A/N: Yes, it's been a while. I'm so so sorry. And I don't even have an excuse. So, dearest apologies, enjoy the chapter and good day everybody.

June 10th, 2016

Peter tapped his foot as the subway cart ricketed to a stop. It stopped, the doors opened, and Peter weaved through the crowd. They weren't too happy with him running, but it was not like he would ever see them again.

The rest of the way to May and Ben's was autopilot for him. He hadn't managed to go out as Spider-Man for a few weeks since it was a no-go at the tower. Friday would rat him out immediately, and that would be the end of his vigilante career.

Once Peter arrived inside the empty apartment, he threw off the baseball hat and sunglasses disguise he had (the one Tony insisted he wear whenever leaving the house alone) and put on the suit. Then, Peter opened his bedroom window and climbed out of it.

He swung throughout the city, stopping car accidents and minor thefts as he went. Really, they were getting a bit boring and predictable. And then he saw a guy run out of a store, carrying a duffle bag. The dude was pushing everyone out of his way and ran straight across a busy street to avoid god knows what. Peter set off after him, determined to catch up to this guy.

It wasn't very hard; in all honesty, swinging was so much faster than walking. A cop began following the thief a few seconds after Peter, but Pete got there first and webbed the guy up to a wall.

Peter picked up the duffle bag. "Does this belong to you, Mr. Criminal, sir? Cause, ya know, stealing isn't nice."

"Fine, you caught me, you eight-legged creep." The dude scowled, but he didn't try fighting against the webs. Then, something behind Peter caught his attention. Peter turned his head to see the cop standing there, panting. The police officer in question was the one and only Ben Parker.

"Spider-Man." Ben nodded at him. "I got it handled from here. Thanks for all your help." Despite his words, Ben didn't sound very pleased.

Peter took a step backward, staring Ben in the eyes. He cleared his throat. "You're welcome, sir. It's not a problem."

Ben tensed for a second and pulled out his gun while Peter's spider-senses flared up. Just as he realized it was because of the criminal and not Ben, he felt a sharp pain on his right side. There was already blood oozing from where the knife had cut him. He turned around and saw that Mr. Criminal had managed to cut through the webs and was now running.

"I'm fine," Peter said through clenched teeth. "Can you just get the guy?"

Ben pursed his lips at Spider-Man's tone but didn't say another word. He chased after the guy, and Peter climbed up the wall Mr. Criminal had previously been webbed to. He lifted the hoodie, inspecting the cut. It wasn't that deep—just a gash—but it stung like hell. It would, however, heal up soon, which (hopefully) meant it wasn't a cause for worry. Peter waited on the roof for a few more minutes before swinging off to do something else.

—

Peter swore as he saw the time on his phone. May had a late shift, but Ben had said he would be home around 6:00 pm, which meant there were six minutes to get to the apartment and change out of the Spider-Man suit.

Luckily, he wasn't too far, but as Peter entered his room via the window, the front door opened, and heavy footsteps ensued. Peter threw off his clothes and tried to find whatever he wore earlier. His clothes were piled up in the corner, so he dug through them in a hurry. He'd managed to put on his jeans before Ben opened the bedroom door.

"Ben!" Peter exclaimed, turning to the side so Ben couldn't see the scar already forming. He kicked the suit under his bed.

"Sorry, sorry," said Ben, backing away. He shut the door. "Just wanted to say I'm home. I'm thinking we order pizza for dinner?"

"Yeah, that's fine." Peter finished changing and walked out into the living room. Ben was sitting on the table, tapping his foot. He heard Peter come in and glanced at him, squinting his eyes.

"What?" Peter asked.

Ben blinked. "Nothing. Is everything okay with you? Everything okay at home?"

"Yeah… It's all fine…" Peter sat down next to Ben. "Why?"

"I noticed you had a cut on your side," said Ben quietly. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right, Pete? I just want to help you."

Peter placed a hand on his side and laughed nervously. "That? Oh, it's fine; I just, uh, tripped and fell on a counter at home. It looks a lot worse than it is, I swear. Nothing to worry about."

"Look, I know you come home later than you are supposed to at night. That you sneak out. That you've been lying to us."

"Ben, I promise I'm fine. I'm not– I just need to take a walk, okay? Fresh air, ya know? I'm not doing anything… wrong."

"Every night? Is that you're always staying here? Because you can't get away with this shit at your dad's?" Ben took a breath. "Just… tell me what's going on with you?"

"Nothing is going on with me!" Peter stood up and turned away from Ben. "Everything is fine. Can't you just leave this alone and believe me?"

"Because, Peter, you have a giant scar on your side, you leave this house every damn night, and you won't tell me why!" Ben stood up too. "I won't be mad, I promise. I want to help you."

Peter used his hands to cover his face. "Ben, I can't tell you, okay?"

"Why not?"

"I just can't!"

Ben pulled Peter into a hug while Peter willed himself not to cry.

—

The pizza on the coffee table was ice cold but only half eaten. Peter was sitting on the couch, nursing the same soda he'd had an hour ago.

"Did I tell you I saw Spider-Man today?" Ben asked quietly. He looked Peter in the eye, but Peter kept his eyes trained on the pizza box.

"Don't remember."

"Yeah. He was trying to stop some guy who'd robbed a store. Ended up getting hurt."

Peter looked up from the box. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know. He said he would be fine. He was stabbed. Not deeply, but it still gotta hurt. Funny enough, it's the same place you got that cut on your side. Ironic, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. What's your–"

"I think Spider-Man's pretty young, don't you? I mean, I know you've never met him, but from stories and stuff."

"Ben, why are you bringing this stuff up?" Peter picked up the remote. "Can't we just watch TV or something?"

"Yeah, in a minute," Ben said. "Point is, if there's something you wanna tell me, I won't get mad. We can talk about it."

"You've said that already. And I don't know what you're trying to say Ben, but I'm not Spider-Man, okay? It's all just crazy coincidences. Spider-Man's probably a grown adult man with a job and everything."

"I never said you were Spider-Man."

"You implied it! And that's not even the point, okay? The point is that I'm fine, you're reading too much into things, and there's nothing to worry about!"

"Peter, how did you even pull this off? How long have you been doing this?"

Peter looked down at the ground. His voice was wavering. "Ben, I don't know what you're talking about; why are you even pushing it so much?"

"Because running around as a makeshift superhero every night is not safe. It's stupid, that's what it is, and it's an excellent way to get hurt! God damn it, Peter, I just want you to be safe."

"All right, Ben, you have it. I'm Spider-Man! Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you fucking happy now? I'm sorry I've lied, but Dad would've killed me if he found out!"

"He would kill you because what you're doing is dangerous, Pete." Ben's voice dropped to a steady tone. "You're a kid; you can't be pulling this shit."

Peter shook his head. "I'm not a kid, though! And I've spent my whole life watching my dad save everyone while I had to watch from the sidelines. My whole life. But now I don't have to sit there feeling useless! I can actually help people."

"Peter, you're not useless. You've never been useless; you were a kid. How were you supposed to help people?"

Before Peter had a chance to reply, both he and Ben jumped from a loud bang! outside. Their eyes shot to the window.

Peter stood up. "Was that a gunshot? Or just a car?"

"I don't know, Pete." Ben got up, too, walking over to the window. He glanced down but couldn't see much. "I'm going to see what happened; you stay here, all right?"

"But–"

"No." Ben stared at Peter, slowly shaking his head. "I'm trained to handle this situation. I know what to do. If anything goes wrong, call 911, okay?"

"Ben, if you just let me help you–"

"Absolutely not." Ben watched Peter sit back down before rushing out the door. Peter carefully walked to the window the instant Ben was gone, poking his head out to see what was happening.

Some Bad Guy was staring at Ben, hands in the air. He wasn't paying the slightest attention to the window that Peter was climbing out of. Or so Peter thought. The second he climbed out the window and started towards the roof, the Bad Guy's head snapped towards him, and he let out a shriek. Ben, in shock, turned around, seeing Peter glued to the side of the building.

It was only for a second—not even a second—but the Bad Guy picked his gun up from the ground and pointed it at Ben.

Peter screamed and all but threw himself off the building towards Ben, which scared the Bad Guy even more. He pulled the trigger and sprinted in the other direction.

Pete scrambled to Ben from where he was, getting to him just as Ben fell. His hands were on his chest, blood flowing out of it.

"Ben!" Peter shouted while trying to add pressure to the wound himself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's fine, you're fine, just a scratch; I swear you'll be fine by tomorrow. I need to… I need to call the police!"

Ben coughed weakly, his hand tightening. "It's fine, Pete… I'm fine. Just… wow. Can't believe you're Spider-Man, then, huh? Pulled it off this whole time." Ben chuckled to the best of his ability, which brought tears to his eyes.

"Yeah," Peter said through a watery laugh. "I'm sorry for lying. But it's fine, we can talk about that later. Just hang on, okay, Ben? You'll be fine, I promise." Peter dialed 911 onto his phone and waited with his heart thumping for the call to go through. The lady promised that an ambulance was on the way, not long. He just had to keep Ben alive till then.

Ben's eyes started drifting closed. He blinked sleepily. "Take care of May, will you?"

Peter shook his head. "You're fine, you're fine, you're fine. Don't say stuff like that, Ben!"

"But, jus' in case, promise…"

"I don't need to promise anything because you'll be okay." Ben's shirt was thoroughly soaked in blood, as were Peter's hands.

"N' remember, with… great power comes great res- responsibility." Ben's eyes stayed open for a few more seconds, just to see the red and blue lights parked near the street. Peter begged for him to keep them open for just a few more seconds, but that never happened. The EMTs pushed him to the side, trying anything and everything they could on Ben, but nothing happened.

—

At some point, a cop—"get Ben's wife on the phone"—brought Peter up to the apartment—"call the kid's dad"—and gave him a blanket. He wasn't reacting to—"who even shot him?"—anything they were saying, just a bunch of nonsense in his ears.

Until May walked through the front door.

"What the hell happened here?" She asked the cops, looking around the apartment. She saw Peter sitting on the sofa, with red eyes, a blotchy face, and blood smeared on his cheek. Her expression changed immediately from confused to worried as she rushed to Peter, smudging blood off. "Peter, what's wrong? Are you okay? What happened to you?"

Peter couldn't look at her, his eyes trained on the empty wall space in front of him, as they had been for the past hour.

"Ma'am, we tried reaching you," said a police officer, calmly walking over to May. Her hands were in front of her, trying to calm May down.

"Reaching me about what?" May asked, moving a step away from the officer. "I didn't get any calls; I just came back from a twelve-hour shift; my phone's dead. Can someone just tell me what happened?"

"Your husband was shot a few hours ago in the street below." The cop waited as May dropped down onto the sofa, sitting next to Peter before she continued. "He didn't make it. Your nephew saw the whole thing."

May's hand went up to her mouth, and she gasped. Her eyes swelled. "Are you sure it was him? Have you done a test to make sure? Maybe the body was identified wrong?"

Finally, Peter looked at her, giving her a tiny nod before going back to the spot on the wall.

"No, no, you got it wrong, it's wrong, you have it wrong!" May was sinking further into the couch, shaking her head. "You have to check again; you got it wrong!" A sob escaped her words, and she began crying, her words becoming unrecognizable.

—

June 11th, 2016

It was almost five in the morning when Tony arrived at the apartment. The police took a while to get his number, and Peter wasn't responsive enough to call Tony himself.

By then, the cops had all left May's apartment with the evidence already collected. Ben's body was dragged away to the morgue, and May never even got to say goodbye.

Peter had finally fallen asleep on the couch, with a blanket loosely draped over him. He was curled up, facing against the pillows, blocking the early morning light. May had moved to her and Ben's bedroom, quietly weeping while holding a picture of him. She hadn't even heard Tony knock on the door.

Peter raised his head, looking around. He trudged himself to the door and opened it, seeing his dad standing there. Tony, himself, had splotchy, red eyes.

"Kiddo…" Tony murmured, swallowing. Peter threw himself at Tony, hugging him as tightly as possible without hurting the man.

"Dad, he's dead," Peter said in a quiet, unsteady voice. His face was smushed into Tony's shoulder. "It's my fault; I killed Ben. It's all my fault, Dad; I'm so sorry I killed him! If it weren't for me, he would be alive! I killed him!"

Tony rubbed a circle on Peter's back. "Baby, you didn't kill him, I promise. He was shot; you couldn't have done anything. It's not your fault."

Peter shook his head and continued sobbing.