The bell startled Peter awake. He peeled his head off of his desk and began packing up his backpack, fuming to himself for falling asleep. He would have to find someone to borrow notes from.
"Mr. Parker, your test." Mrs. Deponte said, placing a sheet of paper on Peter's desk. "Please attempt to do better next time."
Peter blinked at the page. She must have made a mistake. This is ridiculous! A D minus? He had never gotten a score in math this low! Aunt May if going to freaking murder me. How can I take this home?
Peter had a moment of panic. Aunt May knows everything. Even the things she doesn't know. She'll find out what Peter has been doing, why he hadn't been studying. What has Peter been doing exactly? What she told him not to, that's what.
Last week when he'd stumbled in the door half asleep and half dead, he'd had to tell her sooner or later that he had a bullet in his leg. It wasn't as if he could leave it there forever. Aunt May had promptly freaked out, called an ambulance, and made up a not very dependable cover story for how Peter had been shot. Noon the next day, Aunt May and Peter had returned home, the latter on crutches. That day was uneventful. Peter spent it on the couch watching the news. As it turned out, people thought Spider-Man had been killed. Half the reporters were happy about it, the other half were upset.
That night Aunt May had made sure he was in bed before she went to bed. She told him that if he tried to get up before eight the next morning, he would pay. A difficult thirty minutes later he had managed to get his suit on and was out the window. His suit was still torn and covered in blood and grime, but he really needed to get out. It wasn't as if he was going out looking for a fight, he just needed to do some web-slinging to clear his head. He made sure to stay out of sight. Maybe it was better if the press thought Spider-Man was dead for now.
Peter then proceeded to do that every night since, and had managed to keep both the press and Aunt May unaware. Between web-slinging, keeping an eye on the news, and patching up his suit, Peter had hardly had any time to study for this math test.
Really, you'd think being a super hero would make you more dependable, not less reliable. Peter thought with a sigh. Only your second day back at school and you're bringing home a D in math.
Peter shoved the test in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed his crutches and stood up awkwardly. Apparently, he was healing extremely fast -Peter blamed the enhanced DNA- and didn't need the crutches anymore, but he still felt that he should make it look like he was recovering. Better safe than sorry, y'know.
Peter spotted Gwen in the hallway and panicked a little. He turned around and started walking the other way.
"Peter!" There was the sound of several dropped books and heels clicking as Gwen ran to him. "Peter!"
The only reason Peter stopped was because it sounded almost like she was crying.
Gwen stared at him for a moment, then touched one of the healing cuts on his face. She cupped his cheek in her hand.
Several times while web-slinging, Peter had found himself heading in the direction of Gwen's house. Then he would see Captain Stacy's eyes as he made him promise, the trust he had seen in them before he closed his eyes the final time. He had been the reason Captain Stacy died, how on earth could Gwen forgive him? How on earth could he go back on a promise he made to a dead man? If Peter didn't know any better, he might say that he was being haunted.
Peter placed a hand over Gwen's, and felt a stab of guilt in his chest. He closed his eyes so he didn't have to see the tears falling from Gwen's.
"Everyone said Spider-Man died." She said in a broken whisper.
Peter's eyes snapped open. How could he have been that inconsiderate? Her dad died in that fight, and he let her thing that he had, too? "Gwen, oh God, Gwen. I am so sorry." What else to say to her, what can he say? How can he make things any better?
Gwen shook her head and before Peter could do anything, she was standing on her tip-toes kissing him. Right in the middle of the hallway.
For a split second, Peter wanted to run. He couldn't let himself do this. He couldn't love her, because he had made a promise not to. Then, he decided he would allow himself one last guilty pleasure. He let his crutches fall to the ground and kissed her with everything he had left in him. He poured everything he could into that kiss, hoping that would make it easier for them to let go. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that it would only make it hurt more.
The second Gwen broke the kiss, Peter dropped to the ground on his good leg, grabbed the crutches and hobbled off as fast as he could.
Peter tripped and cursed loudly. He gripped the handles of the crutches so tightly that the metal crumbled in his hands. Enhanced strength and agility, yet every freaking crack in the sidewalk managed to trip him.
Y'know what? Just screw these. Peter took a few steps without the crutches, and while his leg didn't feel as dependable as it should, it didn't hurt. So he rested the crutches on his shoulder and walked the rest of the way home without them. He didn't even bother to pretend using them as he approached the house.
Aunt May sat on the front porch reading a book. Peter managed to catch the title of it before she closed it and laid it cover down in her lap. He resisted the urge to laugh. "Raising Different Teens?" Somehow, Peter didn't think she was going to find anything about coping with your teenager crawling up walls and taking out thugs.
Aunt May ignored his mocking her reading choice. "Peter Parker, you put those crutches on the ground and use them!"
"Aunt May, I'm fine. Not even a limp."
She gave him an unhappy look, but didn't argue further. "Let's get inside. It looks like it's going to rain soon."
Peter went straight up the stairs and into his room. He only had a few more cuts to patch up on his suit and he was done.
Throughout the day, Peter had decided that it was time that Spidey showed his face to New York again. Sure, being Spider-Man was difficult, but it was his responsibility now. Without him, the lizard would have destroyed New York. Then again, without Peter the lizard wouldn't have ever existed.
He grabbed a key from his desk and put it in the only electrical outlet in the room that wasn't being used. A small drawer popped out of the wall, just big enough for him to fit his suit. It was a near perfect place to hide it, because who in their right mind was going to put a key in an electrical socket?
Only issue was, his suit was gone.
For the second time that day, Peter went into panic mode. He slammed the drawer shut and locked it back, throwing the key on his desk. He made sure the window was still locked and looked for any signs that someone might have been there. His web-shooters and gloves were still in his nightstand drawer, the last place he had left them. Everything was there except his suit.
And suddenly the situation had Aunt May written all over it.
Peter practically flew down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Where's my suit?"
Aunt May continued preparing dinner casually, not even looking up. "What makes you think I took it?"
"Really." Peter deadpanned. "Really?" He started to walk out of the kitchen and turned right back around. "You're going to ask that. Okay, I really need to finish patching up my suit. Can I please have my suit back?"
"Why the rush? You're not going anywhere as Spider-Man with that leg of yours for another few days."
Peter sighed and sat down in a chair. He would get the suit from her later. "Aunt May, you realize that I'm going back out there eventually?" She didn't respond. "I can't ignore it and act like it never happened."
Aunt May turned around to face Peter. Her eyes were filled with tears. "I know. I wish... I just want you to be safe."
Peter clenched his jaw and looked away. "I have to do this."
"No you don't Peter. It isn't your job."
That hit a nerve for Peter. That night he had tumbled through her window, not knowing where else to go, Gwen had told him the same thing. He stood up and walked upstairs. He walked into his room and his phone was buzzing on his desk. The screen told that he had seven missed calls from Gwen.
Peter considered calling back, but sat down and listened to the voice mail instead. How am I supposed to manage staying away from her?
"Do you ever answer your phone? What was up with you running off today? What happened last week with the lizard? Why haven't you let me know you were okay? We need to talk, Peter. Call me." Gwen's voice sounded somewhere between angry and teary.
Peter put his head on his folded arms and cried.
Author's Notes: Oh geez, Peter just can't win. TT~TT But seriously, I hate this. I tweaked it a lot already, and completely re-wrote it once... but I still don't love it. Aaaanyways, thanks to all of you that take the time to favorite follow and review! (I still love this fandom! X3)