own?” Peter swallowed thickly, biting his lip hard enough to bleed.

“I’m gonna take care of her,” he forced out, wiping his eyes before the fresh tears could fall. Davis clapped him on the shoulder, smiling gently.

“You’re a good kid, Pete. I can see this light in you. I hope my son turns out like that.”

“What’s your son’s name?” Peter asked curiously, taking a sip of his water.

“Miles,” the man stated proudly. “He’s four. A bit of a handful, but Rio and I got used to it pretty quick. I think he’s gonna be a good kid. Like you,” he added, casting a meaningful look at Peter, who ducked his head, blushing a bit.

“I think you’ll be a good dad,” Peter said softly, sniffling a bit and cracking a small smile.

“Thanks,” Davis murmured, gaze slightly unfocused as he became lost in thought. “I certainly hope so.”

He stayed a little while longer, but he kept getting calls on his radio he was reluctant to answer. Peter finally convinced him to go do his job after almost ten more minutes of begging. Once the man left, Peter experienced his first moment of true silence since he left the house after his fight with Ben. A fight which seemed so stupid and pointless now that Peter just had to laugh.

May stirred, and Peter’s laughter faded as his smile comforted into a twisted and hurt expression of its own kind. He leaned across the couch and tucked his head into her side, sniffling pitifully. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, running her fingers through his dirty hair and working out the knots.

“Do you remember the time when we brought Ben to yoga?” May asked softly, rubbing a spot of dirt off of Peter’s cheek. The brunet smiled a real smile, snuggling further into her side as best he could without disturbing his arm. A nurse had set it just after he arrived, telling him to minimize his use because it was going to hurt for a while. But even the bruises on Peter’s back from his fight earlier in the night had faded— He had checked in the bathroom mirror. That was a weird thing that had come with the rest of his enhanced abilities. He healed a lot faster than normal. His lips didn’t even have chew marks on them.

“Of course I remember that,” Peter replied, voice dripping with fondness. “He took one look at Marissa and told me, ‘I see why you’re so keen to impress her, Pete. She’s a looker.’” May laughed, and Peter wrapped his arms around her tightly, fearing what might happen if he ever lets go.

“That was a good day,” May sighed, fingers still buried in Peter’s hair. The boy nodded faintly, inhaling her scent and basking in the comfort she gave.

“I love you, May,” he mumbled against the skin of her neck when he buried his face in it. She took his hand in one of her own and squeezed tightly, turning her head and pressing a kiss to his hairline.

“I know, Peter. And Ben knows, too.” Knows. It was comforting to hear her say it in the present tense, as if he was still consciously aware of them, as if he was still there. “We’ve always known. You’re our boy. No matter how many times you argued or fought with us, there was no denying the love in your eyes when you looked at us, frustrated love or not.”

“Thank you,” he whispered shakily. “That’s— I mean, it’s really good to know that you guys— Well, you knew. ‘Cause it feels like I didn’t tell him enough before—“ He broke off, exhaling slowly.

“You didn’t have to, Sweetie,” May sighed, playing with his fingers absently, and Peter let her. Anything to distract her, and anything to distract himself. “He knew. God, he knew. Every night he said to me, ‘How did we get lucky enough to have a kid who loves us as much as that one does? What did I do to deserve someone like Peter?’ and I would smile at him and say, ‘I don’t know, but you are certainly doing a great job with the chance you’ve been given.’ He would grumble about it, like the humble guy he was, but I always knew how proud he secretly was. He couldn’t hide that from me.”

Peter shifted, resting his head on her shoulder. They sat in silence, holding hands, and just being together for the entire night. Peter hadn’t slept in almost two days by now. His eyelids dropped, but he fought to stay awake, pinching his leg every few seconds.

“Go to sleep, Pete,” May mumbled against his head as the sun began to trickle through the windows of the NYPD. The brunet shook his head absently, squeezing her hand and pinching his leg again to keep himself awake.

“What if someone comes back with news?” He yawned, curls tumbling over his forehead as May ruffled his hair.

“Then I’ll wake you up,” she promised. “Please, Peter. You look like… Well, you look like shit, and that’s putting it nicely.” Peter giggled softly, but let his eyes flutter shut, shifting his head from her shoulder to her lap. She resumed playing with his hair like she used to do when he was little, and Peter drifted off, dreaming that she was Sarah, and he was sleeping under the trees of the park with her fingers threading through his curls instead of May’s.

(Later, reports of a man’s body on the ground outside of an abandoned building across the city would reach May’s ears, and she would simply hold her head high and nod while Peter melted into her side, listening with secret-filled thoughts and a guilty conscience.)

——————————

Peter is almost fifteen years old, and summer vacation is upon him.

A month an a half had gone by since Ben’s death, and Peter felt like he had gotten over it with May faster than the rest of his peers at school did. They still gave him sad, pitying looks whenever he passed in the halls, every single one reminding him of something he’d rather not think about while in public.

Having Ned around always helped, and Ned was always around. Peter stuck to him like glue, practically hanging off of his friend for emotional support, and Ned never let him down. The boy always listened to Peter’s thoughts and concerns— The ones Peter could afford to tell him, anyway.

He still had secrets, like what had really happened after he ran away from Ben in the parking lot, and what he was really doing between the time where he left school and the time when he got home for dinner and homework. Secrets like what his projects scattered amongst his room and in the garage actually were, and why May had found the sleeves of a brand new red sweatshirt under Peter’s mattress when they were packing up for the move.

May had decided that the house held too many memories, and after trying to think of them in a positive light, enough had been enough. They now owned an apartment across town, still in Queens, and a bit closer to Peter’s school.

Despite the passage of time and change of scenery, it still wasn’t easy to hide how he really felt, regardless of how cool Peter played it at school and in front of his aunt. He still dreamt of shooting his web down to reach that man and the crunch that followed when his body hit the ground. It was almost unbearable. Peter would wake up in a cold sweat and the only way to calm himself was often to take a sip of water and work on whatever new prototype for his web-shooters he could find. Sometimes he was awake until his alarm went off.

Those were just the bad days. There were always the worst days to look forward to, when Peter’s senses would overload, and it was the same story as his first night after the bite all over again— The difference was, he had learned to keep quiet. It hurt like hell, and sometimes he considered gouging his eyes out and deafening himself permanently to silence everything, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. He was sensing these things, and sure, his hearing was enhanced, and his vision was almost too-sharp, but the majority of this was happening because of some sort of stimuli in his brain that was alerting him to the things happening around him.

The worst days were the ones where it became too much, but Peter had to pretend it wasn’t anyway. They were the days where he didn’t speak to May all morning and left for school with sunglasses on despite it still being dark out, the days where he wore headphones all the way to school to block out some of the closer noises even though the louder noise scrambled his brain further, the days where his entire being hurt more than he was willing to admit.

Ned had caught on eventually— He knew when Peter wore his sunglasses that it wasn’t a good day to chatter a lot, or to ask about hanging out. It was a day to take care of him, and make sure he had what he needed. Ned kept Advil in his locker, which was against school customs, and gave it to Peter immediately whenever he walked in with his shades. Peter was immensely grateful for the gesture, even if a normal dosage of the drug did hardly anything for him. He liked to make sure Ned knew he was helping, so he forced himself to act better whenever his friend made an attempt, painful as it was.

Peter was having one of the worst days. He trudged into school with a pounding headache, flinching at every movement around him. It was one of the worst he’d seen since the first. He was nervous to even take his glasses off when he reached his locker in fear of the lights and what they might do to his overly-sensitive eyes in his first few seconds of exposure. So he shielded his eyes and took them off quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. He hissed softly under his breath, ignoring the strange looks that were sent his way.

It was a Tuesday morning, nobody would believe he had gotten hammered on a Monday night. Even if they did, he was Peter Parker. Did any of them care? Of course not.

“Hey, Penis!”

Then there was the one who would. Peter let his head fall forward against his locker, shuddering at the sharp coldness against his forehead. Ned was late. That was fine. He just wished Flash had been, too.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, freak.” Peter flinched, closing his eyes. He hated that word. He especially hated it ever since the bite. He hated responding to it. Yet, he couldn’t keep himself from looking up dejectedly, peering at Flash with dark eyes. The boy was glaring right back, arms crossed over his chest.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter prompted quietly, gaze becoming rather skittish as people shifted around him, clothing rustling, papers fluttering, and jewelry tinkering. Flash gave him a weird look, but Peter just heaved a great sigh, throwing his sunglasses in his now-unlocked locker and taking out his books for the day.

“I want to know why you’re being such a freak lately,” Flash replied loudly. Peter’s grip on his locker door tightened, and he averted his eyes, brow creasing as Flash continued. “You’re so weird at decathlon— it may be the end of the season, but that’s no excuse to slack— and you’ve been coming to school with these weird hang-over-ish vibes with absolutely no detectable pattern for three months now. What the hell is up? It’s affecting your grades, too.” Peter turned his head away, biting his knuckles to keep himself from laughing. Flash, caring about his well being..? Was it Christmas?

“You know, I find it kind of weird that you actually care this much,” Peter retorted without looking back at him. “Unless this is about your competition again, in which case, I’m actually not that surprised at all—“

“Of course this is about competition!” Flash hissed, grabbing Peter’s arm and jerking him around. “I said, look at me when I’m talking to you, you freak!” Peter’s heart rate immediately spiked upon contact and he practically leaned out of his skin, pressing himself against the lockers. His skin felt like it had been burned where Flash touched him and his chest heaved while Flash just glared at him.

“Don’t call me that,” Peter said weakly, but Flash just laughed.

“Seriously? You’re looking at me like I just murdered your dog— or worse, your uncle— and you’re telling me not to call you a freak? What the hell did I even do, Parker? Is your arm sensitive or something?”

“Hey, loser!” A vaguely familiar voice called. Flash’s gaze shifted somewhere over Peter’s shoulder, and the brunet looked, beginning to sweat. Michelle Jones from the field trip was standing a few feet away with a deeply-set scowl on her face and a book in her hand, but the second she had Flash’s attention she used her free one to flip him off.

“Leave the other loser alone,” she told him with a steely expression. Peter turned back to Flash with a shocked expression, and was even more surprised to see Flash considering it with a nervous look in his eyes.

“Fine!” The sophomore squeaked out, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Fine. But it’s not because I’m scared of you! I just want to… Uh.. Go talk to my real friends!”

“Shocking,” Michelle began, pursing her lips, “that you even consider us fake friends. Beat it.” Flash scampered off, and Peter had a feeling that if the boy had a tail, it would be between his leg’s like a dog’s. A lightheaded feeling caught him off guard and he swayed a bit, leaning against the lockers smoothly to hide it.

“Thank you,” he breathed out slowly, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the lockers. “I really appreciated that.”

“I didn’t do it because I like you ,” Michelle clarified, lifting her book up to her face and pulling an apple out of her bag. She took a big bite, peering at Peter with her dark eyes. “I just hate him .” Peter laughed breathlessly, sinking down until he was sitting against the lockers, a nauseous feeling that was not unfamiliar beginning to swamp him. He forced himself back up onto shaking legs before he could get too comfortable, stumbling towards the men’s room.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, lurching away. He hurried into the empty restroom and emptied the few contents of his stomach that remained from the previous night’s dinner, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. He flushed the toilet and stood up, pushing his hair, which was damp with sweat, off of his forehead.

Upon re-entering the hallway, Peter saw Ned standing awkwardly near Michelle, looking around like he was lost. Shaking his head, Peter trudged over to his friend, rubbing his forehead.

“There you are!” Ned sighed, relieved. “I’m so sorry I was late! My mom needed to get gas, and she took five years filling her tank. Michelle said that Flash was bothering you. Are you okay?” He was talking a hundred miles a minute, and Peter was hardly processing each sentence before he heard the next.

“Ned,” he said softly, holding up a hand. “I’m okay. Please talk slower.”

“Oh, right. Sorry..” Ned looked away, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and Peter immediately felt guilty. He sighed, shaking his head. Why did it have to be so hard to hide something as simple as a set of abs and sticky limbs?

“No, just— It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. Don’t be sorry. Let’s just go to math and celebrate the fact that after today, we are officially free.” It was true. Today was the last day before summer vacation, which meant that Peter was only about a month and a half away from being fifteen. He hated being the youngest in his grade, but it felt like an accomplishment to become a year older, and he felt that it would feel especially good for this year to be over for him.

Ned spoke quietly to him on the way to math, which Michelle followed them to, a first on her part. Usually she showed up last minute. Peter could feel her gaze on the back of his head occasionally, but he didn’t mind it as much as he did the others— Michelle never seemed to pity him, anyway. If anything, she just asked him why he was being such a loser about things without saying anything at all, and it was a good reminder that he needed to pick himself up. She was good to have around, even if she wasn’t exactly around in the way Ned, or even Charlie had been.

Peter’s overload became less overwhelming as the day progressed. By lunch, it was just an uncomfortable buzz. Peter had a feeling that it had something to do with at least one of his two friends (if he could call Michelle a friend) being in each of his classes leading up to the halfway point of his day. Ned was there to provide comfort. Michelle was pushing him, as usual, in her silent and judgemental way, but that in itself was oddly comforting— familiar, if nothing else.

After lunch it spiraled back down quite a ways, but last period went pretty well, all things considered. It had been a relaxed day anyway— the only reason Peter had brought any of his books from his locker was because the reading calmed him down when things got a little hectic.

At one point during the last period of the day, which was science, Michelle slid into the seat beside Peter (the one that used to be Charlie’s ) and switched out his text book for the one she always had in her own hands. It was opened to a random page. Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, instead looking at the book.

‘He was always seeking for a meaning in life, and here it seemed to him that a meaning was offered; but it was obscure and vague . . . He saw what looked like the truth as by flashes of lightning on a dark, stormy night you might see a mountain range. He seemed to see that a man need not leave his life to chance, but that his will was powerful; he seemed to see that self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion; he seemed to see that the inward life might be as manifold, as varied, as rich with experience, as the life of one who conquered realms and explored unknown lands.’

Peter read the same passage over at least ten times, and was somehow sure this was the one she had wanted him to see. It stood out against the blandness of the rest, leaving a powerful aura in its wake. It left stars in his mind, and he soon found himself turning the page of a book he had never thought to even open before, delving into the story of a boy who was not so different from himself— aside from the obvious.

When the bell rang, Michelle didn’t ask for the book back. She closed Peter’s, a bookmark sitting on top of the cover, and walked out of the class without so much as casting a glance back at him. Peter scrambled to get his stuff together and catch up— he wanted to thank her for the book. He would never had chosen it on his own. He hurried into the hallway, catching a glimpse of her just as she rounded a corner, and he dashed after her, heart beating just a little bit faster.

He reached out, inches from grasping her sleeve, when another hand grabbed his. Peter seized up immediately, yanking his arm away and nearly losing his balance. He stumbled back, bumping into Michelle herself before he stood up straight, apologizing quickly with her book clutched tightly to his chest. His gaze lifted to meet Flash’s, and he felt himself go pale.

“Jesus, Parker, what’s with the seizures recently?” The sophomore asked irritably as people bustled by. Michelle was standing awkwardly behind Peter as if she didn’t want to be there but also didn’t want to leave— It was the first time Peter had ever felt like she seemed unsure.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter asked sharply, the confidence he had lacked that morning beginning to trickle back into his system.

“You didn’t answer me this morning, and I want to know what the hell is going on with you. If you’re not going to step it up next year when you’re in AP classes with me, then I’m going to have to find someone else, and that’s just a pain in the ass.”

Peter rolled his eyes, turning around to walk away. “Well, you’re out of luck, because I was just leaving—“ Flash’s hand closed more firmly around Peter’s arm this time, and Peter struggled, but Flash dragged him over to the lockers, keeping a tight hold on him. Peter could feel the blood draining from his face as his senses started to act up, and his gaze flitted around uncontrollably.

“You’re being so weird lately,” Flash complained loudly, right in Peter’s face, and the brunet flinched, trying again to pull away.

“Let go of me,” he demanded firmly, surprised at how steady his voice was while his heart was beating erratically.

“God, will you just give it up? What the hell is it, Parker? Why are you so freaking defensive about this?” Flash demanded, giving him a rough shake. Peter’s mouth fell opened, and he felt thoroughly disoriented. Flash was way too close for comfort, but he just kept going. “What is it, huh? Are you still upset about your boyfriend killing himself? Or is it your uncle? Huh? What? I just want to know if it’s gonna be temporary or not. Why can’t you just cooperate—“

“Get your hands off of him.” Her voice was more angry than Peter had ever heard it, and she usually sounded pretty grouchy. Flash’s grip immediately slackened, and Peter yanked himself away, breathing heavily as he stared between Flash and Michelle with frantic eyes. It was embarrassing, to be honest. Saved twice in one day.

“Come on, Jones!” Flash complained. “I’m just trying to—“

“Stop competing, Flash,” Michelle said again in the same finalizing tone. “It’s over. The school year is over. Go home.” Flash glared daggers at Peter over the girl’s shoulder, but stormed off, grumbling loudly under his breath the whole way.

“I— I’m sorry—“ Peter gasped, biting his lip harshly as she turned around to size him up with an unimpressed gaze.

“You’ve got to get your shit together, Parker,” she said seriously. “Because this?” She gestured at his entire body with one brow raised. “This is not working.”

“But you just gestured to all of me,” he quoted How To Train Your Dragon weakly, mentally smacking himself afterwards for being such an idiot.

“Exactly. Stop being… All of you,” she said back, her usual scowl returning. “Or, whatever this weird, constant-freak-out version of you is. It’s not attractive.” Peter flushed scarlet.

“Was I ever?” He asked. She just turned around, shaking her head as she started to walk away.

“ He seemed to see that a man need not leave his life to chance, but that his will was powerful; he seemed to see that self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, ” she quoted loud enough for him to hear, and then she disappeared.

Peter didn’t see her for the rest of the summer.

(Later, Peter would read the book she had given him from cover to cover rather than middle to cover, and he set numerous reminders for himself to thank her later— It was his new favorite book.)

————————————

The worst part about being a superhero was that nobody knew Peter was a superhero.

They always seemed to think that he was just some guy who swung around on webs for fun and happened to run into trouble wherever he went. That was not the case. Peter worked hard to make sure he knew where he was going and where he was supposed to be. It took a lot of listening skills to pay that close attention on a boring summer afternoon, especially from a teenage boy such as himself.

When Peter did hear something he could involve himself in, he booked it, and he was getting better at timing it so he would arrive just in time. In the beginning, he would arrive at the end of the scene, or after it was already over. He had made progress to the point where he was actually arriving only halfway through, and sometimes even before the police did.

It was difficult, since Peter had to learn his way around the parts of Queens he had never been to by himself before, but it wasn’t hard to memorize— The streets were numbered, after all.

They were usually just car thefts and muggings, but one time it had been a call for breaking and entering— Some lady’s crazy boyfriend had broken into her house. Peter left that one alone.

Juggling his life as a hero (which was what he liked to call himself) and as a friend and family member was always harder than the movies made it seem. A few times, he considered pulling a Tony Stark and just announcing it to the world. Then he took a closer look at Mr. Stark’s situation and decided that maybe a billionaire with more publicity than almost everyone in the world and security systems of his own design that were arguably stronger than even the president’s would probably have an easier time living with something like that than he would.

He was one month into summer vacation and he had spent most of it out in the streets helping little old ladies cross the streets and giving newcomers directions to the closest supermarkets.

“What are you even doing whenever you’re not here?” Ned asked one Saturday afternoon. Peter shrugged, flipping a page of Michelle’s book. “Dude. Are you even listening? You’ve had your face stuck in that book all summer.”

“What?” Peter asked absently, but didn’t look up. He was startled when his book was taken from his hands, and he finally focused on Ned, who was staring at him with a strange expression. Peter flushed, averting his eyes. They trailed over to the clock on his bedside table, and he stiffened, eyes going wide.

“Shit, Ned, I’ve got to go!” He hissed, getting to his feet and darting around his room. He grabbed a hat to push over his messy hair, zipping his fly and yanking a pair of old sneakers on his feet. “I’m supposed to meet Sarah in five minutes. I’m gonna be late..”

“Who’s Sarah?” Ned crooned from the bed, making lovey eyes. Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Is she your giiiirlfrieeeeend—? ”

“No,” Peter snapped. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s Charlie’s sister.” Ned seemed to sober up immediately, smile fading. There was an awkward silence as Peter finished tying his shoes and stood up. He hesitated at the door.

“You can come, if you want.” Peter smiled a little when Ned immediately brightened, his smile returning. The pair left the apartment quickly, and Peter was suddenly much happier about the move than he had been in the previous month due to the closeness between his new residence and the park he met Sarah at.

“There she is,” he pointed out to Ned, who followed his gaze through squinted eyes. Peter grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards her, a little guilty at the fact that he was late, but her eyes lit up when she spotted him, and seemed to grow even brighter when she saw Ned.

God, she looked so much like Charlie.

“Hey, Peter!” She greeted cheerfully. “Is this the friend you’ve told me so much about?” She emphasized the word ‘so’ to the point where Peter and Ned were both flushed a bit darker than their natural skin tones, glancing at each other.

“Um, yeah,” Peter replied quickly. “This is Ned. Ned, this is Sarah. She’s going to be a freshman next year.”

“That’s right,” She chirped. “I turn thirteen in a few days. Peter and I are birthday buddies.” She nudged him playfully, and Peter grinned, shaking his head. “Before you ask— Yes, technically I am a year too young for high school. But Charlie was always pushing me to be the best I can be, and after a while, the school talked with my grandma and made the decision to bump me up.” She looked so excited. It made Peter feel excited, too. He was thrilled to introduce her to everyone at Decathlon.

“Its great, you’re gonna love it!” Ned encouraged. She visibly brightened, if it was possible for her to even smile any wider, and both teens seemed to relax, getting to know each others’ presences. Peter started to unwind, taking off his hat and running a hand through his mess of curls. May hadn’t taken him for a cut since the beginning of semester two, and it was starting to get a little wild again.

“Do you guys want to go get some ice cream?” Sarah asked suddenly, pulling her wallet out of her back pocket. “I got a gift card for that place across town. It’s really nice out, I thought we could maybe walk over and spend this.” She flashed them the card with a small smile.

“That sounds awesome!” Ned said immediately, and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Ned was always making decisions for him, but Peter didn’t normally mind so much, unless it was something that had to do with his academics or his social life. Ned had already decided that they were going to three different parties without Peter’s knowledge of the events, and those had all resulted in anti-social nights spent inside watching Star Wars and building LEGO sets or potato batteries if there was nothing else to do.

“Ice cream sounds great,” Peter agreed, and they set off together. Sarah nodded and smiled at a few people she recognized locally as they walked, and Peter smiled.

For the first time in a while, everything felt pretty okay.

(Later, things might be even more than okay. Things might be great. At least, that’s what he was hoping. Much later, he would find out that maybe Sarah was a bit more like Charlie than he had thought.)

——————————

Chapter Text

Part Four:

Interlude

Peter Parker is still fourteen years old, and he is about to kill a man. 

It hadn’t been so hard to believe at the time. He felt numb to the world around him, even with all of the camera flashes and sirens wailing, spiking his enhanced senses like crazy. Nothing felt real as Peter fled the scene, running as fast as he possibly could. His phone lay forgotten in Ben’s hand, buzzing as May called to make sure he had made it to Ned’s okay, because Ben wasn’t answering her. For obvious reasons. 

Peter wiped his tears out of his eyes on the go, pelting down the street towards his own residence. May couldn’t see him if he was going to get this done. He hardly thought about what he was doing as he ran around the back of the house, leaping up onto the wall and climbing up to his window. He slid it opened and crawled in carefully, letting himself down from the ceiling as quietly as possible before he began digging in his drawers. 

He found them quickly, latching them onto his wrists and checking them quickly. The prototypes had only been used a few times— It had taken a long time for him to figure out how to calibrate them in a way that was comfortable, and a way where he wouldn’t break his wrists during their usage, but he had managed. A lot could get done in a month if he put his mind to it, including dumpster-diving outside of a local laboratory for the parts he needed. 

Peter pressed a fresh pellet of his home-made webs into the prototypes for his latest inventions— He had yet to decide what they were called, because web-shooters felt too forward, but that was what he had written on all of his papers so far. The fluid had been a lot easier to make. He glanced at the door when a floorboard outside creaked, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck standing up as his senses alerted him to the presence of another person. Moving quickly, Peter climbed back out the window as quietly as he could and slid it shut, before leaping off of the side of his house and breaking into a run after he hit the ground in a roll. 

The moment he was in the part of the city with bigger buildings, he ducked down an alley and threw himself up onto the wall, running up the side of it a bit unsteadily. When he got to the top, he glanced around, watching the red and blue lights flash along random streets of the city. He ran to the far edge of the building, heart pounding. He had never tried this before, but he supposed sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith, and he had to force himself not to close his eyes when the surface of the building disappeared from beneath him and he aimed his wrist, pressing the pad of his shooter where it lay against his palm. There was a slight delay in which he panicked, then the web shot out and hit its target. 

Instant relief hit Peter like a tidal wave as he started to swing unsteadily through the city. It quickly melted away as he concentrated on his multiple tasks, which included not falling to his untimely death, finding the man who had killed Ben, and taking him in. 

Part of Peter wished he had changed into his suit before starting his journey across the city, but there was no time to regret it now. It was getting late, which meant it was dark out aside from the street lamps, which he stayed above in order to hide his appearance. There weren’t many people on the streets, but the ones who were stared— It was to be expected. 

Peter felt like his heart had been crushed when he saw his uncle’s car driving along the street as if nothing was wrong. The sirens were on the completely wrong side of the city. He followed the car without confrontation, formulating some kind of plan in his head. The harder he thought about it, the more desperately he wanted to just attack the guy. 

By the time Peter had made the decision to just wait and see where the guy went, they were approaching a dingy part of the city. Peter was shivering, and beginning to regret not calling the police when he got back home and telling them what he knew, or even just waiting for them at the scene of the crime. Guilt bubbled in his stomach as he realized that he had left Uncle Ben alone with all of those people to stare at him. Glancing at his watch as he swung, Peter’s stomach lurched. That had been nearly a half an hour ago. 

The car slowed next to a clearly abandoned building and stopped. Peter landed on the side of a building and stuck to the wall, gripping the corner a bit harder than he probably had to— He was still unused to the idea that all he had to do was touch the surface. When the guy got out of the car, Peter strained to see him, but he was still too far away. Growing frustrated, Peter shot a web at a closer building and swung through the shadows towards it, grasping the edge tightly. When he turned his gaze back to the car, the man was gone. 

Peter swung over to the car, landing on top of it and glancing around. There was a soft click that jolted him to his senses, and he glanced at the door to the abandoned building, running a hand through his hair. He slid off of the car, leaving it with a lingering touch, before heading into the building and closing the door much more quietly behind him. He leaped up into the air and caught his fingertips on the ceiling, pulling himself up and creeping along the top of the room in search of the man. Another door slammed shut, and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, gaze flitting across the lobby towards the door that lead to the stairs. He frowned and crawled towards it, glancing towards the elevators. 

Peter made a quick decision and switched courses towards the elevator, prying the doors apart and looking up the shaft. He could see the bottom of the car from here. He shot a web up and started to climb carefully, but his weight made the box swing a little bit. Peter held his breath as the cords creaked, rusty and unused. When nothing seemed to happen, he started moving again, wincing at every little squeak and groan. 

“Who’s there?!” A gruff voice demanded, echoing down from many floors up. Peter froze, eyes going wide as he clung onto his web for dear life, sweat pouring down his brow. Despite his perspiration, he was shivering like crazy— He felt freezing. When the voice didn’t call again for a few minutes, Peter tried to relax. His heart and mind were screaming at him to stop, but his hands disobeyed him. He began to climb again, a bit faster, the cords’ cries of protest becoming louder and more frantic. When he finally reached the box, he squeezed himself around the edge, climbing up the side and onto the top. 

The breath of relief when he found himself sitting on a solid surface was short lived. He looked up, squinting into the darkness. There was a hushed whisper from above that set his blood on ice. 

“ Found you. ” 

Then Peter was falling. A choked scream tore from his throat as he reached up automatically, a web flying from his wrist-contraption. For a few terrifying seconds, nothing happened. Then there was a force that sent a white-hot pain shooting up Peter’s arm and down his side. He screamed out, clutching onto the web for dear life as his entire right side felt like it was on fire. He leaped from the web and landed on the wall, sticking with his feet and left hand while his right arm swung by his side. Hot tears streaked his cheek as he let go of the wall and clutched his arm to his side tightly, shoulder pulsating with searing pain. 

Strained gasps and moans of pain continued to string from his mouth even after the loud crash of the elevator hitting the bottom sounded. Peter shook his head furiously, biting his lip so hard that it drew blood. He had to remain quieter if the man were to presume him dead. 

“ Oh my God, ” Peter whispered to himself, choking on tears as he started to walk up the wall with his dislocated arm clutched tight to his side. “ Oh my God this is crazy what am I doing oh my God— “ 

When he reached the floor with the opened elevator door, Peter was hesitant. He peered over the edge carefully, scoping out the floor. It seemed to be pretty opened— There were a few pipes running up through the ground from previous floors where the walls should have been, and there were a few dusty piles of boxes covered with sheets, but other than that, it was empty. He hauled himself over the edge and into the open space, quickly rolling behind the cover of a stack of boxes when a hacking cough echoed from across the room. Dust mixed with the tears of his face, creating a rather grimly look, and Peter was sure his sweat wasn’t helping, but goosebumps were breaking out all over his skin. 

He was extremely high up in a building with window-frames but no glass to keep him from falling, stuck with a man who had killed his uncle and was now trying to kill him. It was pitch black aside from the moonlight filtering in from said windows. Peter was totally unarmed except for his makeshift web-shooters that had only really been for experimental purposes anyway, and he had a dislocated shoulder on his dominant side. 

So yeah, he was cool, he was going to be totally fine. Peter climbed up onto the wall and up to the ceiling, creeping along the roof and heading towards the heavy breathing across the room. He found his guy in a similar situation to the one he had been in only moments before— Hiding, and obviously terrified. Peter tried to hold his breath, but his heart was racing, and it wasn’t going to work. He shot a web quietly and lowered himself silently to the ground on the other side of the boxes where the man was hiding. 

Panic started to build up in Peter’s mind as he struggled to think of what the hell he was supposed to do with this. What the hell had he come here for, anyway? He was just fourteen, what the hell was he supposed to do if he found this guy? 

He was broken out of his mini panic attack by the sound of a gun being cocked. Peter’s face paled when the silhouette of a tall man cast a shadow down onto him, the moonlight glinting down onto the barrel of the gun that was being pointed directly at his face. Peter swallowed thickly, taking a deep and shuddering breath as he lifted his gaze to meet the man’s eyes. 

The same nervous eyes as belonged to the thief from the wrestling place. 

Peter’s breath hitched, and he began to tremble violently as the realization of what he’d done hit him like a ton of bricks. 

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice cracking. “Oh my God. It’s you. ” The man raised an eyebrow. 

“Have we met?” He asked, voice dangerously quiet. Peter shook his head vigorously, tears building up in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night, and he swallowed back a pitiful whimper. Then the criminal’s eyes lit up with sudden recognition. “Wait. You’re that kid. You’re the one who let me by at the elevator.” Peter kept shaking his head, turning his back to the man and squeaking shrilly when the cool metal touched the back of his head, forcing him to still completely. 

“You did me a real solid earlier, kid,” the gruff voice said, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, a pathetic cry escaping him when the gun nudged his head gently. “I might be willing to let you go if you’ll do me another.” 

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood up, and he flinched, throwing himself to the right mere milliseconds before the man pulled the trigger. Another scream tore itself from Peter’s throat as he landed on his bad arm, pain shooting up and down the limb. He scrambled to his feet, aiming his left wrist and shooting a web at the gun. He yanked it from the man’s hands and it skittered across the floor, echoing loudly. 

“What the fuck?” The man mumbled to himself, but Peter moved quick, a web catching the guy’s mouth and sealing it shut. The momentum had him stumbling back, and before Peter could decide what to do next, the man was tripping over one of the many pipes sticking out of the floor. Peter gasped, lurching forward and extending his hand instinctively, but the guy was already falling when he got to the window. Peter shot a web down at his chest, clutching the edge of the window with his right arm. He cried out in pain when he was jolted forwards a bit, sending another stab of pain through his shoulder and arm, but he held on, peering down through eyes blurred with tears. He couldn’t see anything. 

The boy didn’t bother muffling his sobs as he dragged the man back up into the building. He was expecting him to make a lot more noise, but he was silent, and when Peter was sure he was close enough to reach, he thrust out his hand for the man to grab. Cold dread dropped like a weight in his stomach when the guy didn’t move. Peter stared at him, knuckles turning white with how tightly he clutched the strand of webbing. Then his grip faltered. 

The whiplash. This guy’s neck had snapped the second Peter’s web connected with his chest. 

Then the man was free falling again. 

He hit the ground, and even from all the way up in one of the top floors, Peter could hear the sickening crunch. He felt like throwing up. A few minutes later, he did. 

Then he sat still for a long time. 

(Later, Peter would go to the police station and tell them what had happened up until he ran away from Ben’s body. The search for Ben’s car continued, but Peter had a feeling it would be a while before they found it. Plenty of time for the webbing that had caused the man’s death to dissolve, leaving no evidence that Peter had ever been there at all.) 

————————————

Peter Parker is still fourteen years old, and he has never in his life cried harder than he did the night his uncle died. 

He cried himself to the point of dehydration and then some, sobbing even after the tears stopped falling. He cried for so long that he didn’t have a voice left to cry with, and he was just sobbing silently into his hands beside his aunt. 

May was extremely brave about the entire situation. She held Peter close the entire night, shushing him gently. Peter had tried to take her hand and tell her that it was going to be okay, but when nothing came out of his mouth, it just looked like he was seeking more comfort. She had squeezed the life out of him when she got to the station, letting him cry into her shoulder while she cried into his hair. 

There was a lot of crying. 

Peter had given the best description he could of a man who he had only seen through the dark, but he had recognized that hoodie and that haunted face under the streetlamp. It was the same man he had let by onto the elevator only minutes before. 

It was also the man who Peter had unintentionally killed in an attempt to rescue from a deadly fall, but he didn’t tell the officers that. 

There was something soul-crushing about knowing his uncle had died due to his own ignorance. It hit Peter like a freight train. He knew he couldn’t keep it from the police, so he told them the truth, that the man had only gotten away because he let him into the elevator. 

“I’m glad you let him by,” the same police officer who had given Peter Charlie’s note, Officer Davis, said, shaking his head. “You’re just a kid. What if he had shot you, too? Then you’d both be dead, and your aunt doesn’t deserve that.” 

Peter had pondered this, but decided that it was besides the point. He never said so out loud. He had a feeling it showed in his eyes, though, because Officer Davis didn’t look convinced with his slow nod. 

“Look, kid,” the man said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not here to be your therapist, but I don’t want to leave you like this. Your aunt is sleeping, and I can’t just leave you to your own devices while you’re thinking like that.” Peter cast him a sharp look. 

“I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he spat. “I know better than to do that. I know how it makes people feel.” He curled his fingers tightly around his water cup, fighting back to hot pressure behind his eyes. He couldn’t afford to cry again. 

“Listen,” Davis said, and suddenly, his voice wasn’t so gentle. “I get it. You’re a teenager, and you’ve lost your father-figure. It’s sad. But your aunt needs you to be strong for her right now.” Peter glanced guiltily to his side where May was snoring on the couch. “We’re looking for the guy who did this using yours and her information. Are you going to sit here and make her watch as her son wastes away, or are you going to be a man and make sure she doesn’t waste away on her own?” Peter swallowed thickly, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. 

“I’m gonna take care of her,” he forced out, wiping his eyes before the fresh tears could fall. Davis clapped him on the shoulder, smiling gently. 

“You’re a good kid, Pete. I can see this light in you. I hope my son turns out like that.” 

“What’s your son’s name?” Peter asked curiously, taking a sip of his water. 

“Miles,” the man stated proudly. “He’s four. A bit of a handful, but Rio and I got used to it pretty quick. I think he’s gonna be a good kid. Like you,” he added, casting a meaningful look at Peter, who ducked his head, blushing a bit. 

“I think you’ll be a good dad,” Peter said softly, sniffling a bit and cracking a small smile. 

“Thanks,” Davis murmured, gaze slightly unfocused as he became lost in thought. “I certainly hope so.” 

He stayed a little while longer, but he kept getting calls on his radio he was reluctant to answer. Peter finally convinced him to go do his job after almost ten more minutes of begging. Once the man left, Peter experienced his first moment of true silence since he left the house after his fight with Ben. A fight which seemed so stupid and pointless now that Peter just had to laugh. 

May stirred, and Peter’s laughter faded as his smile comforted into a twisted and hurt expression of its own kind. He leaned across the couch and tucked his head into her side, sniffling pitifully. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, running her fingers through his dirty hair and working out the knots. 

“Do you remember the time when we brought Ben to yoga?” May asked softly, rubbing a spot of dirt off of Peter’s cheek. The brunet smiled a real smile, snuggling further into her side as best he could without disturbing his arm. A nurse had set it just after he arrived, telling him to minimize his use because it was going to hurt for a while. But even the bruises on Peter’s back from his fight earlier in the night had faded— He had checked in the bathroom mirror. That was a weird thing that had come with the rest of his enhanced abilities. He healed a lot faster than normal. His lips didn’t even have chew marks on them. 

“Of course I remember that,” Peter replied, voice dripping with fondness. “He took one look at Marissa and told me, ‘I see why you’re so keen to impress her, Pete. She’s a looker.’” May laughed, and Peter wrapped his arms around her tightly, fearing what might happen if he ever lets go. 

“That was a good day,” May sighed, fingers still buried in Peter’s hair. The boy nodded faintly, inhaling her scent and basking in the comfort she gave. 

“I love you, May,” he mumbled against the skin of her neck when he buried his face in it. She took his hand in one of her own and squeezed tightly, turning her head and pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

“I know, Peter. And Ben knows, too.” Knows. It was comforting to hear her say it in the present tense, as if he was still consciously aware of them, as if he was still there. “We’ve always known. You’re our boy. No matter how many times you argued or fought with us, there was no denying the love in your eyes when you looked at us, frustrated love or not.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered shakily. “That’s— I mean, it’s really good to know that you guys— Well, you knew. ‘Cause it feels like I didn’t tell him enough before—“ He broke off, exhaling slowly. 

“You didn’t have to, Sweetie,” May sighed, playing with his fingers absently, and Peter let her. Anything to distract her, and anything to distract himself. “He knew. God, he knew. Every night he said to me, ‘How did we get lucky enough to have a kid who loves us as much as that one does? What did I do to deserve someone like Peter?’ and I would smile at him and say, ‘I don’t know, but you are certainly doing a great job with the chance you’ve been given.’ He would grumble about it, like the humble guy he was, but I always knew how proud he secretly was. He couldn’t hide that from me.” 

Peter shifted, resting his head on her shoulder. They sat in silence, holding hands, and just being together for the entire night. Peter hadn’t slept in almost two days by now. His eyelids dropped, but he fought to stay awake, pinching his leg every few seconds. 

“Go to sleep, Pete,” May mumbled against his head as the sun began to trickle through the windows of the NYPD. The brunet shook his head absently, squeezing her hand and pinching his leg again to keep himself awake. 

“What if someone comes back with news?” He yawned, curls tumbling over his forehead as May ruffled his hair. 

“Then I’ll wake you up,” she promised. “Please, Peter. You look like… Well, you look like shit, and that’s putting it nicely.” Peter giggled softly, but let his eyes flutter shut, shifting his head from her shoulder to her lap. She resumed playing with his hair like she used to do when he was little, and Peter drifted off, dreaming that she was Sarah, and he was sleeping under the trees of the park with her fingers threading through his curls instead of May’s. 

(Later, reports of a man’s body on the ground outside of an abandoned building across the city would reach May’s ears, and she would simply hold her head high and nod while Peter melted into her side, listening with secret-filled thoughts and a guilty conscience.) 

——————————

Peter is almost fifteen years old, and summer vacation is upon him. 

A month an a half had gone by since Ben’s death, and Peter felt like he had gotten over it with May faster than the rest of his peers at school did. They still gave him sad, pitying looks whenever he passed in the halls, every single one reminding him of something he’d rather not think about while in public. 

Having Ned around always helped, and Ned was always around. Peter stuck to him like glue, practically hanging off of his friend for emotional support, and Ned never let him down. The boy always listened to Peter’s thoughts and concerns— The ones Peter could afford to tell him, anyway. 

He still had secrets, like what had really happened after he ran away from Ben in the parking lot, and what he was really doing between the time where he left school and the time when he got home for dinner and homework. Secrets like what his projects scattered amongst his room and in the garage actually were, and why May had found the sleeves of a brand new red sweatshirt under Peter’s mattress when they were packing up for the move. 

May had decided that the house held too many memories, and after trying to think of them in a positive light, enough had been enough. They now owned an apartment across town, still in Queens, and a bit closer to Peter’s school. 

Despite the passage of time and change of scenery, it still wasn’t easy to hide how he really felt, regardless of how cool Peter played it at school and in front of his aunt. He still dreamt of shooting his web down to reach that man and the crunch that followed when his body hit the ground. It was almost unbearable. Peter would wake up in a cold sweat and the only way to calm himself was often to take a sip of water and work on whatever new prototype for his web-shooters he could find. Sometimes he was awake until his alarm went off. 

Those were just the bad days. There were always the worst days to look forward to, when Peter’s senses would overload, and it was the same story as his first night after the bite all over again— The difference was, he had learned to keep quiet. It hurt like hell, and sometimes he considered gouging his eyes out and deafening himself permanently to silence everything, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. He was sensing these things, and sure, his hearing was enhanced, and his vision was almost too-sharp, but the majority of this was happening because of some sort of stimuli in his brain that was alerting him to the things happening around him. 

The worst days were the ones where it became too much, but Peter had to pretend it wasn’t anyway. They were the days where he didn’t speak to May all morning and left for school with sunglasses on despite it still being dark out, the days where he wore headphones all the way to school to block out some of the closer noises even though the louder noise scrambled his brain further, the days where his entire being hurt more than he was willing to admit. 

Ned had caught on eventually— He knew when Peter wore his sunglasses that it wasn’t a good day to chatter a lot, or to ask about hanging out. It was a day to take care of him, and make sure he had what he needed. Ned kept Advil in his locker, which was against school customs, and gave it to Peter immediately whenever he walked in with his shades. Peter was immensely grateful for the gesture, even if a normal dosage of the drug did hardly anything for him. He liked to make sure Ned knew he was helping, so he forced himself to act better whenever his friend made an attempt, painful as it was. 

Peter was having one of the worst days. He trudged into school with a pounding headache, flinching at every movement around him. It was one of the worst he’d seen since the first. He was nervous to even take his glasses off when he reached his locker in fear of the lights and what they might do to his overly-sensitive eyes in his first few seconds of exposure. So he shielded his eyes and took them off quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. He hissed softly under his breath, ignoring the strange looks that were sent his way. 

It was a Tuesday morning, nobody would believe he had gotten hammered on a Monday night. Even if they did, he was Peter Parker. Did any of them care? Of course not. 

“Hey, Penis!” 

Then there was the one who would. Peter let his head fall forward against his locker, shuddering at the sharp coldness against his forehead. Ned was late. That was fine. He just wished Flash had been, too. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, freak.” Peter flinched, closing his eyes. He hated that word. He especially hated it ever since the bite. He hated responding to it. Yet, he couldn’t keep himself from looking up dejectedly, peering at Flash with dark eyes. The boy was glaring right back, arms crossed over his chest. 

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter prompted quietly, gaze becoming rather skittish as people shifted around him, clothing rustling, papers fluttering, and jewelry tinkering. Flash gave him a weird look, but Peter just heaved a great sigh, throwing his sunglasses in his now-unlocked locker and taking out his books for the day. 

“I want to know why you’re being such a freak lately,” Flash replied loudly. Peter’s grip on his locker door tightened, and he averted his eyes, brow creasing as Flash continued. “You’re so weird at decathlon— it may be the end of the season, but that’s no excuse to slack— and you’ve been coming to school with these weird hang-over-ish vibes with absolutely no detectable pattern for three months now. What the hell is up? It’s affecting your grades, too.” Peter turned his head away, biting his knuckles to keep himself from laughing. Flash, caring about his well being..? Was it Christmas? 

“You know, I find it kind of weird that you actually care this much,” Peter retorted without looking back at him. “Unless this is about your competition again, in which case, I’m actually not that surprised at all—“ 

“Of course this is about competition!” Flash hissed, grabbing Peter’s arm and jerking him around. “I said, look at me when I’m talking to you, you freak!” Peter’s heart rate immediately spiked upon contact and he practically leaned out of his skin, pressing himself against the lockers. His skin felt like it had been burned where Flash touched him and his chest heaved while Flash just glared at him. 

“Don’t call me that,” Peter said weakly, but Flash just laughed. 

“Seriously? You’re looking at me like I just murdered your dog— or worse, your uncle— and you’re telling me not to call you a freak? What the hell did I even do, Parker? Is your arm sensitive or something?” 

“Hey, loser!” A vaguely familiar voice called. Flash’s gaze shifted somewhere over Peter’s shoulder, and the brunet looked, beginning to sweat. Michelle Jones from the field trip was standing a few feet away with a deeply-set scowl on her face and a book in her hand, but the second she had Flash’s attention she used her free one to flip him off. 

“Leave the other loser alone,” she told him with a steely expression. Peter turned back to Flash with a shocked expression, and was even more surprised to see Flash considering it with a nervous look in his eyes. 

“Fine!” The sophomore squeaked out, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Fine. But it’s not because I’m scared of you! I just want to… Uh.. Go talk to my real friends!” 

“Shocking,” Michelle began, pursing her lips, “that you even consider us fake friends. Beat it.” Flash scampered off, and Peter had a feeling that if the boy had a tail, it would be between his leg’s like a dog’s. A lightheaded feeling caught him off guard and he swayed a bit, leaning against the lockers smoothly to hide it. 

“Thank you,” he breathed out slowly, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the lockers. “I really appreciated that.” 

“I didn’t do it because I like you ,” Michelle clarified, lifting her book up to her face and pulling an apple out of her bag. She took a big bite, peering at Peter with her dark eyes. “I just hate him .” Peter laughed breathlessly, sinking down until he was sitting against the lockers, a nauseous feeling that was not unfamiliar beginning to swamp him. He forced himself back up onto shaking legs before he could get too comfortable, stumbling towards the men’s room. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, lurching away. He hurried into the empty restroom and emptied the few contents of his stomach that remained from the previous night’s dinner, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. He flushed the toilet and stood up, pushing his hair, which was damp with sweat, off of his forehead. 

Upon re-entering the hallway, Peter saw Ned standing awkwardly near Michelle, looking around like he was lost. Shaking his head, Peter trudged over to his friend, rubbing his forehead. 

“There you are!” Ned sighed, relieved. “I’m so sorry I was late! My mom needed to get gas, and she took five years filling her tank. Michelle said that Flash was bothering you. Are you okay?” He was talking a hundred miles a minute, and Peter was hardly processing each sentence before he heard the next. 

“Ned,” he said softly, holding up a hand. “I’m okay. Please talk slower.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry..” Ned looked away, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and Peter immediately felt guilty. He sighed, shaking his head. Why did it have to be so hard to hide something as simple as a set of abs and sticky limbs? 

“No, just— It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. Don’t be sorry. Let’s just go to math and celebrate the fact that after today, we are officially free.” It was true. Today was the last day before summer vacation, which meant that Peter was only about a month and a half away from being fifteen. He hated being the youngest in his grade, but it felt like an accomplishment to become a year older, and he felt that it would feel especially good for this year to be over for him. 

Ned spoke quietly to him on the way to math, which Michelle followed them to, a first on her part. Usually she showed up last minute. Peter could feel her gaze on the back of his head occasionally, but he didn’t mind it as much as he did the others— Michelle never seemed to pity him, anyway. If anything, she just asked him why he was being such a loser about things without saying anything at all, and it was a good reminder that he needed to pick himself up. She was good to have around, even if she wasn’t exactly around in the way Ned, or even Charlie had been. 

Peter’s overload became less overwhelming as the day progressed. By lunch, it was just an uncomfortable buzz. Peter had a feeling that it had something to do with at least one of his two friends (if he could call Michelle a friend) being in each of his classes leading up to the halfway point of his day. Ned was there to provide comfort. Michelle was pushing him, as usual, in her silent and judgemental way, but that in itself was oddly comforting— familiar, if nothing else. 

After lunch it spiraled back down quite a ways, but last period went pretty well, all things considered. It had been a relaxed day anyway— the only reason Peter had brought any of his books from his locker was because the reading calmed him down when things got a little hectic. 

At one point during the last period of the day, which was science, Michelle slid into the seat beside Peter (the one that used to be Charlie’s ) and switched out his text book for the one she always had in her own hands. It was opened to a random page. Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, instead looking at the book. 

‘He was always seeking for a meaning in life, and here it seemed to him that a meaning was offered; but it was obscure and vague . . . He saw what looked like the truth as by flashes of lightning on a dark, stormy night you might see a mountain range. He seemed to see that a man need not leave his life to chance, but that his will was powerful; he seemed to see that self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion; he seemed to see that the inward life might be as manifold, as varied, as rich with experience, as the life of one who conquered realms and explored unknown lands.’ 

Peter read the same passage over at least ten times, and was somehow sure this was the one she had wanted him to see. It stood out against the blandness of the rest, leaving a powerful aura in its wake. It left stars in his mind, and he soon found himself turning the page of a book he had never thought to even open before, delving into the story of a boy who was not so different from himself— aside from the obvious. 

When the bell rang, Michelle didn’t ask for the book back. She closed Peter’s, a bookmark sitting on top of the cover, and walked out of the class without so much as casting a glance back at him. Peter scrambled to get his stuff together and catch up— he wanted to thank her for the book. He would never had chosen it on his own. He hurried into the hallway, catching a glimpse of her just as she rounded a corner, and he dashed after her, heart beating just a little bit faster. 

He reached out, inches from grasping her sleeve, when another hand grabbed his. Peter seized up immediately, yanking his arm away and nearly losing his balance. He stumbled back, bumping into Michelle herself before he stood up straight, apologizing quickly with her book clutched tightly to his chest. His gaze lifted to meet Flash’s, and he felt himself go pale. 

“Jesus, Parker, what’s with the seizures recently?” The sophomore asked irritably as people bustled by. Michelle was standing awkwardly behind Peter as if she didn’t want to be there but also didn’t want to leave— It was the first time Peter had ever felt like she seemed unsure. 

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter asked sharply, the confidence he had lacked that morning beginning to trickle back into his system. 

“You didn’t answer me this morning, and I want to know what the hell is going on with you. If you’re not going to step it up next year when you’re in AP classes with me, then I’m going to have to find someone else, and that’s just a pain in the ass.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, turning around to walk away. “Well, you’re out of luck, because I was just leaving—“ Flash’s hand closed more firmly around Peter’s arm this time, and Peter struggled, but Flash dragged him over to the lockers, keeping a tight hold on him. Peter could feel the blood draining from his face as his senses started to act up, and his gaze flitted around uncontrollably. 

“You’re being so weird lately,” Flash complained loudly, right in Peter’s face, and the brunet flinched, trying again to pull away. 

“Let go of me,” he demanded firmly, surprised at how steady his voice was while his heart was beating erratically. 

“God, will you just give it up? What the hell is it, Parker? Why are you so freaking defensive about this?” Flash demanded, giving him a rough shake. Peter’s mouth fell opened, and he felt thoroughly disoriented. Flash was way too close for comfort, but he just kept going. “What is it, huh? Are you still upset about your boyfriend killing himself? Or is it your uncle? Huh? What? I just want to know if it’s gonna be temporary or not. Why can’t you just cooperate—“ 

“Get your hands off of him.” Her voice was more angry than Peter had ever heard it, and she usually sounded pretty grouchy. Flash’s grip immediately slackened, and Peter yanked himself away, breathing heavily as he stared between Flash and Michelle with frantic eyes. It was embarrassing, to be honest. Saved twice in one day. 

“Come on, Jones!” Flash complained. “I’m just trying to—“ 

“Stop competing, Flash,” Michelle said again in the same finalizing tone. “It’s over. The school year is over. Go home.” Flash glared daggers at Peter over the girl’s shoulder, but stormed off, grumbling loudly under his breath the whole way. 

“I— I’m sorry—“ Peter gasped, biting his lip harshly as she turned around to size him up with an unimpressed gaze. 

“You’ve got to get your shit together, Parker,” she said seriously. “Because this?” She gestured at his entire body with one brow raised. “This is not working.” 

“But you just gestured to all of me,” he quoted How To Train Your Dragon weakly, mentally smacking himself afterwards for being such an idiot. 

“Exactly. Stop being… All of you,” she said back, her usual scowl returning. “Or, whatever this weird, constant-freak-out version of you is. It’s not attractive.” Peter flushed scarlet. 

“Was I ever?” He asked. She just turned around, shaking her head as she started to walk away. 

“ He seemed to see that a man need not leave his life to chance, but that his will was powerful; he seemed to see that self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, ” she quoted loud enough for him to hear, and then she disappeared. 

Peter didn’t see her for the rest of the summer. 

(Later, Peter would read the book she had given him from cover to cover rather than middle to cover, and he set numerous reminders for himself to thank her later— It was his new favorite book.) 

————————————

The worst part about being a superhero was that nobody knew Peter was a superhero. 

They always seemed to think that he was just some guy who swung around on webs for fun and happened to run into trouble wherever he went. That was not the case. Peter worked hard to make sure he knew where he was going and where he was supposed to be. It took a lot of listening skills to pay that close attention on a boring summer afternoon, especially from a teenage boy such as himself. 

When Peter did hear something he could involve himself in, he booked it, and he was getting better at timing it so he would arrive just in time. In the beginning, he would arrive at the end of the scene, or after it was already over. He had made progress to the point where he was actually arriving only halfway through, and sometimes even before the police did. 

It was difficult, since Peter had to learn his way around the parts of Queens he had never been to by himself before, but it wasn’t hard to memorize— The streets were numbered, after all. 

They were usually just car thefts and muggings, but one time it had been a call for breaking and entering— Some lady’s crazy boyfriend had broken into her house. Peter left that one alone. 

Juggling his life as a hero (which was what he liked to call himself) and as a friend and family member was always harder than the movies made it seem. A few times, he considered pulling a Tony Stark and just announcing it to the world. Then he took a closer look at Mr. Stark’s situation and decided that maybe a billionaire with more publicity than almost everyone in the world and security systems of his own design that were arguably stronger than even the president’s would probably have an easier time living with something like that than he would. 

He was one month into summer vacation and he had spent most of it out in the streets helping little old ladies cross the streets and giving newcomers directions to the closest supermarkets. 

“What are you even doing whenever you’re not here?” Ned asked one Saturday afternoon. Peter shrugged, flipping a page of Michelle’s book. “Dude. Are you even listening? You’ve had your face stuck in that book all summer.” 

“What?” Peter asked absently, but didn’t look up. He was startled when his book was taken from his hands, and he finally focused on Ned, who was staring at him with a strange expression. Peter flushed, averting his eyes. They trailed over to the clock on his bedside table, and he stiffened, eyes going wide. 

“Shit, Ned, I’ve got to go!” He hissed, getting to his feet and darting around his room. He grabbed a hat to push over his messy hair, zipping his fly and yanking a pair of old sneakers on his feet. “I’m supposed to meet Sarah in five minutes. I’m gonna be late..” 

“Who’s Sarah?” Ned crooned from the bed, making lovey eyes. Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Is she your giiiirlfrieeeeend—? ” 

“No,” Peter snapped. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s Charlie’s sister.” Ned seemed to sober up immediately, smile fading. There was an awkward silence as Peter finished tying his shoes and stood up. He hesitated at the door. 

“You can come, if you want.” Peter smiled a little when Ned immediately brightened, his smile returning. The pair left the apartment quickly, and Peter was suddenly much happier about the move than he had been in the previous month due to the closeness between his new residence and the park he met Sarah at. 

“There she is,” he pointed out to Ned, who followed his gaze through squinted eyes. Peter grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards her, a little guilty at the fact that he was late, but her eyes lit up when she spotted him, and seemed to grow even brighter when she saw Ned. 

God, she looked so much like Charlie. 

“Hey, Peter!” She greeted cheerfully. “Is this the friend you’ve told me so much about?” She emphasized the word ‘so’ to the point where Peter and Ned were both flushed a bit darker than their natural skin tones, glancing at each other. 

“Um, yeah,” Peter replied quickly. “This is Ned. Ned, this is Sarah. She’s going to be a freshman next year.” 

“That’s right,” She chirped. “I turn thirteen in a few days. Peter and I are birthday buddies.” She nudged him playfully, and Peter grinned, shaking his head. “Before you ask— Yes, technically I am a year too young for high school. But Charlie was always pushing me to be the best I can be, and after a while, the school talked with my grandma and made the decision to bump me up.” She looked so excited. It made Peter feel excited, too. He was thrilled to introduce her to everyone at Decathlon. 

“Its great, you’re gonna love it!” Ned encouraged. She visibly brightened, if it was possible for her to even smile any wider, and both teens seemed to relax, getting to know each others’ presences. Peter started to unwind, taking off his hat and running a hand through his mess of curls. May hadn’t taken him for a cut since the beginning of semester two, and it was starting to get a little wild again. 

“Do you guys want to go get some ice cream?” Sarah asked suddenly, pulling her wallet out of her back pocket. “I got a gift card for that place across town. It’s really nice out, I thought we could maybe walk over and spend this.” She flashed them the card with a small smile. 

“That sounds awesome!” Ned said immediately, and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Ned was always making decisions for him, but Peter didn’t normally mind so much, unless it was something that had to do with his academics or his social life. Ned had already decided that they were going to three different parties without Peter’s knowledge of the events, and those had all resulted in anti-social nights spent inside watching Star Wars and building LEGO sets or potato batteries if there was nothing else to do. 

“Ice cream sounds great,” Peter agreed, and they set off together. Sarah nodded and smiled at a few people she recognized locally as they walked, and Peter smiled. 

For the first time in a while, everything felt pretty okay. 

(Later, things might be even more than okay. Things might be great. At least, that’s what he was hoping. Much later, he would find out that maybe Sarah was a bit more like Charlie than he had thought.)