Chapter Text
Peter Parker didn’t go looking for a fight. But today, the fight found him.
Flash Thompson had always been cruel, but today, he wasn’t just cruel—he was ruthless.
It started with a whisper in the hallway, just loud enough for Peter to hear. "Still crying over your dead uncle?"
Peter stiffened, gripping the strap of his backpack so tight his knuckles turned white. He kept walking.
Flash followed. "You know, I was thinking—Ben Parker? Kind of a loser, huh?"
Peter’s body went rigid.
"And your parents? Man, they really didn’t want to stick around, did they?" Flash chuckled darkly. "What kind of kid gets abandoned by literally everyone? You’re like some cursed orphan no one wants. Maybe if Uncle Ben wasn’t too busy playing hero, he’d still be—"
Peter punched him.
It wasn’t a shove. It wasn’t a push. It was a full-force, knuckle-breaking, world-ending punch.
Flash hit the lockers so hard they dented. The hallway gasped in unison. Blood ran down his lip, a deep red against the pale shock on his face.
Peter’s chest heaved, his fists clenched. He felt nothing. No regret. No guilt. Just the sick satisfaction of silence.
And then someone screamed.
Teachers rushed in. Hands grabbed Peter’s arms, dragging him away. Someone was yelling for the principal. Flash was groaning on the ground, his friends cursing at Peter, calling him insane.
And suddenly, Peter was sitting in the cold, sterile office of Principal Morita, staring at the floor as his world burned around him.
The silence was unbearable.
Peter sat stiff in the chair, his hands balled into fists in his lap. Across from him, Flash held an ice pack to his swollen jaw, his parents on either side of him.
Flash’s father, a stocky man with graying hair, was seething. His mother sat with her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Morita cleared his throat. "This is serious, Peter."
Peter said nothing.
"This isn’t just another fight. This is violence. And I have to be honest with you, Peter—I don’t see any other option but expulsion."
Peter’s head snapped up. "What?"
"Expulsion?!" Flash’s mother shrieked. "That’s not enough! That boy assaulted my son! He should be arrested!"
Flash’s father nodded. "I’ve already spoken to the district. If the school won’t take action, we’ll press charges ourselves."
Peter’s stomach lurched.
"Press charges?!"
Morita exhaled heavily. "I have no choice, Peter. I’ve been lenient with you in the past, but this… this was an attack. We can’t have students who act like this in our school."
A cold chill ran through Peter’s veins. "He pushed me. He pushed me for years. He called my uncle a loser. He said my parents abandoned me. He—"
"I don’t care what he said!" Flash’s father barked. "Words don’t justify violence! You could’ve killed my son, you freak!"
The door swung open with a bang.
Aunt May stormed in, her face pale with fury. Her eyes locked on Peter, scanning him for injuries. Then they landed on the Thompsons.
And she snapped.
"You want to expel my nephew?" she hissed, stepping closer to Morita’s desk. "Expel him? After everything he’s been through? After everything that little bastard has put him through?"
Flash flinched at the venom in her voice.
Flash’s mother gasped. "Excuse me?!"
May turned on her with a glare so sharp it could cut glass. "No, YOU listen to me. I have sat back and let my nephew be bullied by your little golden boy for YEARS. I have watched him come home covered in bruises, in tears, and I told him to take the high road. To be better. And you want to tell me he’s the problem?*"
Morita held up his hands. "Mrs. Parker—"
"Don’t you Mrs. Parker me!" May shouted, voice cracking. "You’re supposed to protect these kids, Morita! You’re supposed to make sure this doesn’t happen! But no, you let him," she jabbed a finger at Flash, "torment my nephew day after day, and the moment Peter defends himself, you throw him away like garbage?"
Flash’s father stood up. "Your nephew is violent, unstable, and doesn’t belong in this school!"
"Your son is a cruel little monster who got exactly what was coming to him!" May shot back.
Peter felt his throat tighten. "May, stop—"
She turned on him. "No, Peter, I will NOT stop! Because I am sick of watching the world treat you like you don’t matter!"
Peter flinched.
The room went silent.
Tears welled in May’s eyes, but her hands were shaking with rage. "I lost Ben. And I refuse to lose you, too."
Flash’s mother scoffed. "Well, you might not have a choice. The school board has already approved the expulsion."
Peter’s blood turned to ice. "What?"
Morita nodded grimly. "I’m sorry, Peter. But you’re officially expelled from Midtown High. You can appeal, but I doubt it’ll change anything."
Peter’s body felt numb.
Expelled.
No more school. No more routine. No more Aunt May pretending everything was okay.
Aunt May sucked in a breath. She looked at Morita. "You’ll regret this."
Morita exhaled. "Mrs. Parker—"
"You’ll regret it," she repeated, voice dangerously low. "Because Peter Parker is a good kid. He’s better than this school. He’s better than you."
She grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
Peter looked back one last time. Flash was watching him, something unreadable in his bruised expression.
Then the door slammed shut behind them.
Peter sat in the car, staring out the window. The silence was suffocating.
May gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
She didn’t speak.
Peter didn’t speak.
His whole life had been stripped away in a matter of hours.
Expelled.
Possibly arrested.
All because he couldn’t take it anymore.
He opened his mouth to say something, but May cut him off, her voice hoarse.
"I’m sorry."
Peter’s breath hitched. He turned to her, confused. "For what?"
May wiped at her eyes, looking so tired. "For telling you to be better. For telling you to take the high road. For not listening when you said you were drowning."
Peter felt his heart break.
"Peter…" Her voice shook. "I don’t know what to do."
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "Me neither."
And for the first time, he realized—he wasn’t just alone at school.
He wasn’t just lost.
For the first time in his life, Aunt May was, too.
And that was the scariest part of all.
___
The car ride home was silent.
Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind where words weren’t needed. This was a thick, suffocating silence—the kind that felt like a grave.
Peter stared out the window, his stomach twisting itself into knots.
He was expelled.
He still couldn’t believe it. No more Midtown High. No more school. No more normal.
And Aunt May… She had never looked so defeated.
Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly they shook. Her breathing was uneven, her face pale, like she was trying to hold something in. Peter knew that look. He’d seen it the night Uncle Ben died.
She wasn’t angry anymore.
She was broken.
Peter swallowed hard. "May?" His voice was small.
She didn’t answer.
He tried again. "May, please—"
She slammed on the brakes.
The car skidded to a stop at a red light.
"I don’t know what to do anymore, Peter." Her voice was shaking, but it wasn’t with rage. It was something else. Something worse. "I tried. I did everything I could to protect you, to raise you right. And now—now you’re expelled?"
Peter’s chest ached. "May, I—"
"Do you understand what this means?!" she snapped, turning to face him. "You’re done, Peter! No school means no college! No future! You think they’re gonna let a kid with an expulsion on his record just waltz into a university?!"
Peter looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched. "I didn’t mean to—"
"I know you didn’t mean to!" May’s voice cracked, and for the first time, her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "But you did it anyway!"
The car behind them honked. The light was green.
May took a deep breath and wiped at her face. She pulled the car forward, slower this time.
Peter sat in silence. His chest was heavy.
He had never seen Aunt May like this. He had never seen her break.
And it was his fault.
When they got home, May barely looked at him before heading straight to her room and slamming the door shut.
Peter just stood in the living room, staring at nothing.
He felt… empty.
This was it. This was where it ended.
He wasn’t Spider-Man. Not yet. Not really. He wasn’t swinging across rooftops, stopping bad guys, saving lives.
He was just Peter Parker.
And Peter Parker was a loser.
He walked upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
Everything felt wrong.
The walls felt smaller. The air felt thicker. His head was pounding.
Expelled.
Uncle Ben was gone.
Aunt May was disappointed in him.
Flash’s parents might press charges.
And now, for the first time in his life, Peter had no idea what to do next.
His hands shook. His stomach turned.
He needed to breathe.
He needed to get out of here.
Peter wandered the streets of Queens, hands in his pockets, hood pulled up.
It was getting dark. Cold wind bit at his face, but he barely felt it.
He didn’t know where he was going. He just walked.
And then, without thinking, he found himself standing in front of the one place he didn’t want to be.
Uncle Ben’s grave.
Peter’s throat tightened as he stared down at the tombstone.
"Hey, Uncle Ben." His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "It’s been a while."
Silence.
Peter sighed and dropped to his knees, resting his elbows on them. "I think I screwed up."
A lump formed in his throat. "I don’t know what to do. I—" He clenched his jaw, looking away. "I thought I could take it. The jokes. The comments. The bullying. I thought if I ignored it, if I just kept my head down, it would go away. But it never did. And today, I—I lost it."
The wind howled through the trees. Peter shivered.
"I hit him, Uncle Ben." His voice cracked. "I hit him so hard he bled. And now I’m expelled, and Aunt May… she looks at me like she doesn’t know who I am anymore."
His hands curled into fists. "I don’t know who I am anymore."
His vision blurred. He wiped at his eyes angrily, sniffling. "I just wish you were here. You’d know what to do. You always knew what to do."
A long silence stretched between him and the cold, unmoving stone.
Peter let out a shaky breath. "I miss you."
He sat there for a long time, staring at the name on the grave.
Benjamin Parker.
Loving husband. Devoted uncle.
Gone.
Just like everything else.
When Peter got home, the lights were off.
May was asleep. Or pretending to be.
Peter crept upstairs, shutting his door quietly behind him. He climbed into bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.
His mind wouldn’t stop racing.
What was he going to do? Where was he supposed to go from here? No school. No way forward.
Just a dead end.
He turned on his side, curling into himself.
His chest ached. His body ached. His soul ached.
And for the first time in a long, long time…
Peter Parker cried himself to sleep.
But this wasn’t the end of his story.
Not even close.
Because rock bottom isn’t where Peter Parker’s story ends.
It’s where Spider-Man’s begins.
___________
Peter woke up to silence.
Not the comforting kind. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that felt wrong.
For a moment, he thought maybe it was a dream. Maybe he’d wake up and still have school. Still have a future. Still have May.
But reality came crashing back like a freight train.
Expelled.
Aunt May barely speaking to him.
Flash’s parents threatening to press charges.
And Peter? Peter Parker was nothing. No friends. No future.
No purpose.
He dragged himself out of bed, his limbs heavy, and shuffled downstairs.
The smell of coffee filled the air, but the kitchen was empty. The only sign of life was a half-empty cup sitting on the table, steam still rising from it.
May’s.
She had been here. And she had left.
No note. No message.
Just… gone.
Peter swallowed hard and grabbed a box of cereal from the cabinet. He poured himself a bowl, but halfway through the first bite, he pushed it away.
He wasn’t hungry.
He wasn’t anything.
Hours passed.
Peter sat on the couch, flipping through channels mindlessly. The world outside kept moving. Kids walked to school. People went to work.
And Peter? He just existed.
Until the knock came.
It was sharp. Three quick bangs against the door.
Peter frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone.
May, maybe? No, she had keys.
Cautiously, he moved to the door and cracked it open.
His stomach dropped.
It was Flash.
And he wasn’t alone.
Two of his friends—Randy and Kenny—stood behind him, arms crossed.
Flash’s face was still bruised, his lip swollen. But his eyes? His eyes burned with something ugly.
Peter barely had time to react before Flash shoved him hard.
Peter stumbled back, hitting the wall.
Flash stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
"You think you’re tough, Parker?" His voice was low, furious. "You think you can hit me and just get away with it?"
Peter’s jaw tightened. "Get out."
Flash’s fist crashed into his gut.
Peter gasped, doubling over.
"You think I’m just gonna let you do that to me?" Flash growled, shoving Peter again. "You ruined my life, Parker! My parents won’t stop talking about how I ‘let some scrawny loser’ get the best of me!"
Peter wheezed, still clutching his stomach. "You started it."
Flash’s face twisted with rage. "Oh yeah? Well, I’m gonna finish it."
Peter barely had time to react before the second punch came.
His back hit the coffee table, pain flaring up his spine.
Flash’s friends stepped forward.
Peter braced himself.
And then—
"HEY!"
The voice was sharp. Furious.
Flash froze.
Peter turned his head, chest heaving.
Aunt May stood in the doorway.
And she looked livid.
"Get. Out."
Her voice was low. Dangerous.
Flash hesitated. "I—"
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
May’s voice cracked like a whip, her entire body trembling with rage.
Flash backed up, his face pale.
Kenny and Randy were already gone, bolting out the door without a second thought.
Flash lingered for a second, glaring at Peter. Then he spat on the floor and turned to leave.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Silence.
Peter sat on the floor, chest still rising and falling rapidly.
May was shaking. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
And then—
"Are you okay?" Her voice was soft, but there was something raw beneath it.
Peter swallowed. His throat burned. "I don’t know."
May’s face crumbled.
Before he could react, she was kneeling beside him, pulling him into a tight, desperate hug.
Peter stiffened.
And then he broke.
All the weight, all the pain, all the suffocating emptiness—it came crashing down all at once.
He gripped the back of May’s shirt and sobbed.
Not quiet tears. Not silent grief. This was ugly crying. Raw, shaking, gut-wrenching sobs.
And May held him.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she held him.
And in that moment, Peter wasn’t a loser.
He wasn’t nothing.
He was hers.
The rest of the night was quiet.
Peter sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, holding an ice pack to his ribs.
May paced the room, still furious. "I should call the police."
Peter sighed. "Don’t."
"Peter, they—"
"It’s not worth it."
She turned to him, arms crossed. "Not worth it? Peter, those boys came into our home and attacked you. I should have called the cops the second Flash’s parents started running their mouths at the school!"
Peter shook his head. "And what would that do? They’d get a slap on the wrist. And me? I’m already expelled. I have nothing left to lose."
May’s eyes softened. "Peter…"
He looked away. "I’ll be fine."
She sat beside him. "No, you won’t."
Peter didn’t respond.
For a while, they just sat there.
Then, May took a deep breath. "We’ll figure this out."
Peter scoffed. "How?"
"I don’t know yet." She placed a hand on his. "But I won’t let them break you."
Peter’s chest tightened.
Maybe it wasn’t over yet.
Maybe there was still something left.
Aunt May wasn’t giving up on him.
Maybe he shouldn’t either.
But something inside Peter had changed.
Something small.
Something angry.
Something waiting.
Peter Parker was dead.
But something else?
Something new?
It was just beginning.
And soon… the world would know.
_________
Peter didn’t sleep that night.
He sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, his mind a storm of thoughts.
He was expelled.
His future? Gone.
Flash and his friends? They got away with everything.
Aunt May? She still loved him. But love wasn’t enough.
Love didn’t fix anything.
Love didn’t stop people like Flash from thinking they could do whatever they wanted.
Love didn’t stop the world from chewing people up and spitting them out.
Peter sat up, staring at his hands.
His knuckles were still raw from punching Flash.
But that wasn’t enough.
For the first time in his life, Peter felt something new.
Something cold.
Something angry.
And this time?
He wasn’t going to ignore it.
The next night, Peter put on his hoodie, pulled the strings tight, and stepped out into the cold.
May was asleep. She’d been exhausted ever since the school incident.
Peter walked with purpose. He wasn’t just wandering this time.
No, this time he had a plan.
And he knew exactly where to start.
11:37 PM.
The streets of Queens were quiet.
Peter kept his hood low, hands stuffed in his pockets. His heartbeat was steady. His mind was clear.
He wasn’t Peter Parker right now.
Peter Parker was weak. Peter Parker was a loser.
This was someone else.
He turned the corner, stopping in front of a house he knew all too well.
Flash’s house.
His parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway. Gone for the night, probably.
But Flash was home.
And Peter was done letting people like him win.
11:49 PM.
Peter stood outside Flash’s bedroom window.
He could see him inside—lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone, completely unaware.
Peter’s fingers twitched.
It would be so easy.
Just one hit. One well-placed strike to the jaw. Break a few ribs. Maybe knock out a few teeth.
Flash deserved worse.
He made sure Peter had nothing.
Maybe it was time Peter took everything from him.
Peter took a deep breath.
He clenched his fists.
And then—
His phone buzzed.
Peter blinked, pulled it out, and checked the screen.
Aunt May.
His stomach twisted.
It was a text.
MAY: I love you, Peter. I know you’re hurting, but we’ll find a way. Just come home safe, okay?
His breath caught in his throat.
He looked back at Flash’s window.
Back at his phone.
Back at the window.
Then, slowly, he stepped away.
His fists unclenched.
His breath came out shaky.
He turned around and disappeared into the night.
Peter didn’t go home right away.
His head was still spinning.
He almost did it.
He almost crossed that line.
And the scariest part?
He wanted to.
But if he did—if he became that person—then what was left of him?
Peter Parker was already gone.
But maybe there was still something left worth saving.
Maybe.
When he got home, May was waiting in the living room.
She didn’t say anything.
She just stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him into a hug.
Peter closed his eyes.
Maybe the world had taken everything from him.
But it hadn’t taken her.
And for now?
That was enough.
For now.
_____
The days blurred together.
Peter didn’t go outside much.
Didn’t eat much.
Didn’t exist much.
He spent most of his time in his room, staring at the ceiling, headphones in, music playing loud enough to drown out the world.
Aunt May tried. She made his favourite meals, left the TV on with the volume just high enough for him to hear, even knocked on his door sometimes just to say goodnight.
Peter appreciated it.
But it didn’t help.
Nothing did.
Because at the end of the day, Peter Parker was still nothing.
No school. No friends. No future.
Just an empty shell.
And the worst part?
He was starting to get used to it.
One week later.
Peter walked the streets of Queens with his hood pulled low.
He didn’t know where he was going. He just walked.
But somehow, without thinking, his feet carried him back there.
To Midtown High.
It was after hours, the hallways dark, the parking lot mostly empty.
Peter stood on the sidewalk across the street, staring at the building.
His chest ached.
This place was his entire life.
Now it was just another thing he lost.
His hands curled into fists.
His own principal had thrown him away like garbage.
Flash got to keep his life. His school. His friends. His future.
Peter got nothing.
And now here he was, standing in the dark, watching his old life like a ghost.
Pathetic.
"Hey, look who it is."
Peter tensed.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Flash.
Standing by the steps of the school, a smug grin on his face.
Peter’s jaw tightened. "Leave me alone, Flash."
Flash scoffed. "Or what? You’ll punch me again?"
Peter didn’t answer.
Flash stepped forward. "You know, I heard some real interesting stuff about you lately, Parker. Word is, you’ve just been rotting away at home. No school. No future. No friends. Kinda funny, right?"
Peter’s fingers twitched.
The Day They Took Everything From Peter Parker – Part Six
Peter didn’t even see the punch coming.
One second, he had Flash pinned against the concrete, rage burning through his veins.
The next?
A blinding pain exploded in his skull, and suddenly, the world was sideways.
He barely registered the laughter before something heavy slammed into his ribs.
Air rushed out of his lungs.
Flash wasn’t alone.
His friends—Kenny and Randy—had been waiting in the shadows.
Peter gasped, trying to roll away, but Flash was on him in an instant.
"You really thought you could come back here and pull this crap again?" Flash snarled.
Peter barely had time to lift his arms before a knee crashed into his gut.
He choked on his breath, body curling inward.
"You think you're better than me?" Flash grabbed him by the hoodie, yanking him up before slamming him down onto the pavement.
Stars exploded in Peter’s vision.
His skull cracked against the concrete.
Pain.
Flashes of light.
Voices, muffled and distant.
He felt something cold wrap around his throat.
Fingers.
Squeezing.
"You ruined my life, Parker."
Flash’s voice was different now. Lower. Meaner.
"You got me grounded, got my parents breathing down my neck, made me look like a joke."
Peter clawed at his wrist, but Flash only squeezed harder.
Pressure.
His vision blurred.
His lungs screamed.
This was it.
This was how it ended.
Then—
"HEY!"
The voice shattered through the air like a gunshot.
Peter barely registered it before the weight disappeared.
Suddenly, he could breathe.
He gasped, rolling onto his side, coughing violently.
He barely caught a glimpse of Aunt May before Flash and his friends bolted.
Footsteps pounded away.
Fading.
Gone.
Peter stayed on the ground, head spinning.
His throat burned.
His ribs ached.
A shadow fell over him.
"Peter."
A hand—warm, shaking—brushed his arm.
"Peter, can you stand?"
He swallowed, tasting copper. "I—I think so."
Slowly, with May’s help, he pulled himself to his feet.
Everything tilted sideways.
"Oh, baby..." May’s voice cracked. "Let’s get you home."
Home.
Peter stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
The house was quiet.
But the air wasn’t.
It was thick.
Heavy.
Like a storm about to break.
May turned on the hallway light.
Peter flinched as the glow hit him.
He knew what she saw.
The bruise darkening his throat.
The cut above his brow.
The way he clutched his ribs like they might break if he let go.
May’s face was unreadable.
And then—
"What were you THINKING?!"
Peter flinched.
"What—" His voice cracked. "What?"
"What were you DOING out there? Why did I have to come find you like that?!"
She wasn’t just mad.
She was furious.
"I—" Peter swallowed. "I just—"
"You just WHAT?!"
Her voice was raw, cracking under the weight of everything.
"You just decided to throw yourself at those boys AGAIN? Even after everything that’s happened?"
Peter clenched his jaw. "I wasn’t gonna just—"
"Just what, Peter? Fight them? Hurt them?"
Something inside him snapped.
"They deserved it!"
May’s breath hitched.
Peter’s hands were shaking.
"They got me expelled, May! They got away with everything! And I—I just—*"
He exhaled sharply, turning away. "I couldn’t just let them win."
Silence.
May closed her eyes. "Peter…"
"I had to do something."
"No, Peter." Her voice was softer now, but still sharp. "You didn’t. You didn’t have to do anything."
Peter scoffed. "Yeah? And what was I supposed to do? Just let them keep walking all over me?"
"You were supposed to come home."
Peter’s stomach twisted.
"You were supposed to come home, Peter."
His throat felt tight.
"I—" He exhaled. "I don’t know how to do that anymore."
May took a step forward. "Peter—"
"I don’t know who I am anymore, May."
His voice cracked.
And for the first time since everything started—
He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t numb.
He was tired.
So, so tired.
May reached for him.
For a second, he almost let her.
But then—
He stepped back.
Her hands dropped to her sides.
The distance felt colder this time.
Peter shook his head. "I’m going to bed."
May watched him for a long moment.
Then, finally, she nodded. "Okay."
Peter turned and walked upstairs.
His body ached.
His throat throbbed.
His head buzzed with thoughts he couldn’t silence.
He laid down.
Stared at the ceiling.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t sleep.
Didn’t feel anything.
Not until he lifted a hand to his throat and felt the bruise.
Not until the memory of Flash’s hands squeezing, taking filled his mind.
Not until he realized—
He really was nothing.
And nothing had no limits.