AN: Wow, there's actually a lot of people interested in this and that makes me very happy. I'll keep this AN short, since you're all probably more interested in the story than my blabbering on and on, so - A big thank you to all those who reviewed! Here's chapter 2!

Chapter One: Flying and Falling

The week after the Chitauri invasion passed in a blur for Peter.

He remembered getting back home, finding it demolished, talking to the paramedics, than the police but the last two were faded and smudged out, any words said were like spoken underwater. Everything just seemed too distorted and fuzzy, like a bad photograph. His memory disappeared further every time he tried to recall any particular detail. Truthfully, he didn't want to remember at all. He'd give anything just to forget.

He'd spent the first night after it happened in the police station, in shock and hardly speaking. He hadn't slept, hadn't so much as winked. The next day he got a call from Gwen somewhere about 6 AM. She'd been in hysterics. Apparently she'd been trying to call him all day yesterday, both during and after the Chitauri attack, right up until her battery died. She was safe, thank God, and so was the rest of her family.

After he'd managed to calm her down, which had taken up a good ten minutes, he'd told her – in the same, monotonous, listless tone as before – that he was at some police station he hadn't cared to catch the name of and she'd stormed in there just half an hour later.

When he saw her, flustered yet determined, with her blond hair disheveled and falling haphazardly around her shoulders, it was suddenly easier to breathe. Peter hadn't even realized how suffocating and dark the world had become in the past couple of hours, but he was suddenly all too aware of it when he caught a glimpse of Gwen.

Gwen, who'd he'd also promised to keep safe – like he'd promised to keep Aunt May safe – who'd he'd promised to keep away from, both to her late father and to himself. But that didn't matter, at that moment, nothing mattered. Just Gwen, only Gwen.

Peter had stood up as if in a dream, his feet shaky from all the hours trying to sleep sitting up on a wooden bench, and his vision might have blurred for a second or two. Then Gwen was hugging him. She was hugging him for dear life and Peter just stood there, stunned and too numb to move. Then he was hugging her back too, with everything he had and silently vowing to himself never to let go.

They'd stayed like that for a few long, meaningful moments. After they broke apart, Gwen had all but ordered him to come with her, explained who she was to the officers in charge and pulled some strings. Fifteen minutes later they were heading to her house in silence.

Gwen tried to start up conversation a few times, just to distract him from everything that was happening, but her attempts soon died down because there was honestly nothing to talk about other than the Chitauri and the consequences the day before would have on all of them. It was decidedly something Peter did not want to think about, though he knew he'd have to face it eventually.

The apartment building the Stacy family lived in was mostly undamaged, since it was a good distance away from the city center, but the way from the police station to there was littered with signs of the fallen invaders. Their corpses had been cleared out, thankfully, but blood – both alien and otherwise – stained side-walks and the walls of buildings. Cracked concrete and wrecked cars were so abundant on some streets they'd probably remain closed for the next couple of days, at least.

When they got to Gwen's apartment, Mrs. Stacy opened the door with a tight smile. She was going out to see if she could buy some groceries, since most of the stores were closed it would be pretty hard though. Peter graciously accepted her offer to stay for as long as he liked and headed over to the sofa.

Gwen disappeared somewhere into the apartment, knowing Peter was better left alone at this point. The twins didn't bother him either and he hoped it would stay that way, at least for the next couple of hours.

Too exhausted to dream, Peter slept.

The days with the Stacies passed slowly and quickly at the same time. It was surreal and Peter knew it wouldn't last. He'd wander the apartment, wander the city on the few instances he'd gone out and talk to Gwen when she'd all but forced him to sit down and look her in the eye.

He felt like a caged animal.

He visited Aunt May in the hospital, where she still lay comatose. He hadn't for the first two days but after he'd forced himself to go and see her, for what he knew might be the last time, he went every day after that. Though there was no change in his only remaining, living – a lump lodged itself in Peter's throat just thinking about it – relative . The doctor's said she'd fallen into a coma and every time the same bloody man asked him if it was time to pull the plug and move on. Every god-damned fucking time. Peter understood that the hospitals were flooded and vacancy was next to none, but it took everything he had not to punch the living daylights out of that arrogant bastard.

He'd come close a couple of times too.

Sunday evening was uneventful as ever, and the play of normalcy stuck like expired glue, but he'd sat down with the Stacies and they'd had dinner. Peter had announced he was leaving.

Gwen had protested immediately, but after some discussion and her mother's input, she backed off. Peter was glad for that, though he knew he wasn't off the hook.

He decided he'd just wake up early, leave a note or something and be on his way. It was disrespectful, he knew, but Peter was too exhausted to care. He needed time to himself, time to forget.

Sleep evaded him that night and he spent hours just staring up at the living-room ceiling.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was suddenly in his own house as debris and handfuls of concrete rained down, walls cracked and an all too familiar scream he hadn't been there to hear – „Peter! Peter! Where are you?!" – filled his ears.

His eyes snapped open. The not quite familiar ceiling stared back at him.

That was it. Peter needed to go, now.

Peter needed to forget.

He needed to forget about Peter, just for a while.

Peter was flying.

He soared above the streets of New York, swung from building to building like a spider's thread carried by the wind. The night sky opened up above him, as if beckoning him to come closer, go higher and higher until he could finally reach all stars suspended in it's darkness.

He felt free, weightless, for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Up here, there was no responsibilities, no dying Aunts in hospital beds, no Gwen to keep away from, nothing to anchor him and sink him back to the hell his life had become in just one short week. There was absolutely nothing. Not even Peter – especially not Peter.

It was just him, New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

His body flexed and bent in his red and blue spandex, but he was hardly aware of his muscles moving. He was hardly aware of anything, really. Just the buildings and the obstacles in his way. His mind was strangely blank, but he wasn't complaining. Some reprieve from the dark thoughts that had been haunting him would do his mental state some good. He swore he'd go crazy if he thought too much on what he'd do after everything.

He was tight for money, he only had what he'd taken with him the day the Chitauri attacked. He could probably access Aunt May's bank account and she'd probably left him something in her will, but he'd rather not dwell on that for as long as he didn't need to. He was still a minor, technically, but his eighteenth birthday was in two and a half months and orphanages were stock full as it was.

A coiling rage twisted and simmered in his gut, like a snake waiting for its prey.

He fired off some web from his web-shooter with more force than necessary. He swung wide and low, just above the roofs of the abundant traffic. He was so absorbed in his silent anger that the abrupt scream made his lose his grip and some fall twenty feet before he'd regained his senses. His ears throbbed, but hey, that was what you got from super-enhanced hearing. Not that he was complaining about having super powers – because, hello, they were super powers – but next time he'd like something along the lines of flying or shooting laser-beams out of his eyes to hearing the old man across the street snoring his ass off. Or the little, tone-deaf girl next door playing violin. Or the dog barking at 4 AM...

But Peter guessed it was pretty good when alerting him to muggings and whatnot. So, really, he shouldn't have been complaining.

And this was what he'd been waiting for, wasn't it? Nothing said stress relief like beating up thugs in the middle of the night in red spandex. No, really, it was true.

He let go of the thick web and let himself fall.

Again, he felt free as the air whipped past him.

After all, flying had become just like falling for him, hadn't it?

The next morning Peter had breakfast at some dingy old diner at the edge of town. The food was okay, more or less, and more importantly it was cheap which to him made all the difference.

He missed Aunt May's homemade meals – not the Mrs. Stacy wasn't a good cook, but it just wasn't the same.

Peter ate the food without really tasting any of it, made sure he got everything on his plate too, since he wasn't planning on having lunch or anything. It would be just breakfast and dinner for him from now on, he needed to save up as much money as possible until he got a job. Taking pictures for the Buggle had always been a good source of income, but it just wouldn't cut it anymore. He had to find some day-time job now too.

J. Jonah Jameson had been surprisingly lenient on him too, since he hadn't turned in any pictures of their alien invaders – he'd been too busy saving people's lives, but hadn't been able to save everyone, now had he? He still had his post if he could still snap a couple of pics of either the Avengers, the many baddies around town and, of course, Spidey. But to Peter that just proved that Jonah was indeed human, who would have guessed, right?

Wiping his mouth, Peter was about to get up when the old TV on the counter crackled to life.

„...will be rebuilt. In other news, Anthony E. Stark aka Tony Stark aka Iron Man has released a statement to the press, informing on further procedures regarding the war criminal Loki Odinson. As stated by Mr. Stark, Loki Odinson will be punished on his native Asgard, by their laws. The government and Avengers team had all consented to this idea and claim that the criminal will by no means be escaping justice–"

„Hey kid, you gonna pay or what?" Peter jumped as the abrupt voice cut through his thoughts. He'd been so absorbed in the news report he hadn't even noticed that the waitress had come up to take his bill.

Peter shook himself „Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah."

Thankfully, she hadn't startled him enough for him to stick to the ceiling. Yeah, because that would have so fun to explain. Fishing out his wallet, Peter paid for his meal and threw one last look at the TV. The news broadcast had moved on to the weather.

He ran out the door.

He swung above the city late into the night. After the incident at breakfast, he'd needed to clear his head. Peter hadn't come down since. The wind whipped around his lithe form like it had that morning, but instead of it being the welcome caress of a breeze, it was biting cold. His limbs felt somewhat like jelly, just parts being tugged this way and that by invisible strings – well, maybe not, his web was as real as they got.

He felt lost, like he had after Uncle Ben died, disembodied and lost. Peter had thought that he'd regained his purpose, yesterday, that he'd found a way to keep on going by continuing to be Spider-man. If he continued to save people... It was what had saved him last time, hadn't it? It had almost been the thing to end him too. Revenge.

Spidey was a thing born out of a radioactive spider bite and his own personal vendetta. But it had become more than that, hadn't it? He'd managed to help people, to save lives, be the kind of man Uncle Ben would have wanted him to be! Didn't that count for just as much?

But what now, genius? What good had it all been to him when the Chitauri invaded, when Loki crash-landed on their planet and decided it was the next species he was going to butcher?

Loki.

That name sent searing bolts of anger down Peter's veins.

And they were letting him go! The government! The Avengers! Just like that! Like he hadn't killed off hundreds of people and destroyed their homes and ruined the lives of the remaining survivors. What the hell was up with that?! Why let him go after all he'd done?!

No, stop it. Stop it. Peter shouted at himself internally. You came up here to clear your head, not to mess it up further.

Taking a deep breath, Peter listened for any signs of trouble, anything to distract him.

He wasn't Peter Parker up here, he was Spider-man. And he had a job to do.

There. He could hear the ear-splitting crackle of breaking glass some hundred meters away from him. He smirked to himself. He couldn't hear any alarms going off, so that meant the local probably hadn't been revisited after the invasion and the alarm was either busted or off-line. Well, that was what he was for!

Swinging 'round a ten-story apartment building, he stuck to the edge of the wall. It had the perfect view of the convenience store across the street. Which was deserted. How convenient.

Swinging down, he dived low and barged through the broken window to land upside down on the ceiling. The robber – and there was only one...? – didn't notice him at all. Well, too bad for him.

Smirking to himself, Peter crouched on the ceiling and fired off twin blasts from his web-shooters. With a shout, the guy found himself stuck to the wall by the shoulder and wrist. The money fell from his hands and onto the tiled floor.

The man struggled in his new-found restraints.

„Let me go!" he yelled, his head swirling this way and that in search of his invisible attacker.

Peter jumped down from the ceiling, further startling his prey.

„Yeah, not gonna happen pal."

Instead of cursing, like any good thug in this town would, the man perked up. „Spidey! No, please! You gotta listen to me! I need the money!"

Peter frowned, though the robber couldn't see it „Um, isn't that why every robbery happens?"

The guy shook his head adamantly „No, Spidey, listen! You gotta let me go! I have a family to take care of!"

That made Peter freeze.

„What?" he breathed.

The would-be robber hardly seemed to notice „My family! We ain't got anything anymore! Our house's been destroyed, my wife's in the hospital, I've go two mouths to feed at home!"

Before the guy could prattle on any further, Peter snapped back to his senses.

„Wow, wow, wow." he said, in a way to stop the other from babbling „Don't you have a job?"

The man snorted a bitter laugh into his chin.

„I got fired a couple of days ago." he said „Apparently, the company I work for is in shambles after everything and their cutting off anyone they don't need."

It was like the dark, angry cloud Peter had tried to escape caught up with him full force.

„Son of a bitch." muttered Spider-man.

The robber outright laughed this time „Yeah, my thoughts exactly."

The guy chuckled, shaking his head, before he raised his eyes to meet Peter's. „But you get it Spidey, why I have to do this?" he said it more as a statement than a question. Something in those words, in that tone, made Peter deflate. Peter almost didn't have the strength to contradict him. Almost.

„You still could've found another way."

The panic from before was back in those wide, brown eyes suddenly. The shadows cast from the street-lights outside contorted over the man's face, making any and all other features virtually undistinguishable „No, Spidey, please! Don't take me in! If I go to jail, what's gonna happen to my family?! My boys! I know this was stupid okay, I was desperate, I'm sorry! Just don't take me in!"

I was desperate, I'm sorry!

I knew it was stupid.

'But he did it anyway' thought the spider 'didn't he?'

'But he did it for his kids, right? So he wasn't really doing anything bad...'

'He was committing a felony!'

'For a good cause! He wasn't hurting anybody!'

'Good cause? Hurting anybody? What if he has a gun and he's just waiting to fire it off and escape! What then, smart ass?'

'He doesn't have a gun.'

With great power comes great responsibility.

Enough.

Peter sucked in a haggard breath. Let it out.

He made his way over behind the counter, where he'd first webbed the guy to the wall. Brown eyes watched his suspiciously, but the man said nothing. Peter could see him a bit better now. He had big ears and a short beard, laugh-lines embedded in his face and bushy eyebrows. He couldn't tell the skin tone or the color of his hair still, they were too well-hidden in the shadows of the robbed store.

Peter closed his eyes, took another breath.

Then he opened his eyes and stared the middle-aged man straight in the face. He knew somehow that this guy wasn't lying. Peter's hand reached out and grabbed his own webbing – it felt both like silk and a sticky cord at the same time, don't ask him how, it did – and pulled on it until it tore.

He did the same with the webbing on the man's wrist.

When had things become so messed up?

Once the man was free, Peter said „Walk."

The guy just looked up at him, stunned.

„What?" he croaked.

Peter put an arm on his shoulder, lead him out to the broken window up front „C'mon. You don't wanna be here when the cops get here."

The man turned to him, wild-eyed. „What about the money?" he asked, looking back to the counter.

Peter looked back too, both at the money on the floor and the still open cash-register. He webbed it shut, then sent another cluster of web to cover the money on the floor. It would be gone in a couple of hours, by then either the police or the owners ought to get here and clean up this mess.

„Alright," said Spider-man, turning to the robber „now we can go."

With that he grabbed the man and webbed his way up a building, swinging low through an alley before gaining height over an intersection a block away. He could feel the guy clinging to his right side, but didn't turn to look at his expression. They kept quiet for the most part, if you ignored the little squeaks and yelps the man let out. It would have been hilarious had it been any other time.

Some minutes later they came to a six-story apartment building a little ways from the center. Peter let go of his charge as they landed, making the man stumble. The street-lights barely reached the roof they stood on.

„Wait here for a second." commanded Peter „Don't go anywhere."

Even in the shrouding darkness, Peter could tell the guy was grinning „Wouldn't dream of it."

Peter just shook his head. Wouldn't dream of it. Yeah, right.

Choosing not to dwell on it too much, Peter climbed down the wall. He found the bundle of spider web and cloth under the stairs of the emergency exit, just where he'd left it. He fished his wallet from the backpack he'd hidden there, among his day cloths – a backpack that now pretty much contained all his possessions – and headed back to the roof.

He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not that the robber was still there, patient and waiting for him – no weapon drawn, making no move to get away.

It brought him a bit more confidence in what he was about to do.

„Here." he said, shoving the money he'd taken out of his wallet previously into the other's large hands. It wasn't that much, really, but it would have paid a week or two of cheap takeouts.

The guy looked down at it, incredulous. „Wow, hey, Spidey, I can't accept this."

Peter shook his head. „I'd feel better if the money in your pocket was from me, rather than someone who slaved over something you stole."

The man looked at him then, silent and pensive, before he nodded – almost to himself, almost like he knew the turmoil Peter was going to.

„Alright. Thanks."

His words were as if spoken underwater.

Peter shook himself. No, he was Spider-man now, he still had a job to do.

Then what is this? A failure or a success?

„Where do you live?"

„Uh, suburbs on the west side."

You don't really know, do you?

„Right. C'mon."

It took them over forty minutes to get to the east side, but that was mostly due to Peter being distracted. When they got to the area the robber lived in, the guy started directing him to his street. When they arrived at the corner, buildings becoming just two-stories and Spidey jumping from street-light to street-light, he lowered the guy down by a strip of web.

The man looked up – to wave goodbye, to thank him, to tell him it was all a fraud and he'd been an idiot to fall for it – but Peter was already gone.

Peter squatted atop the nearest house, watching the guy.

His would-be robber looked around wildly, called out a few times before he must have realized what a fool of himself he was making, standing on the middle of the side-walk at some unholy hour shouting the web-slinger's name.

Then he stood there. Just stood and waited for a while, looked this way and that, and Peter could have sworn his eyes had lingered on the building he was on, but he couldn't be sure.

Eventually, the guy walked away, down the street and past the almost identical family houses before he climbed the steps of one two-story. He stuck his key in the door and vanished inside.

That wasn't too much of a problem for Peter though. He jumped over a few rooftops and exited on the next street parallel to his robber's, then jumped across and ran until he had a good view of the robber's small, unkept backyard and his kitchen window.

It didn't look like a palace or anything, but he'd seen far dingier places in his time too. It was a sad sight though, and Peter somehow felt perverted as he watched the guy's wife set the table, the kids running in, his felon coming in – bare-handing and looking like nothing had even happened – kissed his wife, kissed his children on their foreheads, sat down with his family.

Peter had that, once upon a time. It was so long ago, Peter hardly remembered what it was like to have dinner with his parents, but he remembered him and Uncle Ben hiding Aunt May's casserole under the table and just last week the new recipe Aunt May had used for lunch and just how much he missed all that. He missed being normal.

Peter didn't even realize how much time had passed until the lights went out in the house and the backdoor jingled open. His robber sneaked outside. From his perch, Peter watched him, frowning.

„Hey, Spidey, ya' still here?" the man called when he was standing in the middle of his back-yard. It looked kinda like he was trying to communicate with extraterrestrials or call a UFO to use his back-yard as a parking lot. The man's unintentional silliness made Peter feel a bit better. A bit lighter.

„Yeah, I'm here. How'd you know?" Peter said, swinging down and perching on the wall of the adjoining building.

The man just grinned up at him. „Never took you for the stalker type, Spider-man." he joked. „Call it a feelin'. Would be wrong for the hero to let the „baddy" just slip away into the night without at least knowin' somethin'."

Peter rolled his eyes.

„Yeah, well, don't do it again. I might not be able to turn a blind eye next time." That was a lie, through and through, and Peter knew it.

The man – would-be robber, maybe father, possible fraud – smiled. Maybe he knew he was lying too.

„Thank you."

Maybe he didn't.

AN: I tried to make the scenes with the robber as believable as possible, not sure if I succeeded though... I wanted to explore a new aspect on what happens to people after the Chitauri and everything and Peter angsting and questioning his morality - well, that's a bonus. What do you think guys? Good? Bad? Yes? No? Any suggestions and criticism is welcome! Review?