Hey! This story is dedicated to Emi Tonks Cullen and the story After Promises, because it has inspired me. This is Move-verse, after 'The Amazing Spiderman'. I never really like Spiderman, but after my brother convinced me to go watch it with him and his friend, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT! Andrew Garfield is the BEST! Anyways, tell me what you think;) took a completely opposite turn to what I was planning- but yeah. Enjoy.

Spiderman swung through the city like a vivid red and blue shooting star. He focused on the bright city lights beneath him as he landed on a sky-scraper levelled building. Sighing, he watched pedestrians shuffling hurriedly across the streets. Cars honked and sped by as traffic lights turned from red to green. Shop owners locked up their stores for the day, leaving just as fast as everyone else. The stars above glistened brightly through the pitch-black sky and onto the busy city before. A breeze past and Peter suppressed a shiver. Smiling lightly to himself, he gently stepped off the roof of the glass office building.

People gazed in awe and astonishment as he continued practically flying over the streets, expertly catching himself before landing, never once letting the tips of his toes to graze the ground. He carefully poised himself atop another building much further from where he was before. He looked around. No one was there. It was about three in the morning now, proved by the empty streets he now gazed on to. He carefully swung to the lower part of the opposing building and lowered himself onto the dark alleyway where he left his back pack.

Pulling his mask off, he took a deep breath. He felt a dark purple bruise forming to the side of his right cheek. Groaning irritably, he cursed as he poked it to see just how bad it was. The bruise stung, badly. He ignored the mental urge to slap himself. He had been careless, once again, when stopping a mugging. Two guys overpowering a lady with a ton of shopping bags, or so he thought. He was right about the helpless citizen, but not about the two guys. He was tired from barely getting any sleep the night before, getting up early, stopping a car chase and managing to get to school late. Again. He presumed there were only two men, both large and burly and armed. He missed the third. And the fourth.

In the end, he knocked them unconscious, but not before getting a bullet graze on his arm- which he now noticed actually hurt- and a deep bruise on his cheek. He ended up carrying the woman's how many kilograms of groceries to her house because she was too afraid to call a taxi anymore.

He quickly discarded the memory and changed into the clothes he had worn at school- a rock band T-shirt, jeans, a light jacket and his dark converse. After fixing on his glasses, he shoved his Spiderman outfit into his bag. Normally he would just wear his clothes on top of the costume, waiting until he got home to change, but the outfit had too many rips and tears, making it uncomfortable to stay in for too long.

He blinked a few times and wondered why he even bothered with his glasses- it was practically too dark to see anything anyway. He wasn't bothered to put them back in his bag, because that required moving- something which his aching muscles weren't too fond of doing right now. He walked a few blocks, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder and hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

When he got home, he noticed the lights were still one. It must've been past four in the morning now. Damn, he cursed silently. Aunt May was probably waiting for him. He felt terrible, making her worry like this. Ever since Uncle Ben's death everything had just been so hard. He mentally kicked himself. When he got to the front door, he gently unlocked it and stepped in, taking off his converse and leaving them at the door.

Aunt May was lying on the couch, fast asleep. He smiled despite himself; at least she got some sleep since he was sure she was exhausted. He walked to the arm chair nearby and took off a discarded quilt. Walking back his aunt, he laid it over her and fixed a cushion under her head, being careful not to wake her up.

He turned off the lights in the lounge and headed upstairs to his room, absolutely exhausted. He wanted to do nothing but sleep for the next- he checked the digital clock near his computer- three hours. School started at eight, and it was not four-thirty. He knew he couldn't dose off though.

Taking his backpack off his aching shoulder he walked over to his desk, and took his Spiderman outfit out. He cursed, noticing that there were more than a few slashes he had to fix. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, so with that depressing thought, he picked up a needle and thread and began fixing his costume all over again.

Peter finally finished fixing his outfit when the first rays of the sun shone through his bedroom window. He sighed and looked at the clock again- seven-thirty five. He quickly shoved all his sewing equipment in the first drawer he could get his hands on, and began putting on his costume. Once he was done, he put his mask in his bag and a random blue shirt, black jeans, and the same jacket from yesterday on. Seven forty-five. He groaned. School was normally a half an hour walk from his place. He hurried to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking a good look at himself when he was done in the mirror.

He had dark circles under his eyes and he was even paler than usual. His eyes drooped and where bloodshot around the corners. His hands were trembling from exhaustion. The bruise from yesterday was darker and more evident now. He sighed, running out of the bathroom. He didn't bother wasting anytime brooding on how tired he looked. He picked up his back, put his converse on when he got to the door, and locked it behind him.

Aunt May, he noticed before he left, was still thankfully asleep. She didn't need to worry about him. He ran through traffic and jay walked practically all the way, almost getting run over a few times. He had a few more minutes before the warning bell rung, then about two more before he had to get to class.

There was no way he'd make it...

Not as Peter Parker anyway.

He quickly ravished the thought. He wasn't going to be Spiderman this morning just so he could get to school on time. He could barely stand up without wavering, let alone swing from building to building. The sun rose higher now, and winds blew by at a more extreme force, messing his hair up even more. He ran as fast as his feet would take him, side passing people and not bothering to apologise.

Finally, after straining all his muscles and running as fast as he could manage at his state, he was there. Right before the front school gates. He paused momentarily to take a few deep breaths before walking in. He checked his watch- seven-fifty nine. In a minute the bell would ring, and in less than two he'd be at class. He sighed. He's Spidey senses had also made him faster than the average human- which was something he was thankful for. Despite the fact that he matched the speed of an Olympic athlete, the strain didn't lessen.

Only then did he notice how much his arm hurt. It felt like it was slowly burning- on fire. He was just glad his bruise, though painfully clear, didn't hurt as much as the night before. Rushing through the school corridors and past other students, he finally made it to his class. The last of the student were heading in.

He was thankful he made it on time. He couldn't afford to be late again. His grades were as perfect as ever, but his continued lateness affected them. Today was one of the few days he hadn't been forced to stop a car chase or mugging or help someone else. He walked to the back and dropped his back to the corner desk at the end- ignoring the pitying stare he got from his Science teacher.

He'd been like this ever since Uncle Ben's death and this just seemed to be getting worse. He was more strained and tired and barely got a wink of sleep. He had to study and stop crime, living the cliché double life. He just didn't figure it would be this hard.

He pulled out his Science book. Thankfully, in a rush to stop an assault, he had forgotten to put it back in his locker. He was grateful now, seeing as he wouldn't have had time to get it anyway.

There was only one thing he looked forward to in the end of the day, other than the feeling of pride as he helped innocents and saved lives. She was beautiful and kind and caring. She was Gwen. After he father had made him to promise to stay away, things seemed to be getting a turn for the worse. He loved her too much to let her go, and he, frankly, was so sorry he was forced to break his promise to Captain Stacey. It had taken a few days, and measures of grief on both of them. But eventually, he told her he couldn't stay away. He told her the promises that couldn't be kept were the best kind.

He had seen her more frequently. Her internship at Oscorp was paused until the company was rebuilt. Now, after school, he dropped by through her window almost every day. They would talk about anything. They would just cherish their moments together, it was all they had. She still worried for him, and he still worried for her. When Captain Stacey had died, he felt it was his fault. Like he was to blame. She had kissed him before he could interrupt. He went to her house just to prove to himself he could. He wanted her to hate him, not love him. He loved her, and that put her in danger. But she loved him just as much, and wouldn't let him go.

He smiled at the thought and tried to pay attention to what the teacher was saying.

"Peter, could you answer the questions?" she asked him kindly. He snapped out of his daze, successfully this time, looking clueless.

"And that would be...?" he asked hopefully, rubbing the back of his neck. A few people snickered.

"How many mole of NaOH are in 50 mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? And how many molecules of NaOH are in 50mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? How would you solve that?" Basically everyone looked confused, despite the fact that they had been paying attention. Peter sighed,

"Molarity equals moles slash volume in litres. So, you need to transform that volume into- well obviously" he made a hand gesture-"litres. 50mL equals .05L, and by utilising that exact same equation, it's obvious that moles equal, Molarity Litres so Moles 'NaOH' would by equivalent to .01* .05 equals .0005 moles NaOH, or 5, 10^-4. To find the amount of molecules, we know that there are 6.02*10^23 particles in a single mole, so just by multiplying the answer to your first question by 6.02*10^23, 5*10^-4 * 6.02*10^23 that would easily equal 3.01*10^20. Then by Applying sig figs, and you get 3*10^20 molecules of NaOH, which is-" He paused for a second, "I believe, the correct answer to your question." The class was in awed silence as the genius finished his explanation. No one spoke as Peter rubbed his eyes and tried not to fall asleep. He gave his teacher a weary smile.

"I don't think I could've said that better myself" she smiled again and continued the lesson. She didn't ask him anymore questions, and for that, Peter was thankful. He waited for the page to ring, scribbling and doodling on the sides and in the margins of his book, watching the time tick by. Five more minutes, he thought.

When the bell finally rang and put him out of his misery, he immediately stood up and threw his bag onto his shoulder. Apparently it wasn't the right thing to do, because immediately, his entire arm began to burn. He felt something warm ooze down the side of his arm where the bullet grazed him the night before. Silently cursing, he moved to the front of the class and rushed out, hoping no one noticed.

He, however, wasn't so lucky. "Hey Peter!" he heard someone call him just as he got outside, students filed in from everywhere. He turned around and saw a few of Flash's friends. "Do you wanna be with us for the Science project? It's me-" the guy talking had brown hair and blue eyes, he was taller than Peter- "Case-" he pointed to girl with kind green eyes and hazel hair in a pony tail, "Sam and Flash" he finished. Sam also stood beside him, with beach blonde hair and chocolate eyes. The guy's name was Dean.

"We have a Science project?" Peter blurted. Dean tilted his head.

"Yeah- the one due next week, we're gonna be doing it at the library this Saturday." Peter didn't mean it; he groaned and leaned back, accidently putting his arm into view. Casey gasped as she saw the bruise on his cheek that had been unnoticed, and the blood trailing down his arm.

"Oh- are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Peter noticed their worried looks and quickly hid his arm from view. The crimson liquid now trailed in small streams past his knuckles.

"Uh- yeah, fine." He stepped away from them. "I'll be in your group. See at the library on Sat!" he yelled back at he ran from their view, not waiting to hear their calls after him. After he and Flash had become friends, the people, well some of them didn't seem so bad. Their weren't mean and didn't bully people, on the contrary, Sam, Dean and Casey had stopped hanging out with Flash when he befriended his football teammates and started bullying people.

Peter shook himself of the thoughts and ran to the bathroom. He closed the door and threw his bag on the floor. Quickly peeling off his jacket, he took his shirt off, and took off enough of the suit to see his wound.

He hadn't bothered to treat it yesterday. He figured it was just a small scratch and ignored it. However, what he was looking at now was no small wound. It wasn't a flesh or superficial wound- in fact it was rather deep. He had webbed over it to stop the bleeding and ignored it after that. The bullet wound was to the side, and was a through-and-through. It bled freely down his arm. He suddenly felt very feint- like he could collapse. He didn't know if it was the exhaustion or the blood loss catching up to him, but something made him stumble and forced him to hold onto the sink with his good hand before he fell.

He took a few deep breaths and glanced at the clock on the far wall of the bathroom. In about seven minutes class was going to start. He let go of the sink and poised his hand over the wound. In a quick motion he sent webs flying and sealing the wound as tightly as he could manage. It was enough to stop the bleeding. Taking some tissue rolls, he cleaned the blood off of his arm and fixed his suit, before putting on his shirt again. After than he threw on his jacket and tried not to grimace as it brushed up against his injury.

As the second bell rang, he ran out of the bathroom and strolled toward his next class- maths.

He sighed. He had four more classes but was already almost too tired to take another step. When he arrived, most students had already taken their seats. Like science, he went to sit in the back corner of the room. He knew he would have some explaining to do- Gwen made him promise, as he remembered just now, to meet her by the bleachers. He swore then silently hoped no one heard. His teacher still had his book from last time- when he had taken Peter's book to explain an equation at the end of class, and had eventually forgotten to give it back.

His teacher Mr. Wells- speak of the devil- walked up to him, with his messy blue maths book in hand. He smiled at Peter as he placed his book on the table. Peter noticed something though. Something in Well's smile that had his Spidey senses tingled to the extreme. Peter did a double take as Mr. Well's eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary...

He saw something in those black orbs he couldn't explain- like realisation? Astonishment? He could only be perplexed as he watched his teacher's retreating back. What on earth? Peter adjusted his glasses. As Mr. Wells began the lesson, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

The look in his eyes, his smile... it sent shivers up Spiderman's spine. Peter was tense as the lesson went on, his eyes scanning the area and looking for anything out of the ordinary. He knew he was probably just being paranoid- but his senses had never failed him. He figured they wouldn't start now.

Mr. Wells glanced at him a few more times, and walked along where his desk was, lingering for longer than usual. This was highly unusual in many ways. Peter had never had a problem with John Wells, neither had Wells with him. He glanced at him like he knew something John didn't, before walking off. Before the end of the class, Wells smiled at Peter. Then he parted his lips, and grinned. An evil grin, one that spoke out on so many levels, all yelling- die.

The bell rang, and almost everyone in the class began shuffling and collecting their things, before hurried through the door. Everyone except Peter- and his teacher. Peter carefully put his things in his bag, keeping eye contact with Wells. Finally, he got up and pushed his chair in.

Just before he reached the door, he heard Wells call his name,

"Peter, would you mind staying back for a moment? I've got something to discuss with you." Peter paused before slowly and carefully turning around. He forced himself to smile.

"Yes sir?" Mr. Wells turned back to his desk. He didn't say anything. Peter almost flinched from how much his Spidey senses were tingling. He looked around again. Nothing out of the ordinary. For the first time he noticed that all the blinds were drawn. Strange, he thought. The room was barely lit, even though it fairly bright before. Peter took a few more steps toward his maths teacher. "Sir? Is something wrong?"

"Yes..." Well's voice was different now. Darker, deeper... creepier. "Peter" he whispered, before laughing like a maniac. Peter gripped the strap of his bag tighter. He continued to laugh; "you've got a secret, haven't you?" he finally turned to face him.

Peter noticed Wells was pale. Really pale. His eyes were... his eyes weren't their usual blue, no they were red. Immediately the younger noticed something was wrong. He's one of them. He gritted his teeth and took a step back. Peter glanced back at the door- it was locked. I didn't lock it. The blinds were open before. He's one of them. Who 'them' was, Peter wasn't too sure, all he knew is that something was going on with Mr. Wells. Something unordinary- something evil.

Then- BAM!

It all happened so fast that Peter barely got enough time to react. Mr. Wells had moved as fast as light, and charged straight for him. Peter dodged to himself, dropping his back. Wells spun around just in time, and before Peter could even take a breath- he was up painfully against the blackboard, with Well's hand at his neck, holding him at least a foot and a half off the ground.

He struggled to get a breath.

"Peter Parker, poor Peter Parker, dead parents, dead uncle, tragic life, no one would suspect poor Peter Parker" Peter gasped for a breath he didn't get. He knew. Wells knew. How could Wells know? It was impossible! Black spots began to dance around his vision. He, through natural instinct, reached with both hands and tried to pry Wells fingers from his throat. Wells leaned in close, "Poor Peter Parked is Spiderman"

Peter had enough of this, and shot Spider Webs at Wells eyes. Wells just laughed. Peter swung and tried to kick Wells as hard as he could, but the man was like a brick wall. Wells took both Peter's wrists before lifting them over his head and crushing them together.

The Web- producers he had made were crushed, but Peter knew the still worked to some extent. He felt the bones of both his wrists crumble under the man's strength. Peter gasped. Exhaustion, pain and blood loss finally caught up to him. He forced his eyes open, before slowly closing them, as if losing consciousness due to not enough oxygen. He heard Wells laugh before loosening his hand around Peter's neck slightly.

That was all Peter needed.

With one swift movement he swung his legs again, and instead of kicking his chest, he kicked upward and towards his chin. Wells, taken by surprise, released his hold on Peter and tumbled back. Peter gasped, before Wells ran at him again. He dodged before jumping behind the large teacher's desk. He kicked it towards his Maths teacher who tripped and was forced against the wall from the force of the table which was thrown at him.

He yelled in fury, but Spiderman was quicker. He did a flip toward the area where the window was, and stood nearby.

"How do you know?" Peter asked. He had to get some answers. Wells just ran at him. Had had amazing strength, but not much intelligence. It didn't take Peter long to figure out he couldn't change directions whilst running at full speed. "How did you know, bozo?" he snarled. Not his best insult, but it did the trick. Out of anger Wells ran at him, when Peter suddenly got an idea. Instead of jumping sideways he leaped above Wells, and then with all the force he could muster in the instance when Wells stood confused, he kicked his back- forcing him out of the window.

The glass shattered all over the place, and Wells fell through the four story building. Before he met the concrete below however, Peter forced his web-slingers to work, and with even more strength, hoisted Wells and pulled him up just under the windows.

"Who the hell are you! How did you know? Who else knows!" Peter demanded, his arms shaking from exhaustion. Wells just looked up at him and... Smiled.

"No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman." Before Peter could do so much as blink, Wells pulls so hard on the webs holding him above ground that they snapped. And in one quick movement John Wells was dead.

Peter stumbled back into the room, look bewildered and stunned. His math teacher knew who he was. People were after him. His maths teacher had tried to kill him. He threw his maths teacher out of a four story building. Oh god. What the hell just happened? Peter stumbled back further. His hand brushed against his neck and he winced, feeling the fresh bruises. He pulled his collar up and zipped his jacket. Picking up his bag he rushed to the door, his hand shaking. He unlocked it and stepped onto the empty corridor. He was more than thankful the school committee had agreed on removing cameras in the Maths and Extra-Curricular building. He lifted one of his wrists shakily. The watch on it was cracked and broken but still read the time where it was last frozen. It had been at least ten minutes since third period started.

Peter didn't care though. His left wrist hurt so much it felt like someone split it open and shoved a hot poker burner against the skin, muscle, and bone. His right wrist was better and only ached painfully. Peter bit his lip. He had just killed his teacher. He wasn't going to go to class. Not with a neck so badly bruised he could barely breathe, a bullet wound that was sure to be bleeding again, a dark bruise on his face, a wrist that was broken and a wrist that was strained and probably fractured.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it was so hard he almost collapsed. He ran across the white corridor and reached the stairs, jogging down them as fast as he could. He left the school through the back gate and ran into no one. When he turned to see where his Math teacher had died, he found him. Surrounded by policemen and a few students. No doubt they were going to call an evacuation. He didn't want to watch this; he ran across the side road of the school and kept his head down.

He couldn't go home, not when Aunt May was there. He couldn't go back to school, everyone was probably already out and leaving, going back there would just seem suspicious. Knowing the police, they would send everyone home first- not bothering to check who was there or not. He was in so much deep thought-

"No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman."

He didn't notice the approaching figure until he ran into her-

"Gwen?"

What'd think? It took an ENTIRLY different turn to the short cheesy oneshot I was planning. Read and Review, tell me what you think! Creative criticism is welcome! What's gonna happen next? Don't know? Neither do I;)