(A/N)-For those of you who know me from Merlin's Merlin... Um... Sorry...

I have camp next week, so don't expect me to update anything during then! Sorry!

Thanks to Seedsiz for Beta(ing) this!

If I'm not mistaken, Peter started Spiderman a couple of months before his 15th birthday, so I'll go from that. So technically he's not too far from 15 in this. Post TASM 1

A figure clad in red and blue swung through the streets of New York holding a small bundle of cloth in one hand, still managing to easily access the shooters on both wrists. It didn't matter if the people had been saved by him or just witnessed him catching crooks. Everyone knew who he was whenever people saw him swing by, they felt safer on the streets, knowing he was there to protect them.

Tonight however was different. The masked vigilante wasn't patrolling the city on the lookout for trouble. No, tonight he was swinging away from the bustling streets and high-rise apartments towards the higher part of town.

Towards the cemetery.

Peter swung through the last few blocks and stopped, landing in front of the rusty iron gates. He could easily have webbed his way straight to his destination, but doing that didn't feel right. He knew that the dead couldn't know or possibly care whether he walked or not, but something inside of him kept insisting that swinging himself up and over the final resting place of the deceased wouldn't be respectful. And that was why he was here in the first place - to pay his respects.

He opened the gates and walked in, the rusty iron hinges creaking quietly behind as they closed.

Graveyards during the day - particularly this one - had a sad and sombre atmosphere. This was only punctuated by his memory of the last time he was here.

Two months... had it already been two months?

Walking past one of the many long groves of trees that lined the fields, he began following an old route. Spider-Man unconsciously tightened his grip on the bundle he held.

You'd think that at night a graveyard would be scary, if not downright creepy - but it wasn't. It was peaceful. With the moonlight giving everything a soft, almost luminous glow.

There was no other word for it. It was peaceful.

Yet despite all the tranquillity it had to offer, Peter's shoulders began to get tenser and tenser as each step took he took brought him even closer to his destination. Trepidation quickened his breath as well as his stride. There wasn't much farther to go now.

And sure enough, there it was. It would always be here. The reason he couldn't sleep at night, the reason his mind felt so uneasy, day after day, week after week.

Two months. It had been two agonising months now.

The tombstone read: George Stacy

With trembling hands he unwrapped the cloth bundle and walked forwards, letting the rags fall away revealing... A single yellow rose.

The masked hero placed it at the foot of the grave before straightening again. For a long moment Peter Parker stood there silently. Then he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

With that, all the tension seemed to drain from his body, the words filling the void it left. Things that he'd kept to himself for months.

"Some people think I killed you, you know? Murdered you."

Silence.

"And although we know who the real killer was... I don't blame them." His voice grew softer, "I was, after all, partially responsible for your death and that is something I will always carry with me for the rest of my life." His voice trembled slightly.

"Why," he took in a deep shuddering breath, his voice came out sounding choked, as if he were trying not to cry. "Why did you have to die?" It came out as a plea, begging, almost.

And again, there was silence, for how could a dead man talk? Peter couldn't stand the quietness of it all. It seemed to be judging him. Mocking at the man who tried, the man who failed.

"I should have been stronger!" he burst out abruptly. A strangled sob managed to escape, "I should have been faster! I should have been smarter!"

His voice dropped down to a whisper.

"I should have saved you"

Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself.

"I'm sorry, Captain Stacy. I don't deserve to be here," he muttered bitterly.

As he turned around and left, the breeze carried his last words to the fallen soldier.

"I hope you're proud of me"

Later on, as the wall-crawler was on patrol as the protector of New York, he felt the tiniest amount of his heavy burden ease. He'd done the right thing

It wasn't much, but it helped.

At the cemetery, a shell-shocked man stumbled out from behind his hiding place and leaned heavily on a nearby tree. He pressed a button on his phone, stopping the video recording.

What the hell had he just seen?

(A/N)- Whaddaya think? Tell me.