He opened his eye. His only remaining eye. He stared at the ceiling. The bare, dirty ceiling that was his own. Far from the place he had once owned, it was a dingy place in hells kitchen. It was the only place he could afford. One week after being released he had been fired. Apparently being in a violent car crash wasn't a good enough reason to explain his month long absence.

That's bullshit, he thought as he struggled to pull on a pair of pants. How many fucking times did I save their lives? He continued his internal rant as he made his way to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, he caught his image in the mirror. His horrible, disfigured image. Something that nightmares where made of.

"Mommy, what's wrong with that man's face?" a child had blurted six days after his release. He had been job hunting at several establishments when it had happened.

"Christopher don't point," the child's mother said in a hushed tone as they passed him by. Reading her body language, he could tell that his appearance disturbed her slightly. In fact it disturbed everyone around him.

He couldn't blame people either. He might be scared if the roles had been reversed. But that wasn't his case. And his bitterness flowed over into his interpersonal interactions. The first time MJ had come to see him, before he had been evicted from his apartment, he had slammed the door in her face before she could speak. The same thing happened when Carlie showed up the next day, only he had managed to crack the door handle in the process. That had been the landlord's final straw. His rent was overdue, and several other residents started complaining about his 'attitude problem' whenever he walked past.

And right now, his standing with his current landlord wasn't that good either. Because he had gone through his second job in two months, money was tight and he was only barely able to afford the first month's rent. The second one had forced him to sell most of his possessions. And in two days time, he would be forced to leave if he couldn't come up with six hundred and seventy-five dollars.

"Fuck," he panted as he put his hand down on the sink and stared at the glass of water that kept the glass orb that was his left eye. He pulled it out and leaned back so he could fit the orb into the empty socket. "couldn't heal my eye, huh?" he grunted at his reflection, "No scarring in the socket, but no eyeball? My-" He was interrupted by a loud knocking on his door. Not bothering to put his prosthetic arm on, Peter stormed over to the door. He pulled it open with a simple motion, revealing a man in blue jeans and a black leather jacket. The man also had a muscular build and short-cropped blonde hair.

"Peter I-" Captain America began.

"Go to hell," Peter snapped before slamming the door on him. He turned from the door and returned to his bedroom. Reaching down under his bed, he pulled out a box. It was a long box, with a simple wood finish. He gingerly placed it on the bed before unclasping the lock. Inside was something that he treasured more than his own life.

His Spider-man outfit. He had fixed it shortly before losing control over his body, so it was in absolute pristine condition. He ran his fingers over the fabric, letting the tears flow as he did so. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. After all he had given the city of New York he wound up losing everything because those people he had trusted most failed him.

"I did good, Uncle Ben," he said to no one. "I did good. I helped people in any way I could. And look what happened? I lost everything. I lost everything because-" He was cut off by the phone ringing. Stumbling across the room, he clicked talk and pressed the device to his ear.

"This call is to notify you that your power will be cut off if you do not p-"

"Ahg!" he shouted as he threw the phone across the room. It embedded with such force that it stuck into the wall. He didn't bother removing it as he pulled on a shirt. Nor as he put his arm on. Nor before grabbing his keys and walking out of the door, into the empty hall. He kept a brisk pace as he walked down the hall, brushing past two other tenants. One of whom he knew was a drug dealer, and the other was one of the customers. A month ago, he would have stopped them. Now he simply didn't care like he used to. He could have called the police on them, but he knew they where to incompetent to do anything. He pushed the glass doors that led to the outside world open, becoming bombarded by sounds as he walked through the early morning streets.

He walked for an hour, not realizing where his feet where taking him until it was to late. He found himself standing on the spot which Captain Stacey had been killed. And to make matters worse, he found himself surrounded by six men.

"What're you doing out here all alone, stumpy?" one man said as he cocked his head to the side.

"Ya lost?" another asked with a sarcastic smirk, "need a hand?"

"Piss off," Peter snapped, not intimidated by these men in the slightest.

"Ohhh!" the first man chuckled as he drew out a knife, "punk's gotta mouth on him. Who the hell do ya thi-" Peter cut him off by grabbing his throat and tossing him to the side with ease, before turning and lashing out with his foot, sending another man flying. Two of the thugs drew knives and charged Peter, who ducked under one of their arms and slammed his fist into one man's stomach.

"Bitch wants a fight!" the first man said as he got to his feet. "Thinks he's daredevil or something!" He continued as he pulled a gun out of his jacket and fired off a round, which Peter dodged before striking the man's wrist, breaking it. "fuck man! What the hell are you?"

"You wanna know who I am!" Peter roared as he grabbed the man by his throat and started to choke, only for sirens to wail around the corner, forcing Peter to drop the man as two cops stepped out of the car.

"What's going on here?" one cop said as he pulled a gun out and pointed it in Peter's direction. "We've got a call about a mugging in process and-" He stopped as he saw the people on the ground, moaning. "You're coming with us!" the man shouted as he holstered the gun and pulled a pair of handcuffs, as did his partner as he exited the car.

"Get those fucking thing away from me!" Peter shouted as he stepped back. The officer clearly didn't listen, as he took another few steps forward, and Peter was forced to strike the man across the face, sending him sprawling. The look on all the faces he could see was of pure shock. He turned and ran before anyone could say anything. He turned down an alley as he heard sirens, indicating that he was being followed. He leaped up onto a dumpster, using it as a springboard to launch himself onto the roof. Knowing the police would never look for him up there, he sat down and listened. He blocked out all his other senses and just listened to the world around him. The rush of the traffic. The idle conversations of the pedestrians below. The chirping of the birds. It was all like a musical instrument to him, soothing his brain and telling him everything was going to be okay. He was so caught up in his bliss that he never suspected something might be coming at him from behind. Something black. Something small. Something alien.

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"Well that could have gone better," Steve said as he entered the meeting room. Two other Avengers where already standing inside, Tony Stark and Jessica Drew. Stark was dressed in a sharp black business suit, while Jessica sported a more casual outfit consisting of a blue blouse and black jeans. The walls where lined with metal, giving the room both a modern feel and extra structural support.

"What did he say?" Jessica asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

"He told me to piss off," Steve replied curtly as he took off his jacket, "before slamming the door in my face. Not an unexpected reaction." The three of them had been trying to re-recruit Spider-man into the Avengers for the past month, even if it was only in a support role.

"He probably doesn't think he'd be able to contribute enough," Jessica offered with a slight shrug. "I mean, before, he always doubted himself. Now, well..."

"Now he has plenty of reason to hate all our guts," Tony cut in as he slipped a hand out of his pocket. I tried to offer him a job. Pepper tried to offer him a job. He turned us both down."

"Well to be honest Tony," Steve said with a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. "He's got more reason not to like you than anyone else. Given what happened a couple years ago." All three of them stood in silence as they remembered the horrible series of events that had led to an internal superhero war. They where still dealing with the repercussions from the government and media to a certain degree. And among all of us, Steve thought privately, he suffered the most.

"So..." Jessica asked, breaking the silence. "What now? Do you want me to talk to him? Or try to, at least?" Steve and Tony both shook their heads in unison. "Or are we just going to leave him to the wind and wait for him to become a super-criminal?"

"That's not going to happen, Agent Drew," Steve half snapped as he turned out of the room, grabbing his jacket as he did so. He walked down the hall at a brisk pace, turning left then right, heading for his private quarters in the mansion. He pulled his duffel bag out from under the bed and tore it open. Inside was a pair of workout shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He stripped himself of his clothes and replaced them before heading out once more.

He sped past the briefing room, in which Tony and Jessica still stood, discussing something in private. But he paid them no attention as h passed them by, heading strait for the workout room. The doors slid open with ease, revealing a room stocked with the latest high-tech gear. But Steve, being somewhat old-fashioned, headed for the simplest piece of equipment in the room. The sandbag was hanging against the wall, which had a peculiar fist-shaped dent.

He lashed his fist out at the sandbag once, testing it. Tony had been sure to tailor it's structural system to be able to handle a super-powered punch. Or several, as Steve was feeling particularly frustrated. He struck it again. And again. And again. Each blow was stronger than the last, shaking the base to it's core.

"May I offer you a refreshment, Captain Rogers?" A wry sounding voice with a distinct British accent said with poise. Steve turned to see a sharply-dressed Edwin Jarvis holding a tray filled with glasses filled with an assortment of fluids.

"I told you not to call me that," Steve said as he gently took a glass filled with a clear liquid that he assumed was water. Could be Vodka, Steve thought to himself as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "My name's Steve, Jarvis."

"You are a former member of the American military with a distinguished career," Jarvis said sharply, with a slight smirk. "And I shall address you as such. The same is with Major Danvers, and she has more of an issue with it than you do, Captain." He continued as Steve took a sip, Lemon water, he thought with a tilt of his head, why people have a problem with tap water is beyond me.

"Who dented the wall?" Steve asked before he gulped down the entire glass's contents.

"That would be Major Danvers," Jarvis said, losing his charmed tone and replacing it with a more serious one. "She was in here until the early hours of the morning. I believe she may have missed her target and hit the wall instead."

"Carol doesn't miss," Steve replied as he ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "She never has. Why would she start now?"

"If I may speak candidly, Captain Rogers," Jarvis replied stiffly, as he turned to leave, after giving a polite bow, "I believe she has been missing her target for quite some time now."

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"That's not going to happen, Agent Drew," Steve said before turning on the spot and leaving.

"I sure as hell hope not," Tony said as he set his hands down on the table. "But how can you help a guy who refuses to even talk to you?" he said as he racked his intelligent brain for answers.

"We just have to wait I guess," Jessica offered with a slight shrug. "Maybe once he calms down about...his body, he'll come around."

"To you maybe," Tony replied as his head sunk down even lower. "You didn't threaten to throw his family in a prison for super-criminals, did you?"

"Well no but-" Jessica began.

"Then how can you tell me how I'm supposed to get him to forgive me?" Tony asked as he reared back ton his full height. "It was my tests that failed to expose that ruse. It was because of my actions that hiss family was put in danger. It was-"

"Give him something he wants," Jessica shrugged as she turned to leave. "That's all the advice I can offer. Just give him something he wants." She finished as she walked out the door, leaving him alone to ponder his thoughts.

"Howard," he said as he pressed a button, and a hard-light projection of a prototype AI popped up. He was dressed just like Tony remembered his father being, moustache and all.

"Yes Mr Stark?" Howard said as his image flickered slightly.

"What's the status of Stark International projects XXIV and XXVII?" he asked as a thought came to him.

"Prototype stage completed," Howard replied as he paced the length of the holotable. "The first shipment should be ready within the week, Mr Stark. Do you wish to see the records?"

"No," Tony replied as he tapped his fingers across the table. "Bring up Armour model mark 47, will you, Howard?"

"Planning to do a little retro-fitting, are we Mr Stark?"

A/N: So Peter's life sucks right now, doesn't it? But is he being fair to the Avengers by refusing them? And what do you think Projects XXIV & XXVII are?

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