Hello, hello! Here's the new chapter. We're still with Peter to see what he has found out about Aunt May's death.

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Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. I wish.

Peter is sitting on the roof of an office building in Lower Manhattan. There's a fancy and very expensive restaurant on the opposite side of street and black limousines keep pulling up, bringing new, elegantly dressed guests.

The boy ignores the unimaginably huge gap between his life and the lives of these people. Ignores how much money they must pay for their dinner here. How much money they must have paid just for their shoes. Money that he has never had and probably never will.

He also ignores how different their homes must be from his dark corner back in the warehouse.

Because it's not why he is here now. To observe crazy rich people and hate them just because they don't have problems like him. No, he's here to observe only one of them. Yes, Peter is on a stakeout and he has eyes only for one guy: Hal Wentworth.

The twenty-something man arrived alone about an hour ago, he has a meeting with some business partners in the restaurant. Peter saw him enter the building and through the window, he can see him now with four other guys at a table. Drinking wine and eating lobster. Probably discussing business.

Wentworth must be telling a funny story now, because everyone at the table is laughing.

Here he is. The guy who killed May just a few months ago. Hit her and never looked back to check if she was still alive, let alone to try to help. Here he is now, light-heartedly joking around like someone who doesn't have anything to worry about. And thing is, he really doesn't.

Peter never read the police report before. They never really told him anything, he's just a kid after all. They didn't give him any details about the accident. And truth is, Peter never really cared. He was way too sad to care about it; the painful feeling of loss filled up all of his thoughts. He only knew that the driver had left and there had been no trace of them. There was nothing he could do about it. Until now.

Peter read the police report that Karen had found about two hours ago and it made him sick.

He remembers when he made up his story about Aunt Julia and everyone believed it without a doubt, it made him disgusted at the system. It made him disgusted that adults who were supposed to be responsible for his wellbeing, let him slip out of the system because they never took an effort to check the facts. He remembers he thought the system was rotten.

But this? This is a new low.

When Aunt May was hit, there were only a handful of people in the street, just very few witnesses. They couldn't really provide any useful lead for the police about the car that hit her or about the driver. Partial license plates. Unreliable descriptions. Mere details. Nothing valuable to work with.

But there was an ATM on the corner and they could use its camera feed. And that feed did show the car, the license plate, everything. It was a black sports car, worth more than the apartment Peter used to live in. The police could identify the driver. They could find the person who had killed May.

And the car belonged to Hal Wentworth. Only son of business mogul Carlisle Wentworth.

But when the police arrived to question him, it turned out that the car had been stolen on the day before the accident. Later, the police found the vehicle burnt out in an abandoned area out of the city. They couldn't figure out who had stolen it. It was a very expensive car, that must have been the reason why it had been stolen, but when the thief made the mistake to hit someone, they had to get rid of it.

At least, that's what the police said. They couldn't do anything. Case closed.

But Peter decided to dig deeper. He was way too deep in his sorrow and anger and couldn't let go just yet. He hadn't look into the case before and now that he did, he just couldn't move on.

And surprisingly, he cracked the case in a few minutes. And what he found? That's what made him sick.

First, he checked out Hal Wentworth. Officially, the man wasn't responsible for his aunt's death, but Peter wanted to know more about the guy who owned the car that killed May. He checked Wentworth's social media accounts, focusing on the day of the hit. There was nothing. Nothing for several days. The guy might have been affected by the events after all.

But then Peter found a photo. It was a selfie taken by one of Wentworth's friends and he was also there, tagged in the photo. It was taken on the day of the accident. A group of friends looking happy, in front of a park in Manhattan. Nothing interesting. Except for the car the people were leaning on. It was Wentworth's car.

Which means the guy still had the car on that day. It hadn't been stolen on the day before, as it was stated in the police report. Wentworth had it. It must have been him who hit May after all. He was the one who killed her and left.

He must have panicked. Or maybe not. He might have remained deadly calm. Guys like him? Sons of extremely rich people? Spoiled brats? Probably it wasn't his first mistake. Maybe not even his biggest one. He might have known immediately what to do or who to call to clean up his mess. Maybe daddy dearest. Rich people can get away with anything. Money can buy immunity. Money can buy the cooperation of authorities. Money can put them above the law.

Because when Peter asked Karen to look into the police file that reported Wentworth's car stolen, she found that it had been tampered with. Dated back a day.

Wentworth or his father fabricated the story about the car theft. They might have told one of their goons to get rid of the vehicle. Then they bribed someone at the police to forge the report. They might have bought several people to go silent and do nothing about this.

That's it. Case really closed. It was just a nurse who died, who cares? Absolutely no reason to ruin Wentworth's life, right? May wasn't worth that much.

When Peter realized what had happened, he couldn't stop yelling and punching the walls for several minutes. He ignored his bleeding knuckles. He ignored Karen's first composed, then more and more concerned voice trying to calm him down, saying he could seriously hurt himself. He ignored when Karen once again offered to call Mr. Stark.

And finally, he collapsed to the ground, propped his elbows on his knees, lowered his head into his hands and sobbed. The pain of losing May, losing his old life, losing everything and being utterly alone hit him with a new force.

And once again, the pain turned into anger. To fury. He wiped off his tears, took a few deep breaths, got up and leaped out of the window.

He asked Karen to track down Hal Wentworth. Maybe the guy thought he could get away with this, but gosh, he was so wrong. If he thought he could just kill someone, orphan a kid and live his life as if nothing happened, he was seriously mistaken.

Tonight he's going to face with the damage he's done. And he's going to pay.

So that's the reason why Peter is currently sitting patiently across the fancy restaurant, waiting for Wentworth to finish his late business dinner and leave. Because Peter wants him alone when he confronts him. He doesn't want anyone to witness what he is about to do.

"Peter, are you sure this is a good idea?" his AI asks concerned. "It's getting really late now."

"This is the right thing to do, Karen," the boy firmly replies.

Who cares if it's late? Who cares if he has school tomorrow? School is literally the last thing on his mind right now. Because now he has eyes only for the man behind that restaurant window. The carefree man in elegant suit, telling yet another joke, making his guests laugh again. The man who killed his aunt and ruined his life for good.

About half an hour passes and Wentworth finally leaves. The valet brings his car –a brand new sports car, green this time – and he gets in.

Peter pulls down his mask.

Spiderman gets into action and follows the car throughout the streets of Manhattan, swinging discreetly above the traffic. Wentworth is heading home, Spiderman guesses knowing his address now. Which is perfect. Because there's a side street he needs to drive through to get home. A side street with minimal traffic, probably none this late. It'll be perfect to stop and confront him far from prying eyes. Just like he planned.

And when Wentworth does turn into that street, Spiderman jumps and lands hard on the roof of his car.

Wentworth hits the brakes immediately and the car stops with screeching tires in the middle of the street. The man leans forward, peeking through the windscreen, trying to figure out what has happened.

Spiderman causally flips to the ground beside the car. He waits for a moment until Wentworth's eyes find him. Is the guy scared? Or just confused? No, there's a hint of panic in his eyes. Good. Does he already know why Spiderman is here?

The superhero reaches forward and with one swift motion, he rips off the door of the car.

Spiderman's breathing heavily.

There he is. The man who took everything from him. Who is responsible for all the shit that happened to him. Who made him an orphan.

He is face to face now with May's killer.

OMG, what is he going to do now? And where the hell is Tony? Let's visit him in the next chapter, shall we?

Thank you for reading and review, please?