Never Meant for This to Happen

by my love addiction

Two weeks after the Lizard incident, Peter stumbles across something that could be the key to his past. And Gwen's there, too while he tires to find himself, making him want to cave in on his promise to stay away. One thing's for sure, though: whether he keeps any promises or not, all of them turn his life upside down. Sometimes he wishes he had never promised her dad anything...

10. Chapter 10

Okay, here's chapter ten. I hope you guys liked the last chapter; it took a lot of time and effort. Be sure to check out my little one-shot I made from Gwen's POV on her feelings after she loses Peter and her father.

Third person POV. AU. Post-movie.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Amazing Spider-Man.

"Oh, Peter – it's nice to see you again. And this must be your aunt?" Mrs. Stacy asks, sticking out her hand for Aunt May to shake. Peter gives a small, shy smile and nods. Aunt May takes Mrs. Stacy's hand before pulling her in for a quick hug.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Stacy," she says quietly. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

It surprises Peter when Mrs. Stacy's eyes don't turn down to the floor at the commiseration like Gwen had told him. Maybe it's the fact that Aunt May can relate to the pain and empty feeling that runs through Mrs. Stacy's body and mind.

"Thank you," Mrs. Stacy replies. "And please, call me Helen."

Gwen enters the front entrance from the hallway, her hair now down in soft curls compared to the high ponytail she wore earlier at school. She smirks at the sight of Peter after giving Aunt May a warm greeting. "What? No fire escape this time?" she mouths at him behind her mother's and Aunt May's backs. Peter glances at the two older women who are already chatting away merrily and drifting over to the living room. He shakes his head, smile growing wider. Gwen moves over to him with her head tilted to one side, eyes scrutinizing him in a way that makes him blush self-consciously. Why did she always have to make him feel this way?

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He stares at her for a moment, baring his teeth a little as he thinks about her statement. Finally, he jerks his head back and forth and shrugs. Gwen smiles knowingly and slides her hand into his. "I should've known," she murmurs, dragging him into the living room.

The two youngest Stacy boys, Phil and Simon, sit watching the TV, sitting so close to the flat-screen that their noses practically touch it, engrossed in the latest Spider-Man spectacle that happened late last night. The Daily Bugle News station was still covering it. Blushing, Peter hesitantly slides into the seat next to Aunt May on the couch. Simon turns around briefly to wave 'Hello' at him and say "Hey, it's branzino guy" before turning back to the television. Gwen laughs from her spot on the couch next to Peter. Aunt May and Mrs. Stacy chat over little things like home decoration and the weather and that God-awful hairstyle that the mayor's wife just got. Gwen joins in every once in a while, but mostly her attention is trained on the TV like her brothers – and Peter.

It's weird to watch himself from someone else's perspective, especially when he's in the middle of something as serious as last night's bank robbery. He couldn't focus on anything other than aiming right and making sure none of the five suspects got away. All were caught – thanks to him – but like always, the police made it seem like he had broken into the bank himself, even though the security tape showed that he had been clearly fighting the criminals, not aiding them. When the Spider-Man feature ended and the news anchors moved on to the 10-day forecast, Phil and Simon turn around. They're locked in a heated argument over which Spider-Man shows are the coolest.

"No, it was the one with the fire! He jumped from, like, a sixth-story window and still managed to hold on to that little kid."

Phil shakes his head. "You're way wrong: his best one's obviously the one from a few weeks ago when the S.W.A.T. people cornered him. There must've been twenty of them and he still got away! Even Gwen was all worked-up about it." Peter looks over at her, a little shocked at the sight of how pink her face is. She clears her throat loudly, earning a questioning look from her mother as she stops mid-sentence about explaining her favorite casserole dish to Aunt May.

"What?" Phil asks, turning to her.

Gwen shakes her head back and forth in miniscule motions, eyes flitting over to Peter beside her.

"What?" Phil repeats, a smile spreading across his face. "Worried your boyfriend will find out you obsess over Spider-Man more than him?"

Peter's eyebrows shoot up and he tries desperately to suppress a smile, but to no avail. Gwen throws him an agitated look before sticking her tongue out childishly at her brothers and their evil smiles. "Cute," she says, the sarcasm dripping into a great, big puddle with the one word. Peter chuckles softly as her brothers laugh at her expression.

"It's true, though," Simon states eagerly, crawling over to kneel in front of Peter, hands on his knees as he leans forward, looking as if barely holding himself back from revealing a juicy secret. Peter risks a quick glance at Gwen before playing along.

"Really?" he asks in a shocked tone.

"Yeah." Simon's face is now glowing with enthusiasm. "She watches him on the news all the time when she gets home from work."

Phil, coming to sit down next to Simon, nods excitedly. "More like stalking," he adds candidly. "It's like, 'Gwen, he's not on the news every night. He has to lay low once in a while!' She never listens to us."

"Nope," Simon agrees. "So we decided we should just get Spider-Man to somehow come meet her and tell her to back-off. We barely get any TV time anymore!" Simon's bottom lip puffs up in a pout and he crosses his arms. Peter, looking amusedly between the two boys, laughs.

"Sounds like a good idea," he says, turning to smile at Gwen. "This doesn't seem like some healthy obsession."

"Yeah, we even think Gwen has a crush on Spider-Man!" Simon blurts out, then erupts into laughter. Phil rolls his eyes. "She watches him as if he's her boyfriend!" Peter leans back in his seat, eyes focused on Gwen who's gaze is trained on the couch cushion's design. She picks at an invisible loose thread, hiding her flaming cheeks.

"Well, it looks like I have some competition," says Peter quietly, an idea forming in his mind. A buzzer goes off, and Simon and Phil spring up from the ground, happy expressions on their faces. They groan and run into the dining room, followed closely by Mrs. Stacy and Aunt May who offers to help, leaving Peter and Gwen to themselves. Finally, Gwen looks up.

"So I was right, you do stalk me."

Gwen gasps, a defensive gleam in her eye. "No," she says loudly. "It's not stalking when you're just making sure you won't have to disinfect a needle and thread or fill a syringe full of morphine for later in the night."

"Ah; good point. Did you always think I'd come to you…if I got hurt?" Peter asks hesitantly, avoiding her eyes.

"Honestly, yes."

"Oh."

"It's just so embarrassing when they tease me like that," she whines, changing the subject to a lighter one. Peter laughs.

"Do they do that a lot?"

"Yes, unfortunately. When they have nothing better to do. It's even worse when Howard's around but he's probably in his room talking to his girlfriend." Gwen makes a face. "They're going through that 'Honeymoon' phase and it's really annoying when you have the room next to his and they talk until one in the morning every night. The walls are only so thick."

Gwen's mom calls the two of them into the dining room and they sit down around the table, Aunt May seated next to Peter and Mrs. Stacy, Peter seated in between Simon and Aunt May. Gwen sits across from him, shooting him coveted, knowing smiles when no one's looking. He returns them second-naturedly. Howard comes in a little late, mumbling something about homework, and Gwen gives Peter a frank look. Howard sits down where Captain Stacy usually sat (at the head of the table), looking at ease.

Barracuda proves to be a much easier fish to eat than branzino. Simon does, however, lean in next to Peter and gives a few tips on how best to cut the fish open. Peter nods, biting his lip as he tries to not harm the kid's ego. Mrs. Stacy's determined to learn as much as possible about the Parker family, keeping a constant stream of questions flowing from her lips with a few starts and stops for Aunt May's or Peter's answers. When one question comes to what Peter does in his free time, there's an odd silence that emanates from Aunt May, as if she's just as fascinated in his answer as Mrs. Stacy is.

"Uh-"

"Peter's the photographer for the school newspaper and yearbook," Gwen cuts in hurriedly, not confident that whatever Peter would say would be convincing enough. There's a short pause before Peter nods jerkily and stutters out his agreement. Aunt May leans back in her seat, lips pressed together in a thin line, but she seems to have accepted Gwen's response.

"Oh, really?" Mrs. Stacy asks, oblivious to the slight chill between her two guests and wave of tenseness stemming from her daughter.

"Uh, yeah. I – er, take all of the group photos for the yearbook…and paper…" Peter trails off, twirling his fork in his noodles distractedly. Mrs. Stacy nods.

"Well, it's been a while since I looked at Gwen's yearbook, but I remember her debate team photo. That was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he says with a slight blush, glancing at Gwen hastily before resuming his staring contest with the grilled fish in front of him.

"I have it framed at my office, it's that good!"

"Mom," says Gwen, a pained look on her face. Gwen's mother ignores her and continues.

"People compliment on it all the time," Mrs. Stacy says cheerfully. "You have a talent." Peter gives her a tight-lipped, weak smile, then ducks his head as his blush intensifies.

"Tell me, Peter," Howard says suddenly, leaning towards him with an evil-looking grin. "Is it your favorite picture? Do you like to admire your work?" Peter looks up, his mouth slightly open as comprehension dawns on him quickly. But how could he have known? "Ow!" Howard exclaims suddenly, jumping in his chair. Peter fixes his eyes on Gwen who's got hers narrowed at Howard.

"You've been reading my diary, haven't you?" she hisses at him under her breath, leaning across Phil to get closer to him. Peter sets down his fork, butterflies acting like tornadoes in his stomach and pushing away any appetite he had before. Okay, so Gwen's brother basically knows he had stalked his sister for a while. Great terms to be on when he's pretty sure Howard's now the man of the family. He blinks a few times, trying very hard to keep his face from drooping with embarrassment.

Mrs. Stacy, once again oblivious to the other chill climate that has settled around her dinner table, rambles on about how she had a friend who was interested in photography during college and is now the editor of the Daily Bugle, and if Peter would like an internship outside of the one at Stark Expo, she'll be sure to call up her friend and mention him. Peter nods, thanking Mrs. Stacy, and then after a few more aimless conversations about the freak storm terrorizing the southeast states, dinner's over. Gwen carries the dishes into the kitchen and Peter tags along while the others head back into the living room.

"That was nice of your mom, to offer to help me like that," Peter begins softly, drying the first saucer that Gwen hands him. Gwen nods absently.

"Mhm. She really likes you."

"Oh…well, that's – er, nice."

Gwen doesn't say anything, and Peter sees that her hands are shaking as she moves the sponge around the inside of a pot. Suddenly, she throws the sponge down and sighs.

"Ugh, sometimes I wish I could just leave. Leave and not come back for – for a week. That's all I ask." Peter remains silent, unsure of what to say for the moment. Gwen had been great (well, they were only together for a few days) at not letting Peter deal with her ranting about personal problems – girl problems that seem so sensitive to them when in reality, they're not. But he can feel an outburst coming on, now. He's seen the guys in the hallways that just stand there and watch with bored expressions as sentence after sentence of 'she-said-this' and 'I-can't-stand-her' that fly from their girlfriends' mouths. And they don't say a thing. There's a word for those kinds of guys: whoosh-crack! Whipped. Big-time.

He could never bear to tell her that he doesn't want to listen to her, but if they are honestly going to be together again, he doesn't want to be the boyfriend that just sits there with blank eyes, too scared to say anything about not wanting to listen. He wants to help her, get involved. He's too much of guy to just let the rumors of him being just like those other guys spread around. Well, now would be a good time to practice preventing that.

Say something, you idiot! he screams at himself. His mind reels. What can he say without hurting her feelings? He's not the greatest at verbal communication.

"Why?" he finally blurts out, thinking that her answer would be a long and extensive one, giving him time to think. He's so wrong.

Gwen fixes him with a critical stare, slowly picking up the sponge again.

"I'm sorry about Howard. If I've told him once, I've told him a hundred times not to sneak into my room and go through my things."

He gets the message that she's obviously switching subjects, shocking him even further, but he keeps a cool face, even managing to crack a small smile. "No, it's fine. I really didn't mind. I think it's actually cute that you make up stories about me drooling over you."

"Not drooling," she says with a smile. "And they're not stories, either. If you must know, I wrote that your uncle told me you have a picture of me on your computer – and it's not just because you had to take a picture of the debate team and 'touch-up some stuff' on it." She knocks shoulders with him and he laughs, remembering that significant conversation the two of them had in the hallway after he smashed the basketball hoop. In a way, he had officially asked her out then, although the asking had been hidden in a stream of 'or we could…'s and 'I don't know…'s.

She had said yes and that's all that mattered at the time.

Gwen sighs again, this time more lightly. "I've been thinking about the project," she murmurs, looking at him while rinsing off a dish. Peter nods, keeping his eyes on the pot he's drying thoroughly. "And I think you should know why Stark wants it built. I know you've been wondering. Nearly all of his scientists are wondering." He looks at her finally, confusion painting over his face at the seriousness of her voice. After cleaning the last pot, Gwen shuts the water off and leans against the counter.

"Do you know about the deal Stark made with OsCorp a while back?" she asks softly, looking down at her sweater.

"I don't think so."

Gwen nods. "Yeah, I thought so. Not many people remember it but it also helps to know that we were only five when the deal was made. There was only a small article about it in the paper, and even then it didn't describe anything that's true." She pauses, tapping her fingers against the granite countertops. "You know that your father and Dr. Connors came up with those spiders; they're their creations. It was their boss's idea to set them free in the wild and see how they adapt, though. Norman Osborn was sick, and being the man that he was, he didn't like it, so he branched off of Dr. Connor's idea of creating a better world, but this time with the spiders. Those spiders had only been…the proof Dr. Connors needed that cross-species genetics could work – Dr. Connors never thought that they could be the ones that…saved lives, I guess. But living proof's right here."

She leans towards him, fixing her eyes with his. "At first, your father went with it. That's why he designed the project. Osborn had called Stark in and asked if he could somehow convince the government that setting the spiders free was a good thing, despite the risk of exposing humans to the spiders. Stark's always had the government in his pocket since…you know…the whole Iron Man thing and Stark weaponry, so Osborn thought that Stark could easily persuade the government to go with it. Stark agreed, but after the first decline, your father saw the danger in the plan. He tried to tell Osborn and Connors this, but they were too hooked in the plan that they didn't listen. So your father gave Stark the design and probably destroyed the instructions. After the second decline, they shut the plan down, and Stark was no longer needed. And then your father…was gone."

Peter's eyes widen slightly, switching back and forth between the two of hers as it all sinks in. When it finally is soaked deep into his brain, Peter shakes his head.

"How? How do you know this?" He can't ask enough questions, and they fall tumbling after one another. "How do you know so much?"

Gwen closes her eyes, releasing him from the depths of them. "It's not important. I just wanted you to know the original plan before I tell you about Stark's plan."

"Stark's plan?" Peter repeats, eyebrows coming together. She nods, opening her eyes again to look at him. Her mouth opens, but she snaps it back shut quickly, shaking her head back-and-forth.

"I don't know the entirety of it, but I do know that it has nothing to do with the spiders. He wants it to track people. Obviously not normal people, but human-like creatures. I think you know which ones I'm talking about, right?"

Flashes of a giant, green professor, a man with a hammer, and a WWII soldier play like a flip-book through his mind. The green professor just smashed a car with his bare hands. The man with the hammer just made a lightning bolt fly down from the sky. The soldier just threw a shield with the force of a semi.

Those human-like creatures.

Peter nods weakly and Gwen carries on. "When Stark's team of these people dispersed, two of them disappeared and now he's trying to find them. Stark must've thought that this was the best choice he had."

"You mean, this is all just for some reunion?" Peter asks with cruel humor. "It's not to help for the – the greater good or something like that?" Gwen shakes her head.

"Peter, please don't take this the wrong way when I ask if you think this might help you…discover who you are or what you can do, because I don't think it will."

He chuckles sarcastically. "I already know who I am, Gwen."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He does know. And to be honest, he had been thinking that maybe this project, despite proving himself worthy of being his father's son, would somehow lead him to answers. Answers about his father. About his powers. About the spiders, even, since Dr. Connors isn't here to explain. Just…answers.

"What do you mean you don't think the project might give me answers?"

"It's too subtly planned. It's not involved. I can't see any way that you might find something about why your parents left or what exactly is going through your body and making you…like this," she finishes quite lamely, eyes running from his face to his toes. "I just don't want to see you get your hopes up, only to have them let down when you find nothing."

His hardened eyes soften. She's taking care of him, watching out for him even though he's very capable of watching out for himself. Except, he has been lacking in that department for a while now, hence the large bruise (that has finally begun to fade) that's painted over his left cheek, the 'x' slash marks on his right forearm from that crazy jewelry thief that made an offensive move on him the other night, and the slight limp as he walks around delicately nursing his right ankle since he landed on it funny last Tuesday after jumping from a building to avoid the police. He's been too wrapped up in taking care of everyone else and making sure he isn't caught by the police that he's been a little reckless with himself when it comes to defending.

Maybe he does need someone to take care of him.

He nods and closes his eyes, hands moving to cover his face and scrub viciously. He hears Gwen approach him, and the feeling of her arms wrapping around him gets his heart beating a mile a minute, yet calms his whole mind down completely, leaving him in one of those adrenaline rushes that he gets after an exhilarating night out. Instinctively, he removes his head from his hands and clasps them together behind her back, pulling her closer to him. When was the last time they hugged like this?

Oh, yeah. Saturday. It feels like it's been a year.

Is this what it's like to feel in love? To feel as if every look, every smile, every touch is separated by a million years when it's only been a day? An hour? To long for the looks, the smiles, and the touches every second of every minute of every hour of every day? He can't say; he's never been in love before, but this must be it.

He sighs her name into her hair as she tucks her head under his chin. She squeezes him tightly as if to say she agrees with him. That love is unpredictable, and irrelevant, and impulsive. But tangible. A little dangerous, but that's all part of it. Love comes with dangers both expected and unexpected; comes with problems anticipated and unanticipated. He may not have signed up for it, but he sure as hell will go through with it.

She's worth it.

She leans back to smile at him softly, but he has something completely different in mind. He bends down until his face is a distance so close to hers, she goes cross-eyed just to see him properly. He smiles, lips hovering above hers as he takes in the moment. The anticipation in his stomach since this will be their first real kiss since they stopped talking to each other. The confidence he has in himself that he only tends to have when he's got a mask on. The want and the love that just seems to ooze everywhere from her – from him. Finally, it's too much and he gently captures her lips with his.

It's a much awaited kiss. The ones shared at the party were heated, passionate, but cloudy. Distant. A little time-consuming. Not…them. They weren't present in the kisses. They weren't themselves. Now in this moment – when they're both sober – it's like the earth has suddenly stopped spinning; everything's gone silent; everything's gone still. Except for them.

Yes, this is what it's like to be in love. To have your soul shattered into a million pieces. To have the earth shake at a 7.9 magnitude beneath your feet. To feel the tug of your heart yet the push of your body to get nearer to the one you love. To feel as if your whole body's vibrating with the tingling sensation running up and down your spine. To feel as if every accomplishment ever made is nothing compared to the feeling of accomplishment as your lips connect with the one's you love. To feel as if every breath taken has been leading up to this one point in time when a reunion becomes a first, and a first becomes a reunion.

Tender. Sweet. Serene. A peaceful intensity. The kiss is best described with those words, but it seems as if no words could ever label the kiss between the two that shared it. Neither one pulls away, but it somehow ends with deep breathing and foreheads pressed against each other. Smiles set on lips. Eyes closed with contentment. They both aren't entirely bothered when Gwen's mother walks in, asking if the dishes are done yet. They slide deftly away from each other, hiding the smiles and creating embarrassed looks to twist up their faces. Mrs. Stacy once again the victim of walking in on a kiss.

Peter and his aunt leave soon after Mrs. Stacy walked into the kitchen. Gwen walks him to the door, fingers intertwined with his. He doesn't kiss her good-night (he's under the watchful eyes of Aunt May, Mrs. Stacy, Howard, Phil, and Simon) but she leans in to whisper in his ear.

"Come by later? Please?" She draws back to read his expression. He's stiff for a moment, reveling in the words that he's wanted to hear for a while now, before nodding and giving her one last smile, one last longing look. Then he leaves.

He's back at the Stacy apartment around 10:30 that same night, sliding her window open silently. She's sitting at her desk, typing something (probably an English paper) and he comes up behind her, just standing and watching with amusement as she taps her fingers on her desk restlessly, often hiding the document to check the time now and then. Smirking, he places his gloved hand over her twitching fingers. She jumps in her chair and whips her head around to look at him.

"No more coffee."

The startled expression on her face vanishes and she laughs – genuinely. God, he loves the sound.

"I don't drink coffee," she says, smiling at him.

"No more energy drinks."

"Good guess, but still no."

"Then no more chocolate houses."

She laughs again, leaning towards him to rest her head on his stomach. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and she stands up, smiling up at him as if he's her favorite person in the world – but he probably is. "Fine, no more chocolate houses." He rolls his jaw and smiles at her, baring his teeth faintly like he always did when he was nervous. "What's on your mind?" she asks softly, one of her hands placing itself on his cheek, hiding the bruise on it.

He just shakes his head and shrugs, probably deciding that no words are better than a whole parade of incoherent ones.

"You know that only tells me your mind is full of things?"

He looks at her, lips twitching up in a half-smile. "No, only one."

She blushes a little, looking to the floor to compose herself before staring into his eyes again. And then she's lost in his eyes and he's lost in hers and it's the same moment like before with the soul shattering and the ground shaking and the body tingling and everything else.

Silence; even the noises of New York have dimmed enough to leave behind a tranquil hush. The world holds its breath as their lips touch once again to continue from where they left off the last time.

And then it's explosions, the sounds ricocheting off the walls, the bass of them reverberating the whole room until it vibrates. A loud hum fills his ears as her bottom lip fits between his, where it's supposed to be, where the both of them favor it to be. Fireworks could be going off in her room and the both of them wouldn't even notice. The whole team of the NYPD could be storming the building and they wouldn't even notice-

A siren is what breaks them apart. She clings to him suddenly, knowing that that's his cue to go. He hasn't even been here for five minutes. Or maybe he has. The clock reads 11:02, nearly twenty minutes since she last checked it before Peter came. He inhales quietly.

"I have to go," he whispers, forehead pressed against the side of her head.

"I know." Her voice cracks. This is expected. This is natural. It's part of being with him. So why is she crying? "Will you come back?"

He leans away from Gwen, dark eyes smothering her on the spot. "I'll always come back."

She ducks her head and he slides out of her grasp, moving towards the window. He's bending low to put one foot out – She seizes him quickly, grabbing his suit as best as possible and dragging him towards her. Her frantic lips find his shocked ones within a heartbeat, crushing against them as she pushes him towards the wall. He runs into her shelf, knocking over a few books in the process, but he's pretty sure she could care less for the moment.

The kiss: desperate and needful, a little wild and passionate, representing their feelings towards him leaving each night, unsure of whether he's going to return or not, even though he's so very careful. No matter what the odds are, there's always the other side.

The sirens grow louder, and her fingers finally unclench from his hair, his hands finally stop bringing her closer and closer. A soft sigh comes from one of them.

"Don't lose anymore sleep because of me," he teases, though there's a hidden command in there, too. She backs away from him, allowing him room to slip out of through the window easier. His face peers into her room one last time before a mask is thrown over it, and then there's a whooshing sound, signaling he's gone.

Of course she's not going to sleep.

~ sm ~ sm ~ sm ~ sm ~

He was almost finished with his run. In fact, he was on his way home when the sound echoed up from one of the darkest alleys on the street flying below him as he swung from building to building. A scream, a sob, then a cry for help. A cruel laugh, one he's heard a million times now. Instinct took over him, and he dropped into the street at the mouth of the alley, moving stealthily down it hidden in the shadows. The first drop of rain hit his shoulder, then a second hit his cheek, and then it started down-pouring quite suddenly as he squinted through the darkness to see the two figures in front of him better.

Another sob rang through his ears, and Peter pounced. He shoved the attacker to the ground, pinning him there, water coming down in sheets all around them.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to make a good first impression in the rain since a bad one means bad luck? Always obey the superstitions; take it from a guy who knows." The man, apparently, did not hear that because he appeared lifeless on the alley's ground, seeming to have been knocked out cold on impact with it. Peter got up from on top of him, shaking his head disgustedly. It's those kinds of guys that really pissed him off. He had turned around swiftly at the sound of another sob, and from the weak light of the lamppost across the street, he saw the other figure lying slumped against the wall.

"Mary Jane?" he whispered. She flinched when he said her name, her whole frame shaking from head-to-toe. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she opened her mouth to speak – Pain. Searing pain ran through her shoulder and down his arm. Peter whipped around, throwing the attacker off balance and causing him to trip. Peter quickly put a hand to the back of his right shoulder, and ignoring the slippery feeling of blood beneath his hand, kicked the knife away from the attacker. The attacker cowered on the ground, but Peter, having not enough energy to do much about him, just flicked his wrist (not with his right arm) and pinned the man to the ground. He fell to his knees beside the now-unconscious Mary Jane and heaved her onto his shoulder.

He'd have to run.

~ sm ~ sm ~ sm ~ sm ~

His shoulder's on fire as he finally reaches Mary Jane's front porch. He barely stumbles up the steps (his legs are killing him) and rings the doorbell before falling to his knees once again. He's lost so much blood. So much. Everything's going hazy and pale. The door opens, breaking him free of his little disorientation.

"Mary Jane!" someone cries out. She's lifted from his hands, and he uses the door to help himself up. "Is she alright? Will she be okay?" Peter scarcely nods, his breathing becoming more and more ragged with each new second. "Oh my God, bless you, Spider-Man. Thank God you were there. If there's anything…"

The rest of the words are lost as he scuttles off of the Watson's porch and down the street to crawl up a house and leap from roof-to-roof until he reaches his own. Everything's now going from pale to black when he slides through his open window and peels off his suit, careful to avoid the gash in his right shoulder. He shakes his head a few times to wake himself up as he wipes his shoulder clean and wraps a towel around it tightly.

Eventually, the black is too strong to suppress and he's soon drowning in it.

It's all over the news the next day.

'SPIDER-MAN SEEN TAKING REFUGE IN QUEENS – POSSIBLE SIGHT FOR THE VIGILANTE'S HOME'

He feels like he's drowning again when he sees it. He does do a pretty good job of hiding it, though, when Aunt May asks him what he thinks about it. He had merely blinked at her, stuttering out a "What? Are you serious? That's so cool!" and endured a small lecture about upon seeing Spider-Man in the neighborhood, Peter would not go up and pester him and demand to know where he lives.

Now he feels dirty staying here, exposing Aunt May even though they're in the confines of the kitchen. He can't stand being here a second longer. So after grunting out a good-bye, he bolts from the table, leaving a half-empty bowl of cereal and a confused Aunt May. He only just makes it out of his neighborhood without getting run over by a news van. They're everywhere; up and down the street, around the next block, driving slowly up and down alleys. Peter doesn't dare start swinging to school until he's ten blocks away from his house.

At school, the hallways are buzzing. People stand in tightly-packed groups, talking fervently about who lived in the neighborhood and possible people they might know that could be infamous hero. Peter's constantly jostled by people who won't move away from their groups for one second, and the effect makes the burning in his shoulder almost unbearable.

Gwen's waiting at his locker when he gets there, tapping her shoe (she's wearing a skirt and boots again) and biting her lip, nervously adjusting her black headband. Her eyes flash when she finally spots him among a huge crowd of juniors. Her mouth drops open before shutting quickly again, and she shakes her head.

"What happened?" It's a blunt, simple question, but he can't find the words to it.

"Uh-"

"Peter, they caught you on video!" she hisses lowly, stepping towards him. He nods. He had seen it, too. The stoplight camera capturing him running across the street, a flash of red and blue and tan from Mary Jane's coat. It's shows an obvious footage of him running up to Mary Jane's front porch and him leaving, but not going back in the direction where he came from. It doesn't take a genius to put two-and-two together.

"I – I had to…get the girl back to her home…"

"She's your neighbor?"

"Yeah."

"You should have at least doubled back or – or come to my place and wait."

"I didn't know there were cameras…and I don't think I would've made it."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asks, her face going an unhealthy pale. Suddenly, she's wringing her fingers so tightly, her knuckles skip the white and go straight to a suffocating purple. He takes them in his hands, prying them away from each other. She sighs.

"It's nothing, I just got a little cut…" He trails off after remembering the way the gash looked this morning. Still a divot, no longer bleeding, but red and white splotches all over and dried blood caked everywhere around it. Gwen's face falls and a crease forms between her eyebrows.

"Why didn't you come to me? I could've helped."

Peter swallows, grimacing slightly. "I was just so close to home…and it was already late. I didn't want to wake you up."

Gwen laughs.

"Peter, please don't be worried about how much sleep I get. It's nothing compared to if you bleed to death one night or not from a cut you can't stitch up yourself."

Peter smiles softly, the happiest he's felt all day though he still feels like crap. His shoulder stings, his head is throbbing, and suddenly, everybody's whispering about him and three other guys in the school who supposedly live in his neighborhood. He's now labeled as a possible candidate for Spider-Man. Great.

Peter groans and envelopes Gwen in a hug, crushing her gently against his chest. She inhales heavily, face pressed into his chest.

"I've got you," she whispers. "I've got you."

Wow. That was a very long one. Next one I hope to have up by Friday. If not, yell at me to do so in your reviews. I really liked this chapter, but of course this is just my opinion. Please review if you feel like you should say something.

Enjoy-

TeamSwiss737