I managed to miraculously conjure up a chapter. Hope ya'll enjoy~~
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Part II
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"Peter," Aunt May starts hesitantly. "Where did you go last night?"
The breakfast table is laid out in its typical American-styled home-cooked meal. Crispy bacon, eggs sunny side up, white soft bread singed into toast and a dish of butter in the middle with some strawberry jam on the side for Peter's picking.
'I'm sick of this,' he thinks. Staring at it all. 'Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs, copy and paste. Rinse and repeat. Every goddamn fucking morning, Aunt May.'
Was this placid meal spread on repeat because the man at the deli started being extra nice to Aunt May and giving her free discounts? Probably. Maybe Peter should pay the man a visit after school in in suit. These good intentions could be less than innocent. And suddenly Peter could see the man cornering his poor little Aunt May in the street. His large frame shadowing his Aunt, her expression morphing in to horror as his hand slowly reaches down.
"Peter."
"Yes, Aunt May?" He looks up. She sighs, hand crossing the table to cover his own.
"You can tell me anything, Peter. You know that right?"
Peter stares at her. Registering the tone of voice and look in her eyes. 'She knows,' he thinks. 'She knows what I did.'
For a moment Peter sat silent and thought about what to do. He's very fond of Aunt May. She took him in, nurtured him and cared for him without demanding anything in return.
And without Uncle Ben around along with his income, this home will be a shit show real soon and they'll be tossed out onto the streets. Him left to take care of a frail lady with a beautiful future filled with expensive labs and corporate funding flushed down the toilet.
Some old part of his brain was yelling at him, but Peter quickly shoved it into a box and sat on it.
"Huh." He cocks his head, thinking some more as he stares at her age lines.
Taking it all into considering, what does Peter owe Aunt May? What does he owe this decaying elderly woman that will turn him homeless? He doesn't owe her anything in comparison of his soon-to-be wasted college fund. Living in an orphanage would be better than being on the streets.
That old voice pounded against the box and Peter grips the knife and fork in his hands hard. He didn't like this hesitation. The last time he was hesitant Uncle Ben died in another man's piss.
The pounding in his mind's box began to hurt.
"Now, why did you have to go and ask that, Aunt May?"
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JARVIS stops him in the elevator the moment Peter returns from patrol.
"Sir, wants to remind you that the curfew you agreed on was 5pm."
It's 2am right now and Peter stares up at the speaker of the elevator. Fists clenching and tingling in beautiful pain after their workout on some guys from downtown. He could still feel their fragile, pathetic bodies coming apart in his hands like rice paper. Peter wants to check recent news reports, eager to see whether the police got his message yet. He hopes so.
Captain Stacey's misery isn't over yet no matter how much he begs on live television.
'What a weak-willed man.'
"You are late by seven hours, twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds."
How can a machine be so petty.
Is he mad?" Peter asks, curious to see whether this would be enough to earn a reaction from Stark.
JARVIS is silent and he clucks his tongue.
"Huh."
"Mr. Rogers expresses his concern and disappointment, he hopes to sit you down for a talk tomorrow before breakfast."
"I'm thrilled."
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Peter remembers a time when he forgave people.
He also remembers how they all shoved it back in his face and repeated the same tune over and over and over again. It burns him now, to think back at those times.
What did he expect, really. People don't change out of kindness.
They change from pain.
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Captain Stacey was the one who was in charge of finding his Uncle's murderer. He was also the one who gave up.
Peter didn't like that.
The man had called and expressed his sincerer regret. Selling the story of a regretful police officer who had failed in their duty to uphold Peace, Justice and Liberty along with other artificial bullshit.
The man should have just shot himself in the head.
Honestly, Peter could have mistook the man's tone for a company asking for charity; it was so full dog crap. He had quickly realised, after the dial tone beeped and the man had hung up, that he simply lacked a decent amount of sympathy. He was unable to empathise with Peter's desire to catch the killer.
Captain Stacey didn't understand what it felt like to have a loved one get murdered.
It didn't matter to Peter that he'd already caught the man himself last night - it was the principle of things.
"I'm going out, Aunt May," he tells the woman sitting still on the stained couch. Putting down the receiver he bends over to kiss her wet forehead. "Don't wait up."
For some reason those words make him giggle.
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Just as promised, Steve gives him a talk next morning. He comes early, knocking gently on his bedroom door and seating himself down on the bed.
"So?" Peter prompts, straightening from the silent judgment.
"You must be going through more than I initially imagined," Steve says, expression underlying the concern he held.
"Huh." Peter didn't realise humanity still had the capacity for that.
Maybe it's because he's from a time where it was still around.
"I'm sorry for all that you've been through, Pete. No kid your age should have to deal with this. When I fought to end the war, I had an image in my mind of a world without suffering. That ending one war would somehow cure everything."
Peter laughs immediately, looking down and biting his lip to keep it in. Steve smiles wryly and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"Yeah, but it kept the hope alive. Kept me fighting."
"Are you telling me I should be hopeful?"
"Depends on what you should be hoping for exactly." Steve shrugs, "What's eating at you?"
'Everything' he doesn't say. Choosing his words carefully, he says, "I guess I'm just lost. My Aunt was attacked in her own home and I couldn't help. Just like with Uncle Ben. I'm useless."
Steve grips his shoulder in a way of comfort. Eyes soft. "Don't blame some sick bastard's idea of fun on yourself, Pete. I know your Aunt wouldn't want that."
Peter pretends to not find amusement in the irony of his words and nods with the appropriate amount of sadness. "I'll try."
"Then I guess what you should be hoping for is moving forward. Have you got any friends to confide in?"
'Gwen…' Peter thinks with a sigh, remembering the sound of bone snapping and his hands soaked in her warmth. "Not anymore. I kind of…pushed her away."
Steve nods seriously, obviously taking Peter's loneliness as something grave. "Then know you have me, along with the others."
Others being the Avengers.
'A bunch of fucking hypocrites,' he thinks. Smiling at Steve, "Thanks. That means a lot."
And Steve, the gullible moron that he was, buys it wholeheartedly.
"Don't mention it Pete, you're family now."
'I'll kill him,' Peter's bruised hands twist in the bed sheets. 'I swear to God I'll fucking kill him. I'll kill him is he calls me Pete one more Goddamn time.'
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