As ever, this chapter was beta-ed by the wonderful bluebackstabber over on tumblr.

After dozens of tests, which left Peter weak, tired and more than a little frustrated, the doctors explained that Peter had most likely had a severe allergic reaction to the spider bite and expected him to make a full recovery in less than a week. They wrapped his wrist in a bandage, to be changed regularly, and kept him overnight for observations, supervised by both the nursing staff and a distressed Aunt May (Uncle Ben was tasked with keeping the peace while Peter spent much of the night with a pillow over his head trying very hard to ignore everyone). Peter was discharged early the next morning with an epi-pen, clear instructions for him and his family (in case of another allergic reaction) and a hefty hospital bill.

When the Parkers finally made it home, Peter, despite a clear and loud protest, was frog-marched up to his room and straight into bed. He appealed to his Uncle, eyes wide, but a sharp look from Aunt May cowed any attempt Ben could have made.

"Now, Peter," she began, resting a hand on his forehead to check his temperature as she sat on the bed beside him. He turned to face her suspiciously. "I know how you feel about missing your science classes but I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go back to school tomorrow. You still look very unwell and you seem to be running a bit of a fever." May's hand moved to Peter's cheek, slowly rubbing a thumb back and forth the way she used to when Peter was ill as a child. "Another day off would do you some good and I'm sure the doctors would agree. Don't you think, Ben?"

Aunt May looked sharply over at her husband, her eyes like diamonds and her mouth tight. For a moment Ben stared at her, reminded of all the times he had been forced to sleep on the small sofa with barely enough blankets. He glanced at his nephew and cursed the genes that had given him such bright eyes. Refusing to take a side he clasped his hands in front of him and stared determinedly down at the ground.

Peter let out an angry groan. "Aunt May, no!" He exclaimed, turning back to face her and ignoring the hand that had moved up to fiddle with his hair. "This is embarrassing enough! I was bitten by a spider, okay? It's not that bad. I'm fine. Let me go back to school."

"Oh, sweetheart," May sighed. "There's no need to be embarrassed. You had an allergic reaction, it's very common."

"Uncle Ben!" Peter turned back to his Uncle, determined to get his own way.

With a quick exhale, Ben unclasped his hand and spread them in the air in front of him. "May, I think we should let Peter go back to school." Peter sent his Uncle a warm smile and Ben felt his heart soften. He had been horrified when he'd learned Peter was in the hospital. He loved Peter like his own son and the possibility of losing him near drove Ben mad. But that didn't mean they had the right to control Peter's life. He was growing up now and he had a right to make decisions like these. And it was Ben's responsibility to let him. "He knows his own body and if he says he's fine then he's fine. We should trust him." Ben sent Peter a wink.

May sucked in a short, sharp breath. "Are you sure? Are you sure, Peter? I'm just worried about you and I don't want you straining yourself when you don't need to." She smoothed back some of the hair from Peter's face.

Peter felt himself weaken at her concern and he smiled up at her. "I'm sure, Aunt May. I promise I'll be fine."

"You'll let me know if you change your mind?" Ben and Peter chuckled.

"I'll let you know if I change my mind."

"And if you feel unwell at all you'll go straight to the nurse?"

"Cross my heart."

"If I bring you up some soup now you'll eat it and sleep and not question me because I'm being a wonderful Aunt by letting you go to school when really I should lock you in your room and throw away the key for making me worry so much?"

Uncle Ben sighed and left the room.

"Ugh. Yes. Fine."

"Excuse me, young man, I am making you soup. Be nice."

"Thank you very much Aunt May for being such a wonderful human being and taking such good care of me. I love you." Peter smiled up at his Aunt.

"I thought as much," she replied with a fond smile. She leant down to give him a kiss on his forehead. "If you haven't moved by the time I get back, I'll let you eat at your desk."

"Yes, ma'am." The door shut with a soft click.

After a beat, Peter began pulling desperately at the blanket which was inexplicably stuck to his hand.

Peter awoke in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest, a throbbing resonating through his limbs. He tried to remember what he'd been dreaming about but all he could recall was flashes of spiders. After a few deep breaths he wiped a shaky hand across his face, grimacing at the sweat.

Slowly, Peter peeled back the blankets and rose from the bed, intent on splashing his face with some cold water. Glancing at his clock, he noted the time at close to 1am and frowned. If his Aunt caught him awake in this state she'd never let him go to back to school.

He quietly he made his way over to his door, opening it with gentle fingers. He peered out and noticed there were still lights on in the house and, if he listened carefully, he could hear quiet mumbling from downstairs. Peter moved out into the hallway on his tip-toes and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door with a gentle click.

The water was cool on his fingers as he held them there for a few moments before collecting a handful to splash across his face. After a short while, he rubbed some of the water across his healthy wrist before drying his face on one of the worn hand-towels beside the sink and walked back to the door. He listened quietly to make sure his Aunt and Uncle weren't on their way up before heading back across the hallway to his room.

"...a lot of money, Ben."

Peter paused, dread curling through his chest. His Aunt and Uncle always tried so hard to hide their money troubles from him and, out of respect, Peter would pointedly ignore any conversations he overheard. He tried as hard as he could to cost them as little as possible but the hospital bill was likely to put a huge dent in their savings.

"Well, we're gonna have to find some way to pay it. We have a few hundred saved in the bank and I can take on some extra shifts at work. If worse comes to worst we can reduce Peter's allowance. He's a good boy, he'll understand. We've been in tighter spots, May."

Peter sank into a crouch and clutched at the banister.

"Oh Ben, you already work so much. Are you sure you'd be able to handle it? You're not getting any younger. I can try and find some part-time work? Maybe at a cafe?"

"No, May. Not with your heart. It's just money, it's not worth that kind of risk."

With a little shuffle of his feet Peter began gnawing on his lips, feeling his throat start to close and his eyes burn. From the bottom of his heart he hated when people mentioned his Aunt's long-standing health problems. Ever since her heart attack four years ago he had been terrified for her, the idea of losing her leaving him cold.

"I'm so sorry -"

He started tapping a rhythm on the railings, just to have something to do with his hands.

"No, May. Don't you dare. It's not your fault and it's not Peter's, alright? These things happen. We'll be okay. We always are."

The tears rolled down Peter's cheek as he moved quickly away from the railings and back into his room, making sure to close the door. Lying back on his bed, he scrubbed furiously at his face.

He had to find some way to help them get the money.

The next morning, Peter woke up a little later than he'd hoped (he had a suspicion that his Aunt had fiddled with his alarm while he'd been asleep) but managed to have a quick shower before heading down for breakfast (he couldn't tell if his Aunt actually looked disappointed or if he was letting his imagination get away from him again. He gave her a little glare when her back was turned, just in case). Instead of the usual pancakes or waffles, they were having toast and porridge. Confused, Peter began eating slowly.

"No pancakes?" he asked, lifting another spoonful of porridge to his mouth. He didn't miss the glance the two older Parkers shared.

May gave her nephew a tight smile. "Not today, sweetie. We don't know if your stomach can handle that at the moment."

Peter frowned, fully prepared to have another argument about how well he had recovered when caught the eyes of his Uncle. Like a punch to the gut, he remembered the conversation he had overheard the night before. He stared down at his bowl and fought to hold the tears at bay.

For a little while he sat, fiddling with his spoon, trying to control himself but here, in front of this meal he was reminded of everything his Aunt and Uncle had done for him. Everything they had given up because his parents had left him. Had gotten on the wrong plane. Had fucking died, and damnit, he'd been so young and he couldn't remember, he'd been so fucking young -

He felt sick.

"Sorry, Aunt May, I think I'm gonna be late if I don't leave now." Ben glanced over the top of his paper and frowned at his nephew.

"Oh," replied Aunt May, "alright then. Take a slice of toast with you, sweetheart, alright?"

Peter refused to meet her eye.

"Yeah, alright," he said softly. He grabbed his last slice walked quickly to the door, grabbing his bag on the way out.

Peter kept his head bowed as he walked through the doors at school. He was glad he'd left early as there were already a lot of students in and they were all staring at him, whispering and giggling with their friends and, really, when was a serious allergic reaction funny? He could have died!

When he finally rounded the corner to his locker, his heart hammering in his chest, he noticed Gwen sitting below it reading a book. He stuttered to a halt and flicked his eyes around the hallway to try and find some way to delay the inevitable. She was going to be a nightmare. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he strode over and sat down beside her, moving his backpack to his lap.

She didn't so much as twitch.

"Hey," he murmured and nudged her with his elbow. His voice cracked slightly (much to his embarrassment).

Gwen's head snapped round. "Peter!" she exclaimed before putting a hand to her heart and letting out a giggle, "you scared me half to death!"

She paled.

"Oh my God, you're back! Are you okay? We were so worried! Come here, you idiot!" She launched herself at him and held him in a tight hug, rocking gently. With a little hesitation Peter wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back.

"Uhm, sorry. I'm fine, really. Promise." She pulled away, putting her hands on his shoulders and taking a deep breath. Peter noticed her eyes glistening and panicked. "Jeeze, Gwen, I'm fine, what are you doing? Please please please don't cry!"

Gwen let out a hysterical giggle and patted his cheek. "Oh God, Peter, you're face! I promise I won't cry, alright?" She took another deep breath and clenched her eyes shut, forcing a tear down her cheek. "Just don't collapse and have a seizure in front of me again, yeah?" Sniffling, Gwen wiped at her cheek.

"Yes. Yes. Fine. Whatever. Just, you know," he waved his arms at her, "don't do that. Or get me bitten by spiders. Do neither of those things." Peter started biting at his nails.

"Not funny," said Gwen, swatting Peter's hand away from his mouth. "So it was just an allergic reaction? Well, not just, because it was obviously a really bad one. I thought for a while the spider might be poisonous or something so I spent ages researching spider poisons but I couldn't figure out which spider was on your arm. I wonder what species it was, actually." She waved a hand at him. "Anyway. I called your house and your Aunt told me what was going on. Did you seriously spend all of yesterday sleeping? Oh oh! More importantly, can I see the bite? Is it swollen? No, wait, it's not gross, is it?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean," he shook his head, "no. No. It's not that gross, just a little swollen and red, you can look. And... uh, yes it was an allergic reaction? Um. Here." Peter pulled the sleeve back on his arm, unrolled the bandage and looked at his wrist for the first time that day. "Huh." He rubbed the area with the pad of his thumb. The bite was almost fully healed, the only physical evidence of the bite were two faint dots where the fangs had plunged into his skin.

"Oh. That healed fast. Do you always heal that fast?" she questioned, fingers lightly touching his wrist. Peter felt his face start to burn.

"I don't... I don't know. I guess I must?" Peter stared hard at his wrist.

Gwen tapped her fingers on his wrist. "Well, as long as you're okay," she said, "I'm gonna head to the bathroom and then class. Can't seem to wake up this morning. Will you be alright?"

Peter kept his face turned away from Gwen, refusing to let her see the blush on his cheeks. Peering around the hallway he saw that it was quickly filling with students. He joined Gwen in standing. "Yeah, I'll be fine," he said, "I'll just head off now. See you later?"

Gwen smiled softly at him. "Yeah. Yeah, see you later Peter."

He watched her walk away until she was enveloped in the crowd, the heat in his cheeks slowly abating. With a soft shake of his head he grabbed his books out of his locker before turning and started walking slowly towards his classroom. He bumped into a grinning Harry less than a minute later.

"Peter!" his friend bellowed, latching a hand round the back of Peter's neck.

Peter clutched a little at his bag strap and glanced furtively at everyone who had turned to stare.

"Uh, hi Harry," he replied quietly with a small twitch of his lips.

"Come here, you idiot," Harry tutted, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Peter's shoulder and pulled him in for a quick hug which Peter didn't return. He'd never gotten this much affection from Harry before. It was kind of nice. Apart from the back-patting. That was a bit painful. Eventually Harry pulled away and held the smaller boy at arm's length, giving him a quick once over. "Well you look alright, I guess. Pale, though. You sure you should be back today?"

"I'm pale?" He frowned. "Um. I feel fine? I'm under strict orders to go straight to the nurse if I start feeling anything less, though, so don't worry."

"Well if you're sure." Harry gave him an affectionate slap on the shoulder and Peter held back his grimace. "Oh, I'm supposed to tell you." He rifled through his bag. "I talked to my dad and I think he's worried about a lawsuit or bad press of something so if you call this number," Harry handed him a neatly folded piece of paper, "Oscorp's gonna handle the hospital bills or whatever. That cool?"

Peter was shocked. This didn't seem like Harry's father at all. But honestly, his family needed the money and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? He tried to stay calm but felt the grin stretching across his face until his cheeks hurt. "Really?" he breathed. "No, man, thank you. Tell your dad thank you so much. Really. This is really- I feel like I should say no but, I mean, we're pretty poor right now and your dad, uh, isn't. Thank you. Thank you."

Harry laughed. "No problem, man. Don't sweat it. You coming to class?"

"Yeah. Yeah. No, wait. I'm pale?" Peter rubbed at his face. "I'll just go to the bathroom real quick. Meet you there?"

"Only a little. See you in a few."

Peter walked quickly to the bathroom, ignoring the students who all jumped out of his way when they caught sight of him (it was like his was Moses or something). He could barely believe that Mr Osborn was going to pay for the hospital bills. From what he had heard from Harry, Norman was more than a little selfish. It must have been Harry's influence. It must have been. He was a bit of an ass sometimes but Harry really did help Peter when he needed it.

Arriving at the empty bathroom, Peter rushed for a sink, leaning over it to stare into the mirror. Harry was right, he did look a bit pale. And now that he thought about it, he felt a bit clammy too. He brushed a quick hand across his forehead and it came back sticky with sweat. "Ugh." He turned on the tap and splashed his face with some cold water. It was probably nothing. And if he went to the nurse his Aunt wouldn't let him back to school till the next week and, honestly, he wasn't that bad.

Frowning, Peter reached out to turn the water off, jerking back and letting out a broken sort of sound when the entire faucet came off in his hand. There was a sort of gurgle emanating from the sink and Peter stared in wide-eyed horror as pressurised water rushed out of the hole and blasted him in the face. Sputtering, he grabbed a load of paper towels and jabbed them at the sink to try and clog the tap, simultaneously thanking every God that every existed that no-one else was in the bathroom.

Despite his terrified efforts, the tap continued spraying water into the air as he back away. "Okay. Okay. Um. That's okay." He mumbled, refusing to look in the mirror because, honestly, he had looked pale enough before. He didn't need to know how he looked now.

His fingers twitched and brought into awareness the weight that pulled at his hand. Looking down, Peter realised he was still clutching the tap in his fist. He let out a whimper and loosened his hand, resisting the urge to cry when it refused to fall to the floor.

The tap was stuck to his fingers. "Oh God. Oh God. Okay. Oh God. Okay. Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is okay. This is... not normal but it's okay. Peter. Drop the tap." Nothing happened. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was a metallic clanging as the tap fell to the floor. He whimpered again at the sound before running to the door, escaping the bathroom just as the first bell rang.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully; relative to what had happened in the bathroom, at least. There were a few incidents of sticky pens and pencils. And textbooks. And more than a few beakers. And a pretty interesting incident with a lunch tray. But no more plumbing was destroyed (because Peter refused to drink anything just so that he could avoid the going anywhere near any bathroom for as long as humanly possible) so that was a major plus. Unfortunately he did have one or two run-ins with Flash, but Gwen and Harry must have made some sort of battle plan because they were with him nearly every second of the day, taking it in turns to distract the bully.

Unfortunately for the trio, they had separate classes at the end of the day and so Peter exited the school building alone. He marched quickly across the grounds out the front of the school, not noticing Flash and his friends chatting around the front steps.

"Dude, Kong. Check it out," Flash nudged his friend and nodded his head at Peter who was making his way through the crowds. The boys shared a grin and Flash, using all his strength, launched his basketball at Peter's head.

There was a tingle running up Peter's spine leaving a feeling of wrong which, for the life of him, Peter didn't think he ever be able to describe. His body was urging him to turn and Peter obeyed feeling dazed and confused. He spotted the ball when it was less than two meters from his face. Peter's eyes widened in panic as he threw his arms up in front of himself, knowing that he didn't have the reflexes to defend himself.

A second later and Peter felt a burning in his hands where the ball had landed. He took a shaky breath as he stared vacantly at the basketball he was holding.

He could feel the eyes of his classmates as they turned to face him. Peter hummed and dropped the ball. With all the confidence he could muster, he looked up at Flash and summoned a patronising smirk. "Later, Flash."

Flash continued to stare in shock as Peter turned and walked away.

About five streets over, Peter turned down an alley and worked on his breathing, hoping to stave off the incoming panic attack.

By the time he arrived home, he was an hour later than usual (he'd been delayed in the alleyway a lot longer than he'd expected after his fingertips attached themselves to the wall) and while he'd thought up plenty of excuses, he found the house empty. In the kitchen he found a note from his Aunt explaining that his Uncle was working a double shift and would not be home until late into the evening and she had headed out to buy some food.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't feel very much like making conversation with his family that night. He wrote a note back telling them that he'd been fine at school but was feeling a little tired and was heading straight up to his room for a sleep. He remembered to explain what Harry had told him that morning about the hospital bills and left the note he had been given by the Osborns next to it. He then moved between the fridge and cupboards collecting supplies and jogged up to his room to hole himself up for the rest of the day.

Peter had intended to do some research into what in the hell had been going on with him that day but, after forcing half the food he'd brought up with him down his throat, he simply crawled onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling letting the days stress drift out of him.

After a few beats, Peter narrowed his eyes. "Spider," he whispered, lifting his arm to stare at his wrist where he had been bitten. By now there was no visible mark from the other day but he rubbed at the area anyway. He licked his lips and looked at his hand, remembering the blankets, the pens and, most importantly, the wall. "Spider," he whispered again, moving his gaze slowly between his hand and the ceiling.

He rose to his knees slowly and turned to face his wall, taking a deep breath. Tentatively, he placed his hands on the wall above his headboard and tugged slightly. Feeling a resistance, he bit his lip, took a deep breath, and pulled it away.

"Okay," he mumbled to himself, "why not? Let's give this ago, shall we?" Standing, Peter moved to the blank wall next to his bed and bent his knee, placing his bare toes on the wall in front of him. His heart was pounding in his chest. Putting a hand on the wall to keep his balance Peter pulled his body and felt himself rise off the floor.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, glancing down at the floor. He grinned and, with more confidence, crawled to the ceiling over his bed. "Oh my God," he said and started laughing.

"Oh my God!" he repeated when he'd caught his breath.

Slowly, Peter pulled his hands away and straightened so that he was standing on the ceiling. "I'm awesome," he whispered, walking in a small, slow circle.

The front door slammed and Peter fell onto his bed with a yell.