Dear Readers,

This is a repost and rewrite of my post-Homecoming/Pre-Infinity War Spider-Man fic. If you were a fan or a reader of the last version, which was written in a non-linear 13 Reasons Why style of storytelling, you'll find this one has been improved in a lot of ways! Plot holes, fixed. Character development, more obvious. Scheduling issues? A thing, but also fixed ;) Mostly you'll find it works as a great bridge between Homecoming and Infinity War, right from the end credits of Homecoming to the first shot of Peter in Infinity War. I worked really hard on this chronological version and hope it excites my readers as much as I enjoyed making it! There will be appropriate trigger warnings or tags at the beginnings of chapters for difficult content such as torture and suicide references.

Read on, my dears!

Love,

Pip

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Prologue

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"HEY!" I try to reply, but I can't.

"HEY!" a gruff voice, threatening.

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind," I remember saying, with a smile. SPLASH.

"You're welcome, Spider-Man."

"Nice to meet you!"

I remember this, too.

But I'm hacking and coughing and...

"Wake up, Spider-Man."

I'm awake.

I blink and look around.

What's happening...

Where am I?

Who is this?

What time is it?

Is it… is it still tuesday evening?

It's so dark.

Help.

"I'm talking to you. Wake UP."

I feel a slap across my face, head snapping painfully to one side, my eyes fighting through the squint of stinging flesh to look up at the man standing in front of me. I'm definitely awake now.

"There you are. Good evening, Spider-Man. Welcome to consciousness. This will likely be the first of several times we wake you up like this. How was it? Bucket of water in the face okay? Should I just stick with the slap next time?"

A face leers into mine. "I'm new at this," he says, "but I drew a short straw."

I've never seen this man before.

"If you need anything, I'm living in Morris Park with my parents right now. Okay?" the woman had smiled at me, so kindly. "I want you to know where we are. In case you ever need somewhere to go."

That's the last thing I remember... I don't know how this is happening.

I remember going home… from school? Or maybe something afterwards. Maybe a rescue. I remember a fire. A woman.

Then there was a flash-bang, like a grenade. A blood spray on a brick wall that seemed to come from me. And then… there was a police officer. Police mean… help. Help and safety - right?

Help me. Someone. Anyone.

I knew help was coming; and then, it suddenly wasn't.

"I've never been the type of guy to hurt people," he says, "But then again, I am really not opposed to sticking a bug with a pin. It's for science."

"I'm not scared of you," I lie hoarsely. I can smell smoke - taste it in my mouth. Blood and smoke on my tongue and between my teeth.

But I am. I am more scared than I have ever been in my life. More scared than when the building dropped down on top of me. More scared than the night he… when he… died.

Maybe I'll see Uncle Ben sooner than I thought.

"I am not scared," I lie again, my voice catching.

He picks up a knife, the handle made of iridescent pearl. "We'll see."

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One: Where Aunt May Finds Out

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I have my suit back. And it's perfect. Like I was never parted from it - like the whole mess with the ferry didn't happen. I'd been forgiven, I could see that now.

"What the FUCK?" May's voice shrieks inhumanly from my bedroom door.

How is it that she can sneak up on me? People shouldn't be able to; I'm Spider-Man. I have extra sensory talents. And she's… like my mom.

I've heard that a mom has a seventh, eighth, and ninth sense when it comes to their kids screwing up. And spider-talents or not, I know that I screwed this up. Big time.

"Aunt May," I turn around slowly, holding out my hands defensively, beseechingly. "This is... not... what it looks like."

"THEN WHAT IS IT?" she snarls. "What is it? And I swear to God - if you lie to me - if you are contemplating a lie right now - don't. I would rather hear nothing than a lie. Nothing." She holds up a finger when I open my mouth. "Don't, even, think about it."

I shut my mouth. The excuses just won't fly. Costume? Cosplay? Party?

Anything other than the truth.

"You," she points at me, her face so dark with confusion and earth-shattering anger that it is terrifying to behold. "You change into something normal. And be out here in five minutes."

I open my mouth and shut it again, and then reconsider.

"A-Aunt May?" I ask in a small voice, the smallest I can manage. "It... it will take me less than... um... five minutes to change... um. Do you... do you want me sooner?"

Aunt May turns away from me and steps into the hallway.

"No," she answers, her tone so dismal that it makes me wish the floor would just swallow me whole. "The five minutes are not for you. They're for me."

Then she slams the door with such hulk-like strength that my framed posted falls from the wall and lands behind the dresser with a resounding crash.

…

I change into a gray t-shirt and jeans, watching the clock.

At the five minute mark exactly, I walk into the living room. May sits like a statue in the chair, fingers folded and pressed in her lap, glasses shoved so far into the bridge of her nose she'll probably bruise herself. She stares at me.

"SIT," she says darkly. "On the couch."

I sit obediently, mirroring her movements. Hands folded, though more loosely, hanging over my knees.

"Speak," she says shortly, looking at me with narrowed eyes. "Now."

"I..." my voice cracks. Shit.

I wasn't going to get sad over this. I am a teenager. I am supposed to be defensive, angry, slam a door or two... stick up to her. Tell her I am no one's kid. I am Spider-Man. And I'll do whatever I deem necessary!

"I am so, so sorry I didn't tell you," I say, my voice giving out unashamedly. Or the exact opposite of ALL of that.

I guess we're going the sad route. I'm sad that I hurt her. Sorry that I made the one person who has always had my back feel like she couldn't trust me. I want her trust more than anything. Hurting someone with a punch in the eye is different than hurting a bond you have with someone.

"I am sorry, Aunt May," I repeat earnestly, clenching my hands together. I'm not really crying, my eyes are just… leaking. "It was - dishonest. I was wrong. I shouldn't have kept this a secret. I am so, so sorry."

"The internship," Aunt May says brusquely. "That was a lie, wasn't it? There was no internship."

"Sorta," I answer. "But technically, no. The internship is being... Spider-Man. Sort of a... member…"

"My god," she says hoarsely. "Don't tell me…"

"...of the Avengers," I finish.

"Dear god in heaven," her breath hitches. "That's not I was led to believe an internship was."

"I didn't explain that the internship didn't involve robotics testing," I rattle off. "Or chemistry. Or spreadsheets. Getting managers their coffee. Or anything that you probably thought the internship involves."

The silence is thick and heavy.

"I did not tell you to stop talking," Aunt May snaps.

"Oh, right, um," I sniff loudly and wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, looking up at her. She contemplates me with love, and worry, and fear... mostly fear. Fear of me, I wonder? Or fear of losing me to something she doesn't understand?

"Do you want me to start at the beginning?" I ask meekly.

"Yes," she says simply. "Will you be telling me the truth?"

"Yes, Aunt May."

"All of it?" she adds.

Maybe I imagine it, but I swear her eyes flick over to the small framed portrait on the end table of her and Uncle Ben on their wedding day.

"You don't want to know all of it," I whisper brokenly, looking down and lacing my fingers behind my head. I hear her stand up and move across the room slowly.

The couch shifts as Aunt May lowers herself beside me, hesitantly placing her hand on my back. "Try me," she says. "Seriously. It's now or never. And I'm not going anywhere."

I shift away from her. She wouldn't want to be this close to me if she knew that Uncle Ben's death was my fault...

She retracts her hand, hurt again.

"We went on a school trip," I begin. "And there was this... display about radioactive effects on insects... of all things..."

I begin the word vomit like I'm at a confessional.

In a few short minutes, I feel her body language change, sitting away from me, her muscles tensing as if getting ready to bolt - as if she knows what's coming.

"And then Uncle Ben…" I try, but I'm unable to finish.

For a moment it seems as if she can't catch her breath. She stands abruptly from the couch and paces to the window, taking a moment to collect herself, crossing her elbows over her chest… the body language of protection, self-preservation. Defense. From me.

Then she walks back very slowly, touches my face, raising my chin to force me to make eye contact.

Her face is blotchy with contained grief. "It wasn't your fault," she says quietly.

"Yes - yes - it was, yes it was," I sob. I pull my face out of her hand and look down again in overwhelming shame. "It was my fault... It was my fault."

It's almost a full blown panic attack now, my voice shifting to a rarely accessed higher-octave. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She walks to the window again, her shoulders shaking. She waits until I've cried myself out. She makes no move to try and make me stop, or even comfort me. Which is preferable... I don't want her comfort. I want her to tell me she agrees. Anything to make me feel justified.

I cough. "I'm sorry," I whisper again. "If I could go back... if there was a way to go back and change what happened... even if it meant I died in his place... I'd do it. Over and over again."

"It wasn't your fault," she repeats, in a monotone.

"Yes it was."

"Peter Parker," she says again. "It wasn't your fault."

Somewhere out of my grief, an inappropriate hint of laughter tries to surface, but I suppress it. "Your favorite scene… from G-g-goodwill Hunting... isn't going to work... on me."

I can feel her smirk before shaking her head.

"Would you believe anything else?" she asks sadly. "Even if I tried to convince you otherwise; took you back to counseling, signed you up with a shrink... did everything in my power to make you believe it wasn't your fault... would it work?"

I shake my head. No.

"Do you want me to blame you?"

Yes.

"If you can acknowledge my responsibility," I take a shuddering breath. "Maybe I can learn live with it."

"Okay," she says simply. "If that's what you need." She returns to my side. "Then I guess you need to understand that I forgive you," she says. "And I don't blame you."

She doesn't blame me, I think. How can she not blame me?

"I miss him," she says. "Every day. I know you do too. I know you'll carry this with you and there's nothing I can do to change it. But.. I don't blame you. I don't. I won't. Any doubt I'd ever have... if you could have prevented what happened... I refuse to let it destroy what I have left. And that's you. You're all I have left. And I love you to death." She sits beside me again and wraps her arms around my head.

We both cry. I feel every ounce of grief again, and yet relief. A weight gone from my chest that I didn't realize was holding me down so fully… the fact that Uncle Ben's death had always been tied to Spider-Man. Keeping the suit a secret meant I was constantly bearing the full burden of truth - of Uncle Ben - away from her. And she doesn't deserve that - she never has. But maybe I do.

I don't deserve her forgiveness.

…

It's been an hour. And we've done nothing but talk.

"So they held the guy responsible for, like, uh… killing the King of Wakanda in the explosion. I don't even think he was guilty though. Neither did Captain America, I guess. It was all really confusing."

I hang from the ceiling with my feet. May's sprawls across the couch with her second glass of wine. "And then what happened?" she asks tiredly.

"Well, then, Mr. Stark told me I was done, and the fight ended - for the most part. I mean, what I was meant to do, anyway. I was just there to put another super-strong person on his side, not enforce any laws or arrest anyone. No one was really trying to hurt anyone, just stop them, to convince them to turn the metal-armed guy in. Of course they didn't actually tell me that either until later. All I knew was that we were stopping Captain America before he made a huge mistake that could hurt a lot of people by accident. It's… kind of annoying, actually. The lack of context."

May makes a hmph sound.

"But it was fine, it was fine," I assure. "They were friends, you know? Friends disagree all the time, right? Mr. Stark and Captain America saved New York when the aliens invaded. As a team. You don't just forget something like that."

Aunt May shudders. She doesn't like remembering that day. "Would you consider them friends?" she asks in disbelief. "Someone who asks you to help defend the universe until you have a disagreement? And then they turn on you? I don't like you getting mixed up in that. I don't."

"No, Aunt May," I lower myself from the ceiling and sit on the floor beside the couch. "It's not like that. Really."

"Being with this team is going to get you killed," she whispers, taking a generous gulp of the last bit of wine. "Maybe it was just a bad guy who hypothetically killed a king this time, but what about next time? What if the aliens come back? What if another agency entrusted to protect us turns into a terrorist organization made of Nazis? Don't think I didn't read the news, or pester Mr. Stark with questions when he showed up out of the blue the first time." She looks down at her empty glass as if it personally insults her.

"Do you want another one?" I ask carefully. "I'll get you a…"

"Forget it, you're not old enough to serve alcohol," she snaps, setting it down a little too hard on the end table. "What happened after Germany? Were you involved in that shit with the Stark plane that went down on the beach?"

I pause, squinting. "I might be the one that took it down?"

"Jesus Christ! You knocked down a PLANE? How fucking strong are you, anyway?"

…

When I've finally caught up to the present, including turning down a more permanent position with the Avengers, my hair is standing straight up off my head from all the times Aunt May distractedly ran her hand through it. I can tell she's relieved.

"I'm proud of you for turning it down," she says sleepily. "As for the rest..."

"I know..."

"You could have died. A hundred times."

"I know - but - not easily. Not really."

"Peter, I can't do this alone."

"I know."

"Don't die out there," she urges. "You can't - you can't do that to me. Please. Promise."

"I promise," I reply.

Silence falls.

"So you're going to let me keep this up?" I hesitate to ask, dreading the response.

"It appears I cannot 'let' or 'not let' you do anything," she responds rather bitterly. "Because if I 'not-let' you, you sneak out and do it anyway, and then lie about it."

I'm not going to argue that.

"Aunt May," I declare, "It was absolutely my intention to protect you from the truth. Not because I was ashamed of being Spider-Man but because I don't want bad guys out there to figure out who matters most to me."

May shakes her head and looks away, not believing me.

"If someone like Toomes had escaped; he would have come after you," I continue. "He didn't necessarily know who you were... but he could've just asked Liz. Anyone at school, really. He told me as much… he said he'd kill everyone I loved."

Aunt May is silent.

"I am not going to lose you too," I go on. "But I can't give up being Spider-Man, either. I am him. It's not just an outfit. It's the powers I have now; and who I am. Who I want to be."

"Fuck," Aunt May lets out a loud sound, almost like another sob, but not quite there. "Who the hell would I be to tell their kid not to be a hero?"

She gets up from the couch, feeling the effects of the wine. She stumbles towards the hall. "I am... going to bed," she says abruptly. "I am going to go to my room and I'm going to make a knife and get drunk and let myself be angry and sad for awhile. And YOU... you will stay in this apartment. You understand? If you sneak out tonight the great Thor almighty could not protect you from me. Got it?"

"Yes, Aunt May."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Promises are good!" she exclaims loudly... tipsier than she believes she is. "They're so VERY honorable! But," she glances at me. "You could be lying. I don't know. It'll be awhile before I can know. I used to think I did know."

"I am not lying... I swear. Not now. Since you know. I won't. I can't."

"Then we will discuss ground rules... tomorrow." She goes to a kitchen cupboard, pulls out a bottle of vodka I had never seen before, and a grape soda out of the fridge. Then she walks crookedly to her bedroom door and shuts it firmly behind her.

I sit on the couch alone. Lonelier than ever.

I pull out my phone and text Happy. Ever since Moving Day, he's been slightly more… available by text message. He actually texts me back now as long as I'm sharing some news of importance.

You - Aunt May knows. Oops.

Happy - …

Happy - …

Happy - OK ?! 4:p How?

You - walked in unexpectedly

You - I was wearing my suit

You - Thanks btw… you & Mr. Stark… for the old suit back

Happy - well we can't let you out in pajamas it's embarrassing

You - Sorry :P

Happy - we'll just hold on to the new suit for you in case of emergency, k?

You - how will I know what qualifies as an emergency?

Happy - I'm sure we'll know

Happy - How's your aunt?

You - drinking alone in her room?

Happy - that's what happens when the cats out of the bag like that

Chuckling, I send a gif of a spider running across a kitchen floor.

You - you mean spider is out of the bag

Happy - that's not funny

Happy - arachnophobia is real

You - sorry :) night Happy

Happy - you're a good kid

Happy - take care of your aunt

I shut my phone off and take a deep breath. Tonight was a good example of me utterly failing to care for her… and she putting everything aside to care for me, even her own grief. I just hope I can show her what I can do, and it will ease her fears.

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Coming Up Next:

Time for Spider-Man to go back to school with a list of rules keeping him 'grounded' but just how much do we expect those rules to really work, anyway?