Hey peeps, so this is something I promised to do for a reviewer named: Death Fury.

Summary: Peters been strangely aggressive lately; he's gotten quiet, and has taken to avoiding people like the plaque. No one is quite sure what's up with the teen or how to help. But Tiger figures it out and does the best she can to comfort her comrade, and in-turn uncovers a bit more about her leaders past than she intended. (Set after season 2 "Kraven the Hunter" but before "Hawkeye")

"Nova, go up and draw his fire. " Spider-Man ordered. "Iron Fist, take him down as soon as he's distracted."

Nova shot through the air, like the human rocket he was, and blasted Juggernaut with his beams of energy. While he did, Iron Fist jumped from behind with his fists aglow with power and aimed a punch to the villain with a loud "HIYAA!". But Juggernaut turned just in time and instead grabbed Iron Fist around his waist and threw the monk into Nova.

The two went down like a bag of rocks into an innocent looking yard in Queens, where dirt, grass, newspapers and sweaty teenage superheroes scattered over the lawn

"Well that plan completely failed." Nova groaned as he spit up grass on the ground and pushed Iron Fist off of him. Spider-Man ignored Nova and turned to White Tiger and Powerman.

"Circle around him; Tiger go in low, Powerman you stay high. Try and catch him off guard." He insisted.

"On it." Powerman nodded. He and White Tiger rounded on Juggernaut; once they were on either side of him, White Tiger crouched and went for his legs while Powerman lunged for the torso. But Juggernaut merely kicked White Tiger away and back-handed Powerman.

Powerman crashed into the living room in a house across the street, whereas White Tiger landed on top of Nova, who had just stood back up. "Anything else?" White Tiger demanded sourly as she pulled herself off Nova. Spider-Man rubbed his head in frustration, "Fine, I'll take him down by myself." He muttered. Spider-Man jumped off the car from where he was crouched on and swung himself toward Juggernaut, the villain watched him coming and braced himself.

Spider-Man landed in front of him, Juggernaut jabbed a punch at the arachnid but Spider-Man dodged thanks to the tingling along his skull. Spider-Man punched the villain, the armor encasing Juggernaut dented slightly, but was otherwise remained unaffected. Juggernaut lifted up his leg and kicked Spider-Man squarely in the chest; the arachnid hit a house on the opposite end of the street.

"Ow." He muttered into the pavement.

Juggernaut thudded forward, intent on finishing the job, before abruptly turning board-stiff and his image flickered, like off a TV screen. A moment later an L.M.D stood in its place. The friendly, innocent-looking neighborhood in Queens flickered as well before a training room materialized in its place.

Ever since the Helicarrier went KABOOM! in the harbor, the teens have had to do training in S.H.I.E.L.D bases set up over New York. And when Spider-Man found out his team had actually been living in the Helicarrier, he stepped forward and offered them refuge in HIS house with Aunt May. Well…things have been a little stuffy in the Parker household since then, something both Peter and Aunt May weren't used too.

Spider-Man groaned and picked himself up off the ground.

"Well, that went horribly." Agent Coulson bluntly noted as he entered the room. He observed the groaning and moping teens with an unsatisfied look. "Shall we go over everything that you guys did wrong?"

"Uh, we listened to Spider-Man?" Nova dully answered.

Spider-Man growled in annoyance, "Well then, why don't you try being leader Nova! It's not exactly a walk in the park!" Nova took a small step back from the venom in Spider-Man's voice, but his expression was with equal frustration.

"Well, I'd at least act like I actually WANT TO be on the team!" Nova retorted sourly. "You act as if you'd want to be anywhere but here! It's like you're trying to get kicked off the team."

"Getting kicked off the team and going solo would be better than having to put up with you Nova!"

Somewhere during the argument, both spider and human-rocket and gone forward and were now face to face, they were glaring at each other readily, knuckles tightened and eyes dark with unspoken anger. Coulson swiftly stepped between the two and pushed them away from each other.

"Stand down." He ordered. "Both of you. This behavior is unacceptable."

Spider-Man snorted, and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but Coulson decided to let it go. "Let's run through the exercise one more time." The agent suggested. "Get back in your starting positions." The teens all drifted away to the corner of the room, besides Nova who hovered in the center near the ceiling.

"Okay team," Spider-Man said in his corner. "Let's try this again, watch both you and your partners back." But he sounded less than enthusiastic.

"Ha, you almost sound like you know what you're doing." Nova ridiculed with arms folded over his chest. "And we're suddenly a 'team again'? What happened to preferring solo?"

Spider-Man threw his hands up in a 'fed up' manner, he didn't notice when the room transformed into a random street in New York. Civilians screamed as Trapster spun around spraying glue with his guns; the villains face was pulled up into a crazy laugh, but the S.H.I.E.L.D technicians had yet to figure out how to make them actually produce sound and voices like their represented bad guy; so Trapsters' mouth moved like was a phone turned on vibrate.

Spider-Man turned furiously to Nova, "What is your problem?" he demanded.

"You!" Nova cried back. "You've been acting up lately; you've been snapping at everyone about everything! Just yesterday you yelled at Powerman for – accidentally - dropping his fork on his plate."

"Well, you don't exactly have enhanced senses," Spider-Man retorted. "Loud noises don't seem to bother you, judging by how much you talk!"

"You need to get yourself under control." Nova continued undeterred, the blue aura seemed to intensify around him; acting up with the teens frustration. "I don't care if your team leader, but I won't put up with you thinking you're better than anyone else!"

White Tiger jumped between the two, even though they were still several feet away. "Stop you guys!" she growled. "Let's just get this exercise over with; then you guys can bite each other's heads off; unless either you want to take down Trapster by yourselves."

Nova scowled, "I'm sure Spider-Man might take you up on that offer." He muttered, but Spider-Man still heard.

The arachnid clenched his shaking fists harder and glared intensely under his mask. "You want me to go solo Nova?!" he demanded. "Fine! Then I'll take down Trapster by myself!" White Tiger went to object but Spider-Man was already moving up across a building and toward the villain.

Spider-Man ran and swung with angry speed. A small ball of fire seemed to burn in his chest and was rapidly spreading through his arms, downs his legs, even up his neck. The arachnid grit his teeth in frustration; he felt so unexplainable mad right now, he was angry about being angry! The web in his hand was being squeezed mercilessly as he swung to another building.

Spider-Man faintly heard his team calling after him, but he stubbornly ignored them. Trapster saw Spider-Man coming toward him, and a wicked grin stretched across the mans' face. A gun nozzle was pointed in Spider-Man's direction, aimed right for his chest.

And for a fleeting moment, Trapsters image seemed to flicker. No longer did a bald man, who had black protective glasses propped on his forehead, and a big, back-pack like piece of equipment strapped to his back stood in the street; but instead it was a different man, slightly younger; with buzz-cut brown hair and a thinner build. This man wore a black, long sleeved shirt and a regular pair of jeans. And in his hand, was a cold, black hand pistol.

This new man was staring straight at Spider-Man, as if seeing straight through the mask. A small smile crept around the corner of the guys face as his finger tightened to pull the trigger.

The ball of fire in Spider-Man's chest exploded into a burning hot inferno; red tinted his eyesight as pure, unaltered rage burned every nerve of his body. Spider-Man's eyesight turned into a thick, red splatter throughout most of the brief fight, but the cameras (and the other teens watching) caught the whole thing.

Spider-Man efficiently dodged the glue shot at him, twisting his body in air to avoid it and landed right in front of the Trapster. Spider-Man pulled his arm back, before swinging it forward with a force he wasn't used.

Then…it was still for a moment. Spider-Man froze in his place has he blinked the red from his eyesight and took in his surroundings.

Trapster was still in front of him, but now the villains' image really was flickering from the guy he was supposed to be, to a lifeless L.M.D droid. Spider-Man's eyes followed up his outstretched arm up to where it was penetrating the metal exterior and disappeared through the droids body, and punctured out the other end.

Wires stuck out with his fist, and little bursts of electrical shocks zipped up Spider-Man's arm due to the demolished interior. Spider-Man gazed at the scene in surprise, and went to pull his arm out. It was snagged a little, so the arachnid used his other arm to push the droid away and pulled his arm out at the same time.

A loose, jagged piece of metal jutted out of the punched-in hole, and cut Spider-Man from his elbow to his wrist as the arm pulled free. But Spider-Man didn't notice the cut, or the blood that started running down his arm. The ruined L.M.D slumped to the ground with a clang, flickered feebly once more, before remaining in its robotic form.

Spider-Man turned away from droid and toward his team, who were all gaping at him in astonishment. Never have they seen Spider-Man use so much of his strength on something, even if it was just an L.M.D. And the rage and aggression in the spiders' actions were definitely abnormal to the spider they were used to.

Spider-Man looked over all of their faces; Luke was staring open-mouthed, Iron Fist looked more surprised than serene, White Tiger was completely still (it was hard to tell her facial expression due to the mask), and Nova stood on the ground, not hovering for once, with his jaw slack in utter shock.

It was quiet as they all stared at each other; but then Spider-Man moved forward and walked past his team, not even muttering anything to Nova, and out the door as the area behind him melted back into the training room.

His team didn't stop him.

Later, White Tiger was out roaming the rooftops of New York; she peered over ledges and peaked into alleyways looking for one person: Spider-Man.

After the…uh, incident in the training room, Spider-Man seemingly disappeared. White Tiger, Iron Fist, and the rest of the team had consulted Nick Fury, who had been updated about the situation, but the Director simply advised them to give the arachnid some space, for now. It was obvious that Nick Fury was keeping some information to himself about why Spider-Man has been acting so…aggressive lately. But it was just like the Director not to share what he knew.

The team wasn't sure how to handle this side of their leader on their own. Nova felt bad for antagonizing Spider-Man, Powerman and Iron Fist wasn't sure how to fix this either.

It's been hours since Spider-Man left; the rest of the team went back to the house to both distract and keep Aunt May company (they came up with the excuse that Peter was helping Harry study for a test). While the boys helped at home, Ava left to see if she could track down a certain, angry arachnid.

But the sun had long since gone down, and night had taken over.

Still no sign of Spider-Man.

White Tiger sighed tiredly and sat on the edge of the building she had stopped to rest on. The wind had picked up a little and a herd of clouds slowly made its way across the sky, Tiger faintly remembered hearing a weather report for an intense rain storm for a the oncoming few days.

She hoped she could find Spidey before it started raining.

But White Tiger had looked all over New York, and she couldn't find the wall-crawler anywhere. Not even the Bugle knew the whereabouts of him, and J.J usually made it a point to know where Spider-Man was when swinging through the city.

"What's wrong with you Spidey?" White Tiger softly muttered to herself. Something was bothering Spider-Man, that was clear, but Spidey, Nick Fury, none of them was willing to give up any info. White Tiger thought they were friends, not with Nick Fury, but with Spider-Man/Peter Parker.

That's what Spidey said anyway. We're friends, we're family. But neither friends or family lied to each other, another thing Spider-Man said.

We're a family. And when something is bothering your family…

She shook her head solemnly. Maybe they weren't completely friends or family afterall.

Familly…friends…FRIENDS! Of course! There was one place Tiger hadn't checked yet; she actually just remembered vaguely hearing about it from a certain wall-crawler.

White Tiger bolted to her feet and took off running.

TIME SKIP

White Tiger stopped on a certain building and looked over the edge curiously. There was nothing particularly special about this building. It wasn't the tallest, the fanciest, or even interesting. It was an old, red-bricked building that looked over both a busy New York street and a small part of Central Park. Gargoyles lined a part of the building, but most were weathered down due to weather and had pieces crumbling away.

Tiger scanned the gargoyles, looking for anything that looked out of place- right there! She could barely make out a lone figure huddled at the foot of a Gargoyle statue, hidden completely by the overcasting shadow of both the building, the statue, and the clouds.

Spider-Man had mentioned a gargoyle friend he hung out with back when he was alone and fighting crime by himself; he named the gargoyle Bruce.

White Tiger dropped silently down and onto the edge that the statues lined; she knew that the arachnid could tell she was there. But Spider-Man didn't move, didn't even look her way. He kept his eyes on the horizon, simply looking out over the city. So White Tiger moved closer.

She stopped right next to him; Spider-Man was hugging his knees to his chest, looking incredible small and vulnerable in his fetal position. His mask was still on, but it looked rumpled, like some had rung it out several times. The two remained in silence; Tiger struggled for something to say, whereas Spider-Man didn't really even acknowledge her presence.

Finally, the female-warrior sighed and sat next to Spider-Man. They didn't move, didn't speak, just watched as New York moved on with its busy schedule without them.

White Tiger slowly eased into the flow of the city, she tuned into every noise and scent, just letting her mind drift while she worked on coming up with a speech, or someway to get Spider-Man to open up. The arachnid seemed particularly good at doing that – getting people to open up that is; it seemed like it was a natural talent of his.

Thankfully, Tiger didn't need to speak first. Spider-Man cleared his threat uncomfortable after a few long moments and softly whispered, "M'sorry."

Tiger looked at him in surprise, "What do you mean?" she asked gently, trying not to work him up again.

"For freaking out back there," back in the training room "I shouldn't have lost control of my emotions like that, so…sorry you had to see that." He apologized again, still looking out at the horizon.

White Tiger shook her head slightly in disbelief. "You have nothing to be sorry about," she told him. "We all let our emotions get the best of us sometime; just like when we stopped Kraven, I let my anger and need for vengeance take control, remember?"

"Yeah, but you have a better reason for losing control. Kraven killed your dad, right in front of you, he also played some weird, magical doo-hickey to get your tiger side riled up. So it wasn't completely your fault." Spider-Man stressed. "I don't have a spider-side constantly trying to take over…well, unless you count venom." He said the name bitterly and seemed to fold tighter in on himself.

White Tiger stayed silent a moment, "You said I had a better reason for acting up," she slowly brought up. "So…then what's your reason for acting…uh, out of character." Spider-Man stilled and shifted uncomfortable. Tiger didn't say anything with an accusing or condescending tone, but the spiders nervous reaction confirmed that there was indeed, a reason Spider-Man kept acting this way – especially for the last few days.

"Well…" Spider-Man trailed of uncertainly. "I don't…I'm not sure you…Its just…" his fists tightened with frustration as he worked on formulating a good explanation. "It's complicated." He settled on.

Tiger frowned a little, but didn't push. She rose to her feet, "I won't force you to say anything you don't want to." She said firmly, yet softly. "But I do remember you telling me that 'we're a family, and if something is bothering you're family, you can tell them' We're a team Spidey, a family, and we all have our secrets, so I can't accuse you of anything – nor do I want to. But we are a group; our lives are literally in each other's hands. I understand that it must be stressful being leader, but that's why you can come to us if ever you need us. Just…just think about that." Tiger turned to leave. She knew when someone wanted to be alone; she could take a hint.

But before she could completely leave, Spider-Man called after her; "Tiger, wait!" she turned around to face him. Spidey hesitated for a millisecond, before nodding with a tired sigh. "You're right," he admitted. "I can trust you guys, I know I can, but…" he paused. "It's just…well, this is something I've been dealing with on my own for…well,I guess a year or so now. I just…I'm not sure if…"

"If you want to include us into your problems." Tiger knowingly finished for him. Spider-Man nodded. Tiger walked back toward him and retook her seat beside her leader.

"Well, if you feel like it, I'll be here to listen." White Tiger assured him. Her communicator beeped right then; it was a call from Powerman. She glanced up at Spider-Man, who watched her silently, before glancing back at her comm. She denied the call and switched the device off.

Spider-Man wasn't in any condition to face people, especially his team. Despite the false bravado Spider-Man put up, even now with her sitting next to him, Tiger could tell how vulnerable the arachnid truly felt. He needed a little time before he could pull himself together to talk to people.

But White Tiger didn't want to rush him; she had all night to wait for him to open up to her, and she would stay there all night if she had too.

White Tiger would be there for Spider-Man, just like how Spider-Man had been there for her.

TIME SKIP

Time passed, clouds thickened in the sky, and the wind thrashed harder. But White Tiger still sat next to Spider-Man, both of them hidden among the Gargoyles and shadows; two heroes alone, with nothing but each other's presence for company.

White Tiger wasn't sure how much time passed, but she didn't mind all that much. It was kind of peaceful to sit in darkness and just think; just relax and let your stress get snagged away by the wind. She would definitely be doing it again next time she had a few spare minutes.

But then, very timidly, in almost a whisper; Spider-Man began to speak, "Well, the day Uncle Ben dies is in a few days," he mumbles softly. Tiger perked up a little; it was very rare that Spidey talked about his deceased Uncle. All Tiger really knew on the matter was that Uncle Ben was killed, and his death inspired Peter Parker to become something better than the guy who took his Uncle; to become Spider-Man.

But that still didn't quite explain why he punched a hole clean-through a metal robot.

"That probable isn't a very good explanation for my attitude," Spider-Man chuckled flatly, as if reading her thoughts. "Buts its…well…I guess it's kind of a long story."

Tiger scooted a little closer to him, "I got all night." She told him.

Spider-Man looked up at her, as if looking for any lie in her words. He didn't find any. The arachnid was quiet in a mental debate, before hesitantly he started talking, "I guess it all started 2 years ago, a week or two after I got my powers…"

Peter Parker ran through the streets of Queens, zooming past bright lamp posts and mailboxes till his own house appeared in view. He was late, very, very late…again. He promised Aunt May and Uncle Ben that he would be home in time for dinner, and well…dinner was 3 hours ago.

He couldn't help it! After getting bit by that weird spider during the Oscorp field trip, and obtaining new powers, Peter spent most of his free time down in old, abandoned warehouses by the docks to test them out. So far he could stick to walls, he was a lot faster than normal, he had turned into an Olympic acrobat overnight- it was all just so incredible!

Well…it wasn't JUST practicing near the docks anymore. Just recently Peter had taken up a little bit of costumed street-fighting. It was a way to earn a quick buck, help Aunt May and Uncle Ben out, and it was so easy! Peter was beating guys up who were 4x his muscle, weight, and height with ease! And he was getting a hefty amount of money while he was at it!

Heck, he's even invested some of his winnings to create an actual, official costume for his fights. It was pretty good, if he did say so himself. The red in it really made him look a little muscley, and the blue reflected real nice in the light, and don't even get him started on the lens! Peter decided to add a small spider emblem to it for his own personal inside joke – it was a spider after all that gave him these powers!

Because of his performances and display of power, Peter was also pretty quick to earn himself a stage name. It started out just as: Spider-Man, then soon after turned into: The Amazing Spider-Man. Ha – it wasn't the most creative or original name, but Peter himself was too lazy to come up with a new one. Besides, Spider-Man DID have a catchy ring to it that kind of just glided off the tongue.

Okay, so maybe he lost track of time while at his fights, but what were a few late dinners?

Though now that he had these powers, Peter had to figure out a way to tell Uncle Ben and Aunt May. He really didn't want to keep lying by saying he was studying at Harry's when he really wasn't; besides, the two might be a bit old, but they weren't stupid. They'd eventually figure out their 15 year old nephew was unexpectedly sticking to things and had suddenly obtained the skills of a ninja.

Well, he also didn't exactly want to spill the beans and tell them he's been street fighting. That was something that Peter was positive would end with him ground for, about, the REST OF HIS LIFE!

But Peter pushed all those thoughts away, for now, and ran faster; he could never run this fast before! Well, Peter was fast(ish) – a skill he was required to have as to run away from bullies – but this was a whole new level of fast! Flash Thompson sure wasn't going to bug him anymore – heh, bug!

A small part of Peter warned him not to be seen with his powers just yet, but it was dark out and all windows were drawn shut with a curtains or blinds; who was gonna see him?

A wide smile broke out on Peter's face as he ran faster, feeling a burst of adrenaline race through his veins. But his house came into view and he gradually slowed his pace to a slow jog; still smiling he ran up to the front door and stepped inside. Peter closed the door behind him and turned around, only to freeze.

An old man, with whispy white hair and (usually) happy brown eyes sat in a chair propped against the wall; he wore a pair of glasses and had wrinkles around his eyes, a feature that gave away the fact that he smiled a lot – but not now. Uncle Ben had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and a disapproving frown on his face.

Peter inwardly winced, because by the look on Uncle Ben's face, he knew there was a scolding in his near future.

It started raining, Spider-Man paused his story for a moment to watch as the first few drops splattered near his feet. Tiger drew her legs inward to avoid getting wet; she was silent in deep thought. Okay, she never knew that Peter, the most responsible and intuitive kid she's ever encountered, has a history in street fighting (which she was pretty sure was a little illegal).

It was…interesting – to know that Spider-Man's costume was originally created as a costume for those fights. Heck, his NAME came from it.

White Tiger knew they weren't that far into the story just yet, but already she knew so much more about her team leader than she anticipated. It made her wonder what other things he was hiding.

It took Spidey a few minutes to decide how to continue.

After a moment he took a breath and resumed the story:

"Where have you been?" Uncle Ben calmly asked, not getting up from his seat, but his eyes were bright and steely all the same.

Peter shrugged nervously, "Just out…studying with Harry again…" he lied, though he felt the increasing sensation of guilt that he got every time the lie pushed passed his lips. Uncle Ben didn't look convinced.

"Is that so?" he said. "Well then, I guess Harry was lying to me when he said you weren't at his house." Peter winced, he'd been caught red-handed. "Not only that," Uncle Ben continued. "But he said he hadn't seen you for days; he's barely seen you for weeks! Told me to tell you to call him; but I don't think that's going to happen. At least not tonight." Uncle Ben rose out of his chair, and looked firmly at Peter for an explanation. "Well," he said, "any other excuse you want to make up before I ground you?"

Peter shuffled uncomfortably. He bit the inside of his cheek as he raced to come up with something to say; should Peter tell Uncle Ben about his powers now? Uncle Ben was pretty mad…Peter wasn't sure how he'd react.

Uncle Ben took Peter's indecision as obstinacy and his brow furrowed. "Are you aware of how worried your Aunt and I get when you're getting home at 11, even 1'O clock at night?" Peter was vaguely aware as Aunt May joined them from in the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. She didn't look angry, but she didn't look too happy either. "How many times as your Aunt sat at the table waiting with your dinner, making sure it's not getting cold, while you- you lolly-gag home?" Uncle Ben continued, fixating his hands firmly on his hips in a stern stance.

Peter was smart and kept quiet, waiting silently for the scolding to get finished.

"How many times have I had to stay up, and wait in that living room for you to walk through that door? Do you know how many times I've considered calling the cops when you won't answer your phone because I'm scared that you got into some trouble and need help?!" Uncle Ben stopped and took a deep breathe, calming himself so he didn't get too riled up. Once Uncle Ben's temper had gone down, he looked back up and looked Peter in the eye.

"Peter," he said, "We love you, adore you; I couldn't be happier to have you here with us." He gestured to him and Aunt May. "But you're getting older, and you might be going through some stuff. I understand that, and that you might need your own space. But we need to settle some ground rules; I can't have you staying out so late; New York can be a dangerous place."

"We live in Queens," Peter muttered lowly, "it's a pretty friendly neighborhood."

Uncle Ben didn't look happy about that added note. "That's not the point Peter," Uncle Ben sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just…I don't know if your…" Uncle Ben shook his head as HE struggled to get his point across. But Peter could already tell where the older man was going with this.

"If I'm what?" Peter prompted with a frown.

"You know what he means Peter," Aunt May said softly, but firmly. "And we're both worried, so please-"

"You guys think I'm doing drugs?" Peter demanded, feeling a pit of anger well up into his stomach. "That I'm joining a cult, or – or a gang! I wouldn't do anything like that – you guys know that!"

But they don't think you'd do street fighting either, a little voice added in his head. Peter smothered that thought quickly; he's helped Uncle Ben pay for bills with that money, it was being used good, so…so that made it okay…right?

"We don't know what to know about you anymore." Uncle Ben snapped, before taking another deep breathe. "Peter, you've been leaving home early, getting back late; hell, you've been coming back home with bruises the size of your May's china set! Not to mention, your grades have dropped in the last few weeks, I got a call earlier today from the Principal. You used to be all A's, and now you have F's in nearly every class. And- and you've also been acting weird and jumpy lately" Uncle Ben had been pacing in front of peter, but now stopped in front of him. "And…and we're worried."

Peter scowled; he understood getting punished for coming home late, or even with his grades going down (with the discovery of his new powers, he forgot about homework – but it was easy work to catch up, he'd be fine). But thinking he was doing drugs, or becoming part of some illegal gang, that is what made Peter mad.

Street fighting was different, he didn't some or do drugs. All he did was dress up in some costume and beat up a bunch of guys. So he got a few bruises now and again, nothing he couldn't pin on a few bullies. Besides, the money he was saving he was investing into college – heck, Peter was saving some to help use for bills! That was helpful!

Besides, Peter always worked hard at being a good nephew, and a top-notch student; he tried not to complain, he did his work, he helped when was needed – but as soon as Peter showed one little change in behavior, as soon as he missed one English assignment, and suddenly he had turned into some juvenile delinquent! Did Uncle Ben and Aunt May really not trust his better judgment?

"Well, I can assure you right now that I'm not doing drugs." Peter said coldly, before his voice rose in a shout. "And I didn't join some…some low-down, illegal gang either!"

Uncle Ben's frown deepened, "Don't use that kind of tone with me young man!"

"Why," Peter snapped back, feeling this wild anger take hold. "You're not my dad, you can't tell me what to do!" he spit out. Uncle Ben took a surprised step back while Aunt Mays' eyes widened in shock at her nephews words.

Peter was too angry to think about what he saying, and too angry to feel guilty.

Uncle Ben's eyes narrowed. "Peter, you are a smart kid, really smart actually. Knowledge is power Peter, and I understand that, that can lead to curiosity too – sometimes wanting to try something new because it seems interesting." Uncle Ben squared his shoulders and looked Peter firmly in the eye. "But you've got to remember, if you are ever going to make it life as a good, successful man that with great powers, comes great responsibility. You have a good heart Peter, and I believe you'll come to be a powerful, smart man; but you must also be responsible; if some of your friends are doing drugs, then it should be you that tries to get them stop. Or if your getting into some trouble with a gang, you can come to us, we'll take it to the police and you'll be safe. I'm…we're, just worried Peter."

"I'm. Not. On. Drugs." Peter growled. "And I'm not getting involved with gangs!"

Uncle Ben's lips dipped down further, it was clear he was keeping his patience in check. "If it's not drugs or a cult, then what?"

But Peter's mind was racing too much to even consider his Uncle's words. If Uncle Ben and Aunt May were getting all worked up about just drugs; then how would they react to him having obtained supernatural spider powers? Or street-fighting - even if he was doing it to be helpful? What would they do? Send him to group therapy? A school for troubled kids? Yeah right, as if that'd do any good.

"It's none of your business!" Peter ended up spitting out. "Just leave me alone!"

Spider-Man stopped talking again, his throat choked up a little bit at thought of what was coming next. The guilt he should've felt when those words left him, coming to him 2 years too late. He had stepped way over-line that night. Way over-line.

He clenched his fist and abruptly stood up and paced in the small space. "Ugh, I was so stupid!" he shouted at himself. "They were just worried about me Ava, and I shoved that all back in their face! Just pushed it right back at them – I might as well have told them I didn't appreciate them for taking me in, or even taking care of me! Gah! I acted so stupid and…arrogant…and-and naïve! I mean, how could I not see that street fighting was bad! Its practically illegal for crying out loud!"

White Tiger watched him rant silently, not sure with how to handle this situation. "You didn't really understand what you were saying." Tiger settled on.

"Yeah, got that right." Spider-Man bitterly agreed. "Didn't understand; was a horrible nephew; got mad at them when they didn't deserve it," he listed on his fingers. "And I just…I just…" he made a noise of frustration and, for a moment, White Tiger thought he was going to punch a hole in this building – just like he did to the L.M.D.

But Spider-Man's fist shook for a few seconds, before gradually softening and falling limp by his side. Wearily, Spider-Man turned around and sat back in his spot. "Sorry about that." He mumbled.

"You need to stop apologizing whenever you show emotion." Tiger chuckled slightly, her attempt at lightening the conversation a little.

"Sorry." Spider-Man mumbled instead of laughing. White Tiger looked down in disappointment; wishing there was something she could do to help.

"Well, anyway," Spider-Man continued. "After that, we both said some things I regret. I ended up losing my temper and ran out of the house; Uncle Ben felt bad and tried to follow me so we could talk, but…but I didn't want to, so…"

Peter ran fast down the street, ignoring as Uncle Ben and Aunt May called after him. He just felt so inexplicably mad right now, he wished he could just keep running.

It was impossible to outrun ones problem, but tonight Peter wanted to put that too the test. He didn't have mega, ultra, super speed; but he was now faster than the average person, and if he could, he was going to leave his issues in the dust.

He moved past the neighborhood houses and neat lawns and made it to busier streets, and crowed roads. It was a darker, lower part of New York, a place criminals like to hang low. But Peter didn't care; he just wanted to get away. Eventually, though, he DID slow down and eased into a walk with his hands stuffed angrily in his pockets and his head slunk down.

No one paid him much mind, which was fine. Peter was used to not being noticed.

Peter caught sight of a small, secluded little area up above, under the balcony on a building. Peter glanced briefly back and forth to make sure no one was watching, before jumping high and sticking to the wall. Slowly and carefully, he pulled himself into the little area and let the shadows engulf him.

Peter could see everyone from where he was, but no one could see him. Another he was used to. The teen leaned back against the wall and crossed his arm, and after several, several minutes, he heard his name being called. Uncle Ben came trudging across the sidewalk, looking over all the faces he saw but hoping to find just one.

Peter didn't call back, didn't tell Uncle Ben where he was. He let Uncle Ben pass right over him, and didn't say a word.

Later, after Uncle Ben disappeared into the crowds and some of Peter's anger ebbed away; the teen stealthily climbed back down the wall and rejoined the pedestrians on the streets.

Now that his mind was a little clearer, Peter was feeling bad for acting so childish and letting Uncle Ben journey further into New York just to look for him. So he turned and walked down the street Uncle Ben had gone searching, looking for any signs of his Uncle. It was especially chilly tonight, Peter hadn't noticed earlier die to his adrenaline rush. The boy rubbed his arms shakily, feeling worse for causing Uncle Ben to come searching for him.

As time ticked on and the streets got a little more spacious, Peter still couldn't find Uncle Ben. He would admit that he was getting a little worried – heh, Peter supposed that's how Aunt May and Uncle Ben felt for him. Wasn't surprising – with how much Peter has been gone, he guessed that it was right of his guardians to wonder.

Well, then Peter would make it better right as he saw Uncle Ben, Peter would tell him where he's been, tell him about his powers and the street-fights, and offer to clean the dishes and mow the lawn for two weeks straight – Peter would take his punishment like a man.

Nodding to himself, with his decision set, Peter looked harder. He spotted a small, street-side store that over-looked the entire, area; the cashier desk was just across the window and would have a precise view of the street. Maybe Uncle Ben went in there, or the cashier saw him or something.

Peter quickly scanned the road, before sprinting across it and ducking inside the shop. It was small but smelled strongly of both dust and of cigarette smoke, the aisles were cramped together, stuffed full of dusty stocks of junk, lewd magazines, cigarettes, and some alcohol; the only other living person inside, sans the cashier, was one man in the corner looking through the magazines. The smell hit him hard; Peter had forgotten about enhanced senses. Scrunching his nose a little, Peter hurried up to the cashier.

It was a big kind of guy, with rusty red hair and bad breathe; a cigarette hung limply from his fat lips and lazy eyes followed Peter movements in a sluggish manner.

"Whatya want?" the guy grumbled out hoarsely, sounding like he had been gargling nails recently. Peter ignored the stench of the guys breathe and asked, "Have you seen an old man, about this high," Peter put his hand up a little higher than his head in measurement, "walk in here?"

The cashier, Jack his name tag read, looked over Peter as if making sure the teen wasn't joking with him. Then Jacks mouth split into a black, toothy grin. "Aww, did you lose your daddy?" he laughed.

Peter frowned, "He's my Uncle actually," he corrected. "And yes, I did lose him. So did you see him walk by here?"

"Poor boy needs someone to hold his hand," Jack teased mirthfully. "Well, tough luck kid. A lot of people come and go here," judging by the horrid smell and dusty merchandise, Peter somehow doubted that, "So either by something," the guy continued. "Or get your childish ass out of my store."

Peter felt his anger return some, "If this is how you treat your customers, then it's no wonder you get no business." The teen couldn't help but retort.

Jacks face pulled into an annoyed sneer, "Look kid, I don't need you whining or babying about some lost grandpa, I have things I need to do." The guy went back to reading his lewd looking magazine as if to emphasize his point. "So go cry on somebody else's shoulder somewhere else; maybe you can find some child social service thing down the street. Now get outta here!"

Peter bit back another scathing retort – deciding the guy was hardly worth his sarcasm – and sulked back to the exit. He passed the other guy, who was walking up to Jack with some beer and magazines, the two bumped shoulders a little. Peter mumbled a small apology as he passed.

But then, the weirdest thing happened. An odd, kind-of tingling sensation glided over Peter's skull, making him go board-stiff. Peter wasn't sure what it was, it's happened a few times before, but it left his brain with one clear message: DANGER!

At that next moment, Peter heard a small commotion behind him. The guy, the one he bumped into earlier, had snatched an impressive stack of bills from the cash register (especially if the store actually had even THAT much business to make a stack of money) when Jack turned his back and was now bolting for the door, straight at Peter.

Jack swore loudly when he realized what had happened, and was looking at the fleeing convict in panic. His eyes met Peter's, "Hey! Stop him!" Jack yelled. "Stop him! He just stole all my money!"

Look kid, I don't need you whining or babying about some lost grandpa, I have things I need to do

get your childish ass out of my store!

Poor boy needs someone to hold his hand?

Peter's eye hardened and he stepped aside and let the guy run past. The thief also met Peter's gaze, and gave him a brief, appreciative smirk and a small "Thanks kid!" and was gone. Jack ran up to Peter in fury, "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he shouted. "You let him get away!"

Peter smirked at Jack, "Look dude, I don't need you whining or babying about some lost cash," Peter said. "I have things I need to do – like finding my lost Uncle." Peter turned and walked out the door, as Jack muttered sour-fully under his breath.

Peter smirked wider as he left.

"ARGH! I was such an idiot!" Spider-Man shouted in personal anger, he was up on his feet and pacing furiously. "It would have been so easy Ava," he said to Tiger, "So easy to stop that guy. I could've just stuck my foot out and tripped him, but…but I didn't…"

"You didn't realize Peter," Tiger replied.

"Yeah, I didn't realize how stupid and arrogant I was acting." Spider-Man agreed fumingly. He was still pacing tirelessly, before suddenly turning and hitting the wall in anger. His fist left a good sized hole in the brick and cracks webbed outward from it. Spider-Man stood still for a few minutes, panting and shaking.

White Tiger was still sitting, but waited patiently for her teammate to calm down. "You okay?" she asked, realizing a millisecond later that, that was a stupid thing to ask.

Spider-Man shrugged, "M'not too sure." He admitted lowly, his angry attitude ebbed away soon enough and Spider-Man was left feeling as tired as ever. He plopped back next to Tiger.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want too." Tiger assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I understand; it's hard to talk about things like this. Come on, we can go home." She got to her feet.

"No." Spider-Man declared catching her wrist. "No…I-I think I need to get this off my chest…maybe…maybe it'll help…"

White Tiger hesitated, before silently nodding and retook her spot by him. She watched as the raindrops painted the mortar, less than inches from her feet, and listened as Spider-Man began to speak again.

Peter continued searching for Uncle Ben; he moved fast. The little satisfaction he got from dissing Jack had faded away and worry for Uncle Ben took its rightful place as Peter's sole emotion for the moment.

"Maybe he went back home." Peter mumbled to himself. "He's probable waiting for me to come back on my own." He forced himself to believe that and slowly turned to head back to his house. But then, out of the stillness of the night, there was a loud, unmistakable sound.

BANG!

Peter froze as if someone had pumped liquid nitrogen in his veins, his breathing hitched. That was a gunshot, definitely a gunshot. Peter's enhanced senses picked up the sounds of a scuffle not even a block from where he stood. Turning to the sound, Peter started out in a small, hesitant jog toward the noise, before quickly breaking into a run.

He turned onto another street; this one was more deserted than the others, and resembled more of a long alleyway than an actual street. Peter immedianly found the location of the scuffle; it looked to be between two people, one looked taller and stronger than the other, but the other looked to be holding out pretty good themselves. It was odd…one of them looked…familiar… the two seemed to be fighting over…over something…the object was lost in the constant movement of both their hands fighting for possession.

The few people on the street had backed up and watched the fight was hesitant stances and unsure eyes, as if they weren't certain if they should jump into it and put an end to the brawl. Peter rushed forward; he saw a glint of silvery white hair and a flash a dread settled into his stomach.

Suddenly, the stronger of the two gained an advantage and kicked his opponent away roughly, which ended in the other hitting the pavement hard. The stronger one pointed the object, which was likely the cause of the fight, at his adversary. Peter saw a flash of metal catching the glow of the streetlamp, his eyes widened in fear, the words "WAIT!" stuck in his throat and seemed to choke him.

The guy pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Peter's steps halted in shock, the sound rang loudly in his head as he watched the other guy slump to the ground. Peter's breathe caught in his throat and seemed to clog his chest till he felt dizzy from lack of oxygen. His horrified stupor thawed a little as screams from the people watching split the night.

Running at full speed, Peter ran to the shot man.

As he got closer, Peter recognized certain features. Silvery-white hair, square glasses, a turquoise sweater – pure and unadulterated fear hit Peter like a ton of bricks, "No…" he gasped. "No, no, no, no, no," he chanted helplessly as he got closer; he did know this person, he recognized those glasses, he'd know that shirt anywhere.

Peter skittered roughly to a stop, kneeling brutally on the ground, not caring if it scraped his knees. "Uncle Ben!" Peter called, his voice rising in hysteria. "Uncle Ben! Can you hear me! Oh my ga – please, Uncle Ben!" the teens hands were on the older man's chest, pushing on him desperately. But Peter felt something warm and thick on his fingers and pulled them off his Uncle's shirt. They came back stained a dark red.

Peter felt like throwing up, he felt like panicking, he felt…he felt scared. He looked back at his Uncle, fear and horror scratching across his face as if trying to rip him in half. There was a small click.

Petrs face flew up; the other man was staring at him. The gun was still clutched in his hand, but it was pointed at Peter, right at his chest. Peter's heart stopped. He couldn't see the man's face, the streetlamp didn't quite reach him, so it left the shooters face in shadows.

The gun, on the other hand, still caught the small fragments of light greedily, and glinted maliciously at Peter, as if winking a seductive, evil eye at him. But the man didn't shoot, his finger hovered hesitantly by the trigger, but it didn't pull just yet. Peter and the man engaged in a stare-down, Peter's face drawn up in fear and shock while the man's remained in a mask of darkness. It lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity, Peter's eye never left the gun.

But then, they were both snapped out of it by the screams and shouts of the people standing there. Without a second-thought, the guy pulled the gun away and bolted down the street. No one followed him.

"Petr'?..." Uncle Ben's voice slurred, drawing Peter's attention back to him. He sounded so frail, so weak, nothing that Uncle Ben was. His Uncle's shaking hands went up to grasp his nephews. Peter reached down to grab them; he clutched them tightly in his hand, holding on as if it were HIS lifeline.

"I'm here Uncle Ben," Peter whimpered, "M'right here. Don't worry, you're gonna be okay." That sounded like a lie, even to him.

"Petr." Uncle Ben repeated, a frail smile pulled slightly at the older man's lips, his eyes seemed to light up just a tad. "Th're yu are…"

"Yeah, I'm here." Peter assured, pressing a quick reassuring kiss to his Uncles shaking hand. "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. I'm promise." Peter took in a deep, stuttering breath as if tried to clear the sudden tightness in his throat. "I'm…I'm so sorry Uncle Ben!" Peter's eye shut tightly as tears prickled in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. Please – please forgive me. Please stay awake, please…"

Uncle Ben smiled at Peter delicately; the older man's hand tightened against Peters for a moment. "It' okay," Uncle Ben inhaled a shaky breath, his smile never wavered though. "Yur jus a teenager…" Peter felt Uncle Ben's hands start to soften.

"Come on Uncle Ben, come on stay awake!" Peter urged desperately, he grasped the wrinkled hands with both of his. "SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!" He yelled in anguish, looking up at the few people there. Some already had they're phones out, but Peter still felt hysteric panic seize control of his heart.

He looked back down at Uncle Ben in distress; the older man's lips trembled a little as he tried to say something more. But he never managed to get it out, the light in Uncle Ben's eyes slowly drifted from him, and the old man's body fell completely limp. Peter wasn't sure when he started crying, but thick, fat drops of tears streamed down his face and dropped onto his Uncle's sweater.

"No," Peter gasped between sobs. "No, Uncle Ben, please! Please!" but he knew it was too late. A raw and painful sob racked Peter's chest and throat, leaving him heaving for breath. The teen sobbed louder, not caring who saw or heard. All he felt was pain, so much pain.

Peter wrapped his arms around his Uncle Ben's lifelessly body and pulled him close. He hugged the older man to his own body, crying loudly into a chest that no longer held a heartbeat, and ignored the blood that soaked into his clothes and his hands.

Spider-Man's voice cracked painfully. He swallowed thickly and tried to hold back the wall of tears that threatened to spill. He shifted his gaze downward with his shoulders slumped. "Turns out," he croaked after a long moment, "The guy was trying to threaten a couple for their car with a gun, and Uncle Ben intervened." The boy stopped for a moment as the lump in his throat grew bigger.

"He didn't have to," Peter continued with a lifeless, huffy laugh that landed flat. "I mean, it wasn't any of his concern, he didn't have to do anything. But he did anyway, because it was the right thing to do; because it was his responsibility to do something about a bad situation if he had the power to do so."

White Tiger watched her friend solemnly. The anger he had for himself was now replaced with a heartbroken demeanor that left a melancholy feeling in Tigers chest. If there was anything she could sympathize with, it was losing a father. Even though Ben Parker was Peter's Uncle, Peter himself spoke of him as a father.

White Tiger looked down at her hand, which were clasped in her lap. While she could understand Spidey's pain, Tiger has always had a hard time comforting people. She could encourage them to go on, or yell at them to get they're game up, or even the occasional pep to inspire – but even those were done with a firm and confident tone.

Comfort…that was something Tiger has never been real good at. Glancing back over to Spidey, Tiger drummed her fingers softly against her thigh in thought. What was she supposed so? What was she supposed to do? She couldn't just say, "Well, the past is in the past, its time to get over it and move on." Even she wasn't entirely over her own dad's demise, and it would be hypocritical to say something like that. But she had to do something!

It was consolation that her comrade and friend needed, and so help her, Tiger WAS going to be there for him.

Gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip, Tiger fixed her eyes in determination. She scooted closer to Spidey, till they're legs barely touched. The rain was coming down faster, and occasional blinding strips of lightning smeared themselves across the black sky. It was getting chilly, Spider-Man didn't seem to notice (or care), but White Tiger had been out here this long, she could brave longer.

Hesitantly, not wanting to over-step any boundaries, she curled her arm across Spider-Man's shoulder in what, she hoped, was a comforting side-embrace. She's seen friends do this…in movies…and stuff…

Spider-Man stiffened from the contact, but didn't pull away, so Tiger figured she did something right.

"So, that's why you became Spider-Man?" Tiger concluded softly. "To help people like Uncle Ben did?"

She was surprised when Spidey shook his head, "No," he said thickly. "It was part of the reason, but…not completely."

Huh, so there was more to the story. Well…Spider-Man did mention catching the guy that killed Uncle Ben, but then deciding to be the better person and give the murderer to the police instead of exacting his own revenge. Something Tiger didn't think she could've done if she had Kraven at her mercy the first time, without Spider-Man there to help her anyway.

With an annoyed sigh, Spider-Man pulled his mask off; a smooth transfer from Spider-Man to Peter Parke, and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes in frustration. He sniffed loudly, and obstinately refused to meet Tigers eyes, even when she had her arm wrapped around him.

Steadily, White Tiger reached up with her free hand and took off her own mask. She didn't want to be the strong, and ferocious White Tiger right now, instead she needed to be the calm and mellow Ava Ayala. Besides, Peter took off his mask, which was a sign of vulnerability – especially coming from him. So Ava figured she wasn't doing too badly in getting him to open up.

Ava smoothed out her mask a little before setting it down beside her. Peter glanced down and stared at her mask, before drifting his gaze up to her. She looked into his watery brown eyes and offered him a gentle, small smile. She could see pain in those brown eyes, the ones that usually lighted up whenever he made some lame pun or had somewhat of a permanent sparkle in them.

But not right now; he's been holding this inside him for a while, ever since he became Spider-Man. Peter was right, he needed to get this off his chest.

"Go on." Ava urged. "I'll listen."

She felt a spark of triumphant when she got a grateful smile in return. But it was soon replaced with a grim frown as Peter thought of what was next.

"Well," he continued. "The police showed up too late. I don't remember much, only that they had a hard time prying my hands off Uncle Ben." Peter remember that well, he could still feel as gently hands tried to coax him into letting Uncle Ben go, until they got a little more aggressive and forced his Uncle from his arms. "I don't remember the ride back, but I ended up back home. Everything just got kind of…blurry and fuzzy. Like nothing was really settling in…I also felt kind…"

"Numb." Ava supplied.

Peter nodded, "Yeah, numb."

"Though I do remember Aunt May crying in the living room, and police officers walking around and asking questions; some of the neighbors were curious and had crowded around outside." Peter recommenced. "I stayed by the stairs, just sitting on the steps. I didn't know what to do, or how to feel, it was hard to focus. I think I mentioned it to someone, and they told me it was probably just from shock. I don't remember who it was though."

A drum of thunder followed after another sharp arc of lightning, Peter watched the sky for any more of the light show. "The only time anything really came into focus and realized what I wanted to feel was when I overheard a couple of cops talking in the hall. I don't think they knew I was there. But they said that one of their units cornered the guy that killed Uncle Ben, in some old warehouse by the docks. It was then that I realized what I wanted…"

Peter swung from building to building on thin lines of silvery white webs.

They came from a simple machine Peter constructed himself. If he was going to be called Spider-Man, he figured he might as well try and act the part. He used his invention or web-shooters as he liked to call them, to pin or blind his opponent in the ring. They were fairly simple to use, all he did was press his middle and ring finger down on his palm to activate a push-sensitive plate that opened up the small jet-stream tube in the device, allowing a stream of compacted fluid (the amount depending on how long Peter held it down) to shoot out and solidify once interacting with the air. But they weren't really built to swing him from one building to another, or to really sustain his weight.

But his webs, a formula he constructed himself (after many nights after school in the science labs), were built to be strong and were holding out against his weight pretty good.

After hearing that, that man - that…murderer! Was hiding in some warehouse, just out of the cops reach; anger like nothing Peter has ever felt ignited in him like an unquenchable wild fire.

Everything had been like a fuzzy, muddled cloud earlier; Peter couldn't focus on anything, when people talked it sounded far away and out of reach, he stared off into space but wasn't really staring at anything at all; he felt like someone had put a foggy glass window in front of his eyes, and no matter how much he tried to wipe the misty surface away, it refused to clear up.

But now…now Peter was feeling a new kind of foggy feeling. But this one was less obscured and more lethal, like the kind of fog people avoid on the road, one too thick to see through but utterly impossible to avoid. Things were dangerously clear now, but in a way that made Peter's senses buzz like a hive of angry hornets. As he swung he saw every flash of light, he felt every slice of cold wind, and he heard every beat his heart made.

The conversation he overheard between those cops repeated in his head like a goading chant that seemed to chaff him with every syllable. This murderer thought he was getting away, but he was very, sadly mistaken. As Peter got closer to the docks, he heard the wailing of the sirens before he saw the flashing lights, and soon enough the flash lights showed up right after.

The police were surrounding the building, but not going in. Peter didn't know why, but watching them stand there made him infuriated. The man that killed his Uncle was in there, and they just sat there!

But as Peter got closer, he faintly noticed a few cops who were being treated by a few of their partners. A gunshot it looked like. A part of Peter was angry more people were shot by the same guy, but also sort-of relieved they weren't going in (probable waiting for S.W.A.T to arrive or something), that was fine, because Peter wanted to get to him before any of them did.

And he was going to make him pay for what he did!

Peter halted on the roof of the warehouse opposite to the one his target was inhabiting, but stayed just barely out of the sight of any officers. He was back in his street-fighter costume; it was the only thing he could find quick enough that would disguise his whole body. Peter wanted to wanted his revenge, but he didn't want his face to be plastered all over every social media site if ever he was sighted, whether it was after he was finished dealing with the murderer or when he was swinging back home. He couldn't do that to Aunt May – not after what's she's gone through tonight.

It was a bright red and complimented by a deep blue that shined in light, the red of the suit had a black webbed pattern that went down to his boots to even his gloves and mask. A pair of wide, reflective eye lenses adorned the mask; it was by accident that they were wide and innocent looking, but they served to well when street-fighting, it made his opponent think of him as small and insignificant and thus underestimated him. But now, half covered in darkness, black shadows stretched across the smooth surface, while other parts caught the light of flashing sirens, making the lenses look like glowing, narrowing eyes. A small single and simple black spider stood guard on his chest.

Peter watched the officers on the ground, before turning his sharp attention to the warehouse. There looked to be a sunroof on the building, high enough that the police wouldn't see him if he crouched and he could sneak in without being seen. But Peter needed to move quickly, the few police officers that were there were calling for backup.

Moving quickly, Peter scurried across the rooftop he was on and down the wall. He managed to crawl up the side of the other building undetected as well, before crawling across the ceiling to the sunroof. Peter swiftly opened a panel to the sunroof and slipped inside the warehouse. He landed in a crouch on the ground in complete silence.

Peter moved promptly through the shadows, ducking behind old crates and crawling silently up the walls. The only thing he could hear was his low breathing, and the frantic steps of one another person within the warehouse. Peter locked onto to the sound, and followed it, moving fast but efficiently, like a predator stalking its prey.

And right there, pacing like a caged animal was Peter's prey. The man was glancing nervously out a window, watching all the police and grumbling about how he was going to get out. Something about slipping out the back, but it didn't matter to Peter because this murderer wasn't getting away. Not this time.

The guy ducked away from the window as a bright light shone behind him, illuminated from the sunroof. But the crook did catch sight of a shadow, the silhouette of a lone figure hanging upside down before the light was gone and replaced with darkness. The crook looked frantically back and forth, trying to see something in the dark and thinking he saw something moving in the shadows.

The guys fingers clasped tighter around the gun he was still clutching, while his other shaky hand held a dull black bag, his eyes flittered over the area again. There was a sudden clatter off to his right; it was a bar that had fallen on the floor. At that moment another dark shadowy figure jumped behind a crate, and a cold sweat broke out across the criminal's neck.

He brought the gun up in front of him, pointing it to his right, before jerking into the left when more shadows seemed to jump. The criminal swallowed dryly as his hand started to shake. "W-who's there?"

"Not so tough now, are ya?" a cold voice sneered from the shadows, causing the guy to jerk to where he heard it, heart thumping wild.

"I-I've got a gun!" the guy stuttered out in fright. "I will shoot!"

"Yeah, I know." The voice growled. "You'll shoot. You'll shoot cops, you'll threaten innocent couples, and you'll kill old men. That's right, huh? You're just going to go around and KILL people, and for what? A CAR!" the voice had risen to a loud, angry yell.

The guy yanked his arm to the other side, the whirled around as the voice seemed to come from everywhere. His teeth chattered loudly, "I…I will shoot." He reclaimed weakly, spinning around again as his eyes tried to follow the shadow shooting around him, circling him like some bloodthirsty monster.

"Well, then shoot me!" the voice challenged. "I dare you!"

The guy swallowed nervously and shakily rubbed sweat away from his eyes with the black bag; he still couldn't see his assailant. There was a another bright flash of light from outside, and the guy caught sight of someone moving out of the corner of his eyes. Thoughtlessly, he whirled around and shot 3 times.

It was quiet in the warehouse, the guy's heart was still thumping madly, but he hoped he got his target.

"Missed me." The voice whispered in a biting tone, right next to the guy. The murderer shouted in fright and spun around only to face nothing. But then, there was a flash and something hard connected to the guys face. He gasped in pain as the force made his face jerk to the side and left him stumbling back.

There was another hit, this time knocking the criminals face the other direction, before an aggressive kick that had him sailing into the air and smashing into a stack of crates. The criminals staggered to his shaky feet, gasping as he felt the stinging sensation of splinters.

"P-please," the guy begged pathetically. "W-what you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" the voice repeated in heated mockery. "What do I WANT FROM YOU?! What I want you already took you son of a bitch!"

The guys partially swollen eyes seemed to widen and he held out the black bag he – amazingly – had kept a hold of. "H-here," he stammered. "T-take it! All the money i-is t-there, it's all yours!"

The voice was quiet for a moment, before "I don't want that filthy money!" it shouted in furious anger. "Money isn't going to change what you did! Money is going to BRING HIM BACK TO ME!" the criminal flinched away, he dropped the bag and tried to make a run for it, hobbling pitifully.

But he didn't get far before another blow struck him in the back and left him face-planting the floor. The guy whimpered as he heard soft footsteps walked beside his fallen body and stopping in front of his face. There was another illuminating burst of light from outside, and the crook looked up, craning is neck to see his attacker.

They were smaller than he imagined, but no less intimidating. The assailant was enfolded in fleeting colors of red and blue and wrapped in overhanging shadows, the criminal could barely make out a blurry spider symbol through his swollen eyes, and a pair of glowing, glaring eyes. This thing wasn't human; it was hardly beastly; it was something new, and some dangerous; the guy sobbed and backed away feebly.

"Leave me alone." He begged. "Please don't kill me!"

The attacker froze, staring at this crying man, before lunging with frightening speed and slamming him into the nearest wall and pushing the air right out of the guy, before he could even cry out.

"Don't kill you?" the attacker snarled fiercely. "You mean like how you killed that old man, who was just trying to stop you from stealing somebodies care?" the attackers voice broke for a second. But the grip on the crook didn't lighten, it got stronger. A powerful hand seized hold of the criminals throat; not choking but the threat was there."

"Don't kill you!" the attacker repeated with more intensity. "Like how you tried to kill those cops, and me just MOMENTS AGO! ARHG!" the criminal was slammed aggressively into the wall, he felt his ribs crack a little. "You!" The criminal got a punch to the face. "Don't!" another hit to the face. "Deserve!" a punch to his ribs. "To!" a punch to his stomach. "LIVE!" an extremely hard hit to the torso, and there was a clear CRACK!

The criminal shouted in pain as one of his ribs broke, his body tried slumping to the ground, but the attacker held him to his feet. "Who do you think you are?" the attacker whispered through grit teeth in the murderers ear. "Who do you think you are, that you think you can shoot or threaten people whenever you feel like it?! I want to see your face; I want to know who took my Uncle from me dammit!" the powerful hand curled around the criminals throat and lifted him straight into the air with effortless ease, right into another beam of light.

The criminal gasped as his airways were block, and kicked his feet fruitlessly for steady ground. He got none. He felt light stream onto his face.

Peter glared up at the man as he held him up by the throat, never has Peter hated someone more than this one man right in front of him. Never had he felt this much rage or aggression with anyone.

The man's face was bleeding in some areas and heavily swollen. The guys hands were up and grabbing onto Peters, trying to pry the teens hands off. Peter took in deep, heavy breaths as he drank in every detail of the murderers face. And slowly, this anger made from for a new feeling: absolute, utter horror.

Peter – Peter knew this man, he…no…it – it could be…IT CAN'T BE! It's wasn't possible!...

But it was. The face, the clothes, even the puffy eyes – Peter recognized it all. How could he forget the guy he let run right past him; the guy who stole from Jack, the one Peter refused to stop, for just a moment of crummy, useless satisfaction?

"N-no…" Peter gasped, his eyes were wide with horror. "Y-you? It was you?" he asked, but the man was still gasping for air like a fish. "You killed my Uncle?" he whimpered.

"But I – But I let you go…I let you run right past me…I-I…but…how?..." Peter started hyperventilating slightly, his grip on the man softened until the criminal dropped down like a wet back of cement. The criminal wheezed, coughed, and sputtered for breath, but Peter could hardly care, he could hardly stand himself.

This was the same guy I let go. This was the same guy I let go. It repeated itself countless over and over as Peter tried to fully grasp it. This man killed Uncle Ben after he robbed Jack's store, that's where the bag of money came from. But that means…that meant – if Peter had stopped him, just put his foot out and tripped this man, then…then…

Then Uncle Ben would be alive…

Peter couldn't hold it, he doubled over and puked.

Well…his body tried. But he missed dinner, remember? There was nothing he could puke up. So Peter remained hunched over, dry-heaving and holding his sides as he the realization hit him HARD.

Even when he was done, a deep nauseous feeling remained. Peter's body was shaking, and moment later he realized he was crying. A sore, anguish cry pushed from his lips as his tears fell faster. This criminal wasn't completely to blame, not anymore. Peter himself had a hand in Uncle Ben's death; he, Uncle Ben's nephew, helped kill him!

"I'm sorry Uncle Ben," Peter whispered in grief. "I'm…I'm so sorry…"

Peter heard a small noise and looked up through his blurry eyes. The criminal was hobbling toward an exit, whimpering and hobbling in a rushed and panicked manner. He was still trying to get away. Peter pushed himself to his own shaky legs and followed the guy out.

Out in the cold air, the criminal exited in between an alley of another warehouse the one he just left was connected too. He was hobbling toward the mouth of the alleyway, toward the flashing red and blue lights. "H-help!" he was crying. "HELP ME!"

But then something caught him in the back and the man was flung backward and into the awaiting hand of his attacker. The criminal could see his attacker suit more now, it was red and blue, but the criminal still couldn't help but look at the attacker in fear. "P-please…" he sobbed miserable. "I-I'll go to the police, I'll confess everything, I-I promise I'll be a better person. Please, just let me go." The man was full-out crying now.

Peter was staring at him, pinning him against the wall if his fist and a wad of the man's clothes. So many emotions ripped through Peters body he was beginning to go numb again. But hatred for this man still rang supreme, Peter other hand tightened so hard into a fist it paled into a bone-white.

Peter swung his fist back and swung it to the man. The criminal flinched violently away, waiting for the hit. But it never came. The fist hovered in front of the criminals face, steady, but frozen there. Peter's breathing had evened out some, but he was still blurry-eyed from the tears.

Every instinct told him to kill the man, to end his miserable life. But that's what's scared Peter, he never felt this way before, and this much raw, aggressive power definitely wasn't human. Raw anger and aggression – perhaps that was a draw-back from the spider bite…hell, Peter was regretting ever getting his powers at this point. His powers is what started this.

Besides, how could Peter even think of actually killing someone. That would mean all the blood on this man hands, could immedianly transfer to Peter, there was no cleaning the past with blood. A death for a death ended up with more graves, more sorrow; more sadness – there was probable someone out there that would grieve this criminals death, at least a little. A brother, a sister, a friend maybe, some family; would Peter really make them go through what he just did.

No…no he couldn't.

Who do you think you are? Peter remembered yelling. Who do you think you are, that you think you can shoot or threaten people whenever you feel like it?!

Who did Peter think he was? He didn't have any right to kill someone; to take a life. That would make him just a horrible and bad as the man that killed Uncle Ben. There was no justice in more bloodshed – only more pain. For both of them.

Peter dropped his fist. He looked at the man, wondering what to do. Peter could hear the cops coming, they had heard the man calling…calling to them for help.

Help from Peter. This criminal would rather hobble into the safety of the police than face Peter himself…Peter felt disgust from his actions ignite in his stomach.

"Don't forget your promise." Peter threatened hoarsely, before quickly spinning the man in webs and stuck him upside down in the alleyway, just to make sure he wasn't going to try and get away. Then, the teen jumped up the wall and crawled away, running across the warehouse rooftops and toward higher buildings, running and running till he was forced to start swinging on his webs again.

He needed to get away. Far, far away.

He needed to be alone.

Peter was crying into Ava's shoulder. Ava held him in both arms, both of them rocking slowly to the harsh song of the wind, harmonizing with their pain beautifully.

"Peter I…" Ava started, her voice cracked a little. "I never knew." She whispered into his hair. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone."

Peter sobbed a little harder, as if the reminder of endless, tormenting nights of guilt and pain that followed from that one fateful night stung him harder. So Ava held him even tighter.

"I stayed o-out in the city, most of t-the night." Peter continued as he cried, voice muffled from her hair. "It was so hard Ava," he whispered. "I didn't know what to do; I didn't know how to handle myself. I was thinking about just handing myself over to the police and l-letting them sort it all out. I was just…just tired."

"But then," he sniffled a little. "When I was on a building, I heard some noise down in an alleyway. I looked down and saw this guy backing a woman up with a gun, telling her to give him everything he had or else he'd shoot her. But he was planning on shooting her anyway, I could tell, and so could she. She sounded so scared, and I thought: Why? Does it never end in this damn city? Is there really no break from violence and threats? So I just…I just d-droppd down there and knocked the guy clean out. At least the woman would be safe, at least there wouldn't be another dead body that night."

Ava's heart ached at the thought.

"But then," Peter's voice softened greatly. "The lady, she looked at me in such amazement and awe like…like I was some kind of hero. She told me that she had four kids, two were in in High School, one was in Kindergarten and another was barely starting Preschool. She was on her way to meet up with her husband she was in a hurry because she was late…she called me a hero Ava. Said I saved her…she wasn't even scared that I was in a full-body spandex suit!"

"I went home after that; it was still confusing, and I couldn't bring myself to tell Aunt May. I – I just couldn't…but I decided that I wasn't going to let my powers go to waste. So…so I guess Spider-Man was born…well, reborn I guess. From street fighter to vigilante menace – not much of a step up I guess." He chuckled, but this one had a little more life in it.

He was joking again – Ava knew he'd okay.

"You're not a menace, you're a hero." She insisted. "Don't listen to J. Jonah Jerkface." Peter gave a breathy laugh, but didn't say anything more on the topic.

Ava couldn't believe that he carried that pain with him for the last couple of years. As far as Tiger knew, she was the only one who knew the whole, undeniable truth of Spider-Man's origin. Maybe not even Nick Fury knew the true emotion and truth behind Peter's biggest secret.

This was special to Ava. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, trusted HER with that secret. Only her. And she would keep it, she would keep it from the world, and help Peter when he needed it. This was something she needed to do, something she was entrusted with now. The stability of her team leader had become a part of her.

Ava looked down at Peter, his crying had gradually stopped, but his face remained buried within her shoulder and hair. The respect for him swelled stronger within her. She already knew Peter it tough, they all did – but this was something on a level all its own. He managed to smile and joke day by day for them, and help them, no matter the pain he held. No wonder he'd rather laugh off the rude comments and remarks of others – sometimes you just need a little bit of protection from an unkind world.

"Thank you Peter," Ava told him sincerely. "For sharing your story. I'll be here for you, whenever you need me. Okay? Do you understand?"

Peter nodded weakly.

"Good." Ava said. She rubbed soothing circles in his back. "Don't worry about the boys." She reassured him. "I'll knock em upside their heads if they cause you anymore trouble."

"No," Peter sniffled, pulling himself from her curtain of hair. "Nova was right. I have been acting out of line lately, I'll try to reel myself in."

Ava decided not to argue with him. They're position had shifted a lot, and they had ended up at the mercy of the rain. Both of their suits were sopping wet, both of them were shivering. "Come on Spider," Ava said, getting to her feet and helping Peter up. "Let's go home."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. He gave Ava a small, but sincere, grateful smile. "Let's go home." Ava smiled back and pulled her wet mask on, Peter did the same.

"And Ava," Peter added as they made their way across the gargoyles. Ava turned to look at him.

"Thank you for listening."

LINEBREAK

After they returned home, sopping wet but in a change of clothes, Peter went to go take a hot shower while Danny, Sam, and Luke approached Ava with questions. But she refused to say much, only that she found Spider-Man and that they got caught up in the rainstorm.

Ava seemed a little different, kind of defensive, and shot down any further questions from them. She went in the kitchen and fixed Peter a little bit dinner – DINNER!

The boys were astonished, something definitely changed in the Latinas behavior while she was out. But she stubbornly refused to give up any details. And when Peter came out of the shower and in a pair of pajamas, Ava gave him his dinner (Peter was shocked too) and told the other three boys to leave Peter alone and that they didn't she would use them all as her own personal scratching post. Then she went and took a shower.

Her threat stood.

The boys left Peter alone.

The next few days Peter took off to spend with his Aunt May. Sam asked why, and all Ava said was that they were spending an anniversary with someone. And when Luke, Danny, and Luke followed Peter and Aunt May, they found them in a cemetery, in front of a grave with bright, flourishing flowers and a birthday cake.

They quickly left after that.

Peter fell back into his happy, goofy attitude by the next week, acting as if the whole thing never happened. Ava didn't bring it up, and neither did the other three boys (not if they wanted to remain unharmed anyway).

But the memory stayed.

Overtime, the other three boys also found out Peter's origin as Spider-Man. First Sam, then Luke, and then Danny. And who could say that they got "just a little" more protective of their leader? Okay, so maybe they threatened Flash to lay off more often. And perhaps they worked harder on keeping crime on the down-low when Peter was feeling down himself.

But hey, they were a team. Peter, as both his normal self and as Spider-Man, helped them when a haunting past came to bite them in the backs. And now they would help him.

They were a family.

It's just what they did.

And DONE!

This literally took me FOREVER! These last few weeks when I haven't been updating? Yeah, its because this has been waving a colorful, and angsty flag in front of my face and drawing my attention toward it like I was some over-emotional bull….it worked mind you all.

It was supposed to be a simple one-shot for my "Being There For You" book, but it got WAY longer than I thought. So I decided to post it as its own, personal stand-alone.

The origin of how Peter came to be isn't canon to how it happened in the Ultimate Spider-Man comics. But the show didn't mention that much on how Peter died, so I mashed up parts from Ultimate Spider-Man (cartoon), the Amazing Spider-Man movies (with Andrew Garfield), and the older Spider-Man movies (the one with Tobey Maquire *if that's how you spell his name*) and of course my own magic touch and sprinkle of originality.

This CAN be read as a Spidertiger one-shot, but I intended for it to be more friendship than anything. But read it how you want. And to any of you you have been PM'ing me, I am NOT ignoring you, I will reply back SOON!

Also, to my buddy NobelSix: Sorry about not finishing that one chapter like I promised, that will be my next project. Sorry about such a long wait.

Well, I'm exhausted. Good-night!

Hope you enjoyed some angst! ;)