A/n: What if I wrote a horror fic about sweet Peter Parker. Yeah, that's what I did. Unbeta'd though, 'cause we die like men.

Peter watched the dusty flakes of smoke and ash being blown away by the wind. He thought about how impossible it was for the ash and the dust to not have been lost in the torrential downpour. The rain was falling in what he felt could only be described as waves. Big, fat raindrops splattered onto the neck of his hoodie and collected there. He tried to shake it off, but the water seemed to pool just as fast as they were removed, so he left it.

The sounds of the oncoming traffic did not manage to distract him from the small tornado of smoke in the air, moving towards the back of the alley he was standing at the entrance of and farther away. It was enamouring he was more fascinated but the fact that it had caught his attention for so long than the fact that it even existed. Peter quickly shook his head, to both rid his neck of the water and his brain of the image. Dizziness overtook him for a moment, the thoughts about earlier evening invading his mind obtrusively.

He was an inquisitive person though, so he pulled out his phone and captured the phenomenon on video, for future reference and walked away from the alleyway. He had been warned against such places from early childhood, no really, toddlerhood. But between him being him and him being Spider-Man, creepy places that should be avoided at all instances would have at least one customer. The old man whose wallet was robbed and then returned to had left a while back and the perpetrator had fled the crime scene when Peter had only gotten one web in. The scene they had both left though, was almost magical and Peter wanted to keep looking at it forever in order to forget what he had witnessed and acted upon earlier.

He had to physically call out to his brain to turn away from what was happening and to keep walking home. He climbed up the stairs, leaving watermarks behind that the building janitor would clean up, and if not, May had a mop in the closet. He touched the doorbell and flinched when it sparked and maybe fizzled. He wrung out his fingers and tried it again, eliciting a satisfying 'ding' for his efforts. It was closely followed by a 'dong'. The door opened to reveal a very frazzled May.

"Where have you been ?" She didn't add a 'young man' after that. She didn't need to.

"Sorry May, got stuck assisting an old man against pickpockets." That was true. Partially. He had also done something unspeakable a while before but she didn't need to know that. He dropped his bag on the couch and grabbed a towel from the back of a chair, for two reasons. To get dry and to cover up the blood at the back of his head, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"It's 12:30. Past midnight Peter. I was this close to calling the police." Peter saw right through her 'calm' tone. May was angry and rightfully so.

"I promise it won't happen again. Sorry." He rubbed the towel against his head, trying to dry off his hair without rubbing too hard and risking aggravating anything. May sighed and Peter couldn't tell if it was relief of exasperation. Maybe even defeat.

"Go change into something dey so that I can hug you without getting wet."

Peter obliged. No snarks, no witty remarks. He was tired, exhausted, something which ran bone deep. He quickly changed into something much more comfortable and settled into bed.

He couldn't close his eyes without having the scene replay in his head.

"Gonna cut you, into pieces. Maybe hang you from a hook. That's how fresh meat is displayed, innit?"

He inhaled sharply and shot up from the bed.

"Ugh, ever heard of a breath mint? Or toothpaste?" Peter asked his captor who held his close to his chest, knife at his neck. The blade cut deeper into his neck but not enough to draw blood. He thought that the pocket knife he had with him would have done a better job at slicing and dicing.

"Itsy...bitsy...spider..." Peter stepped down on the man's boots. The man's steel toed boots. Great, he thought as the man noticed his action and brought him higher against his grip, high enough for Peters forehead to scratch against the man's beard and for his feet to leave the ground. The dull knife blade dug deeper in and Peter let out a hiss when blood started to trickle slowly.

"Wha...whaddya want?" He asked, the last syllable pitching higher than he intended.

"Meddled in our operation, didn't ya, ya nosy little brat?" Peter had taken down a drug business a while back, but that had been a very small group of people. He had promised May to not take on big tasks unless, well, he was tasked with them. There had been a few punches thrown and a few received but he had managed to take down four people. And he did not recall seeing his current captor in that group.

"What op..eration?"

"Acting dumb now, are we?" He twisted right then, so that Peter's face was towards the brick wall of one of the dilapidated buildings. The man pulled back Peter's head and slammed it into the wall. He turned him again and this time, slammed the back of his head into the wall. Again and again and again and again and again until Peter was left seeing stars and feeling nauseated.

That was at 7:00.

He jumped up, clutching at his heart, fisting his clothes. The man had died 15 minutes later. At Peter's hands.

He had killed a man.