Disclaimer: I do not own any marvel properties. I am not making any profit off of this.

CHAPTER ONE

JANUARY 2014

Peter hated himself for the complete and utter relief he felt with his Aunt May's death. Oh, he had sobbed and cried, and was still numb from the pain of it all, but somewhere deep inside of him felt relief. The guilt of that feeling killed him.

He missed his Aunt. He wished she was still alive, but the fact that he was not the cause of her death have him such a profound feeling of catharsis, that Peter was sure he would burn in hell despite not being religious.

She had died of cancer. The terrible painful type that there was no coming back from.

And it wasn't Peter's fault; and he didn't have to feel guilty over it.

He remember her sitting him down, and telling him of her prognosis. She had kept it to herself for far too long, but far be it for him to get mad at her for a secret. There had been no theatrics, and she told him with her usual no nonsense tone.

Peter cried then, and it would be the first of many. He was still fourteen, God damn it, and as much responsibility that he had taken on, he knew he was still a child in many ways. He wanted a mother like figure in his life, but the longer he lived, the more he realized that he got less of what he wanted, and none of what he deserved. He just got what life handed to him, bad or good, it just was and Peter was forced to deal with it.

She had told him that she would find him a suitable guardian for him, but both of them knew it was unlikely. Most of his aunt's friends where old and the last thing Peter wanted was being a burden.

Then there was the whole trouble of the status of Peter's guardianship. His parents had never been declared legally dead and his Aunt and Uncle had never formally adopted him.

In the eyes of the law, he was still under his parents care. It had never been looked into because his Aunt and Uncle's treatment had never caused any questions, and on school papers he always put his aunt and uncle as temporary guardians. The innocent part of him had hoped that was true. Looking back on it, he wished he had pursued adoption. They were much better parents to him than his real mom and dad had been.

So Peter was in a quandary.

While his Aunt was at the hospital, he had assured his Aunt that Gwen's family had gladly taken him in. That was not the case, he hadn't asked, and Gwen didn't even know about his Aunt's condition.

He lived at the apartment, and in the wake of her death, Peter realized he was a homeless fourteen year old.

Peter hated black. He hated it to his core. He was the color type, just like his costume. Blacks at a funeral were no different.

His aunt's best friend came up to him. "I'm so sorry Peter. Her death was so sudden."

"Me too," Peter intoned.

"Who are you staying with? They taking care of you." She asked kindly.

Peter almost said no one, but he bit the inside of his mouth.

"Friends," he answered instead, "her family was very kind to take me in."

"A girl friend," she smiled weakly.

Peter blushed. Gwen and him had grown apart since the bite. Between discovering his powers, decided to become a superhero, and trying to keep up with his outrageous class schedule, Peter had lost his social life.

Gwen had drifted apart, joining clubs and exploring high school, and Harry had been sent away to a French boarding school after his father found him drunk off of Whiskey at 2am on a Tuesday night.

Peter blamed himself.

It didn't rain at her funeral, and in fact, it was annoyingly hot for a New York day. Hot and uncomfortable at the graveside when insufficient words were given to describe the amazing person his Aunt once was.

Peter sobbed again.

His Aunt's friend put a hand on his shoulder.

The crowd cleared, a few church goer friends of hers, the neighborhood cards group she was apart of, his neighbor, and even a couple of Uncle Ben's friends had showed.

Peter stayed until they had all cleared. A million I'm sorries were given to him, but Peter knew that no matter how sorry they were, it wouldn't match his pain.

He stumbled back to his- former- apartment. There was a notice on the door. Everything needed to be cleared by the next week.

Peter woke up the sound of the phone going off.

He had to cancel the phone payment, and Internet, and utilities, and everything that constituted as a life.

He answered, "Hello," wondering who would call the apartment.

"Good," a man's voice filtered through the phone, "I wasn't sure if I could get ahold of anyone."

Peter didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

"Is this Peter Parker?" The man asked.

"Yes."

"I'm calling from Liberty Mutual to discuss your Aunt's will. Is there any chance you and your guardian can come in today."

"He works today," Peter answered, "but I can come in."

"I'm sorry Peter, but that's not protocol."

Peter licked his lips. He needed an excuse. He didn't want to go to the foster system. He knew that much.

Peter forced himself, without much difficulty, to sound choked up and blubbered, "Can we please get this done. I don't want to drag it on. Everyone wants to talk and talk some more about it. I just want to be done."

The man sighed at Peter's crying. Yes, some of it was exaggerated but Peter was exhausted and needed to be done with this all.

"I guess I can break protocol this once, but Peter," the man voice was kind, "you need to discuss her death. It sounds like you are really hurting."

Peter nodded then realized the man couldn't see him. He cleared his voice, and told the man quietly, "I will, but she was like a mom to me."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Can you come in at three this afternoon?"

Peter had eight hours before the meeting. He needed to pawn most of the house so he had money to at the very least buy his way through a couple of days at a shady motel.

He had around a grand saved up for a rainy day, and if this wasn't a rainy day, he didn't know what was.

He stood looking at the room wide eyed for a second before he dashed into action, spurned on by a sudden sense of urgency.

First there was jewelry. She had been buried with her ring, pearls, and diamond earrings. Peter wouldn't have wanted to sell that anyways.

He had this morning and tomorrow to clear things out before he had to be back at school on Monday. He had requested a Saturday funeral from the church that his Aunt went to, partially because it was convenient for everyone, and partially so he didn't have to explain to school why he was missing.

So two days. He grabbed a couple of a couple of shopping bags. He would rotate pawn shops, so he wouldn't get too ripped off. He grabbed most of the jewelry and put it in one bag. He packed up the China knowing that that would be best to take to a consignment store.

He thought about typing up an add for the fridge, washer, and dryer, but- as much money as he could get for them- he would need those for wherever he ended up. Peter needed to figure out what he was going to do with them until he found a place.

With that thought, Peter spent the next thirty minutes typing up a flyer for the master bedroom set, the dining set, the couch, and the bookshelves.

They were decent quality and he tried to show that through the photos he took. He added his cell number to the sheets. He would post it at the coffee shop and hopefully someone would call before Peter had to be out. Hopefully one of them would sell because Peter needed the money.

He would eventually have to cancel his cell payment, but he needed to get control of money first. He had around a grand in savings, but that would probably not last him the first month or two.

There was a few crystal vases, the silverware, all of his aunts clothing, Peter's mind raced. He felt a sense of urgency he didn't know was possible. The grief inside of him had gone numb. He felt like he was betraying her in some ways, but he knew his aunt would have wanted the best for him.

There was a franticness to his mind. As if he was solving a particularly hard Chemistry problem. The time was running out on the clock and yet Peter felt the need to just close his eyes and stop for a moment.

Standing in the apartment, Peter realized that beyond the grief and confusion he was feeling, that there was also a sense of freedom. Peter was completely alone in the world. But he was also completely alone.

There was no one to depend on him. No one to die because of him. He did not have a single person in the world whom loved him unconditionally, and yet it was freeing.

He felt lonely and sick. Hatred of himself bubbled up over this relief he was feeling because of his aunt's death. Hatred of himself bubbled up because every person in the world who was supposed to love and protect him had died, so therefore must have been something wrong with him.

Peter was lonely and alone, feeling relief and free, and standing in the middle of his aunt's apartment that he had lived in the entirety of his life. Memories surged back to him. Good ones when he had someone who cared for him.

Peter cried for the first time since his aunt had died. He was fourteen. He missed her. He wished he had his mom back.

That franticness about how he was going to survive was real. Peter may have been a superhero, but he was still a child. A child crushed against the world forced to grow up.

Been sitting on this for awhile and thought I may as well post the stuff I've written. I have the next chapter done and am working on completing the third. Would love to have some feedback. Hope you enjoyed.

-Emm