Author's Note: My first time writing fanfiction guys, please don't kill me.

Three years ago, Peter Parker was left alone. The only tattered remains of a family he had, ripped away by some unforgiving heart attack. It had come suddenly, and Peter was thankful only for the fact that she never suffered. One moment Aunt May had been floating across the kitchen, a crisp apple pie in hand- and the next she was in a crumbled heap. One hand had flown to her chest and the other capturing Peter's own wrist in a vice grip. She simply gasped like a fish on dry land for a few precious moments before going limp, the apple pie abandoned and scattered across the kitchen's floor. Peter was deathly still, the shock working its way through his system before he started to whimper, "Aunt May? Aunt May, wake up. Aunt May, please. Please don't go… Aunt May?" His body was wracked with sobs and he stayed knelt by her body as the warmth seeped from it. Peter knew he would have stayed like that for much longer if Aunt May's lady friends hadn't appeared a mere two hours later ready to go out on the town and celebrate that year's bingo championship.

Now, three years later he wasn't much better off. He had grown for sure, now being only a year away from legal drinking age, but still he had no one. No place to sleep, no one to care for him, and no one to feed him. It showed, his tall and lanky frame was accentuated by sharp hip bones and protruding collar bones.

Thankfully, his "nighttime activities" had helped him to form muscles easily and although he lacked the extra meat on his bones he remained physically strong. Peter had refused to abandon his responsibility even with Aunt May's passing. For nearly a month after the fact, he had done so and he returned to find the streets more dangerous than ever. Ever vigilant, Peter took to washing the Spider-Man costume in a local laundromat mixed among his extra pair of dark jeans and his red hoodie. The colors had stopped running ever since Aunt May had taught him to use cold water. He even took a shower every other night at the local public pool. If that meant he had to jump the fence and persuade the doors to open in the middle of the night, so be it. It was cold, but it was clean.

The only aspect he truly struggled with was food. He barely came by any money, and when he did it was because tourists had thrown it at him, mistaking him for a beggar. Currently, he had some crumpled dollar bills in his back pocket and assorted change. It was crucial he made it last, but damn he was hungry. His stomach had been yelling at him since the last morsel of food he'd consumed was almost 15 hours ago. Soon, Peter gave in to his body's demands. If he planned on going out as Spider-Man tonight he'd need the energy.

And that is how he came by the nutritious meal of a Mega-Whopper with cheese and a McFlurry. Internally, Peter thought the taste left something to be desired, but externally he was overjoyed with foooodd. Wandering through the streets, content with himself Peter's Spider-Sense was nearly relaxed enough to completely miss the hulking green mass of muscle emerge from the side of a building behind him. Whipping around Peter stuffed the remainder of his meal into his mouth (because, that stuff costs money) and assessed the situation. A giant green man that may or may not be the Hulk was currently busting open the fronts of buildings, one-by-one, doing what was probably the equivalent of a Hulk-whisper as he cooed, "Kitty?" into each one before moving on dissatisfied. Following him was a group of people who resembled Iron Man, Captain America, Thor Odinson, Falcon, Hawkeye, and the Black Widow. But there was no way that was true. Peter Parker was definitely not seeing his heros a slight 200 feet away from him at 2am on a Sunday morning, following a cat-loving Hulk. No way.