Author's Note added many months after publishing, important parts in bold
I must address something. I've had a lot of reviews recently about how "I'm not realistic to Spider-Man" and "u now gwen dies rite lol" even "I can't wait until TASM2 so all the Gwen-centric fics will stop" so I just want you guys to know that this is a Gwen and Peter fic, and since it's the months between the battle with Dr. Connors and the end of the movie like I clearly stated in the description, they're struggling with staying away from each other and all. What of the comics I haven't read, I read about online. I have an OC relative of Aunt May's (who almost everyone loves), and my Peter is a little wimpier than you'd like to see. But he is freaking new to being a hero, has no freaking formal training, and the injuries he sustains would be deadly to anybody. Plus, this bad guy beats the snot out of him and I believe is an upgrade from Doctor Connors. With all this in mind, you may read on! Enjoy, please!
Peter dragged his hand over his face. It came back bloodier than it already had been. He stopped in front of his house. He knew he should march through the front door and just come clean to Aunt May, he knew he needed to let her know he was alright. One thing he knew well was that he needed to wash his face. Instead, he sighed. His to-do list had to be about a mile long.
He put his hands on one of the columns that held up the porch. He could easily climb up and go through his window, just collapse into bed... With his suit still on underneath his clothes and covered in grime head to toe? No way. He peeled his hands off the column and turned around.
Opening the door as silently as he could, hoping he could slip up the stairs without Aunt May noticing and put off the great revealing of Spidey for another day. No such luck. Peter looked up right into Aunt May's eyes. He leaned his head back and grinned as best as he could, but it turned into a grimace as the cut on his lip reopened.
Aunt may stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
Peter shut the door all the way and took a few hobbled steps toward her. He opened the front pocket of his backpack and pulled a carton of eggs out.
Aunt May gave him the saddest look, took the eggs, and set them on the counter behind her. She opened her arms, and Peter fell into them without a moment's hesitation, his bag falling to the floor.
He tried not to put too much weight on her at the same time he tried not to collapse. She murmured something in his ear and ran her fingers through her hair, like she used to when he was little. He broke down. A sob escaped his lips and he wrapped his arms around her back. He let the hot tears leave wet trails in their wake, the sobs wracking his aching body.
"Rough night," he mumbled through the tears.
It was true. All in one evening he had destroyed his school, been arrested by the NYPD, nearly had his identity blown, been shot in the leg, nearly gotten his girlfriend killed more than once, cured a deranged lizard man, stopped said deranged lizard man from creating more lizard men, caused his girlfriend's father to be mortally wounded, and made a promise to his girlfriend's now deceased father to break up with her. If that wasn't a rough night, what in hell was?
"Sweetheart..." She rubbed his back, and even her light touch hurt.
Had she figured it out, who Spider-Man was? "Aunt May, I'm sorry, so sorry. It's me, he's me- I'm him." Peter stuttered. So much for a great revealing. He couldn't get a single coherent sentence out of his mouth. Aunt May simply shushed him and guided him to the couch. He sat down and continued trying to talk through the tears of exhaustion. "Doctor Connors was the lizard, I was responsible for creating him. Started in Oscorp, sneaking around, bit by a spider..."
Aunt May had a hard time understanding her nephew. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and much to her surprise, he drew back with a hiss of pain. Very suddenly, it clicked. Peter was Spider-Man. That fight that had taken place not too long ago, that had been her boy in it, and he was hurt. Overcoming how stunned she was by the realization, she commanded, "Peter, take your shirt off."
Peter started to stand. "I'm fine. I-I'll just go upstairs and sleep it off-"
"That is nonsense Peter. Sit down and take off your shirt."
It was true that he was hurt and he was tired, but what right did he have to claim his aunt's care? She must have been hurt by the news, he had lied and kept secrets from her, why shouldn't she be? She was tired from staying up all hours waiting for him to come home, she had worried endlessly for his very life. It wasn't fair for her to care for him when he had done such a sucky job caring for her.
Peter shook his head and tried to stand again, but all Aunt May had to do to keep him down was lightly push his chest. Peter huffed and shot out a web, retrieving the first aid kit on the other side of the room.
Aunt May took the plastic box stiffly, and gave him a look. "No webs in the house. Shirt off."
Peter obeyed, taking his shirt off very slowly, and pulling his suit down to his waist.
She put a hand over her mouth. His torso was bruised black and blue in several places, making her wonder if any ribs had been broken. There were deep cuts across his chest and minor scrapes every where. His arms and shoulders were bruised as well.
"Oh, Peter," she breathed.
"I'm fine," he said quickly. He figured now wasn't the time to tell her he had a bullet in his leg.
"You're a horrible liar." She pulled a bottle of antiseptic and a rag out of the box, and began cleaning the cuts on his chest. "Peter, promise me something." She said quietly.
No, not another promise. Peter had made one too many promises that night, a promise he was already having a hard time keeping. Nevertheless, he asked what his Aunt May wanted of him.
"Don't let Spider-Man change who you are."
Peter looked away from his Aunt May's pleading eyes. "Can't." Being Spider-Man had already changed him so much, to say that he wouldn't any more would be a lie. Now Peter had seen death, he had seen the mad side of science, he had heard shrieks of pure terror from those he couldn't help, he had looked into the dying eyes of a man who gave up his life to help him. He had turned himself into a wanted man. How could that not change him? Sure, he was safe for now, since Captain Stacy had told his men to leave him be, but what would the new police chief say? Certainly nothing in Spider-Man's favor. In a matter of days there could be a price on his head. "I can't make that promise. Spider-Man is part of who I am."
There was a long silence. "I understand..." Another silence. "Well, you can at least promise you'll be home on time for dinner."
Peter smiled. That was a promise he could live with making.