"And now, we will read the will of May Parker, wife of deceased husband Ben Parker, and loving aunt of Peter Parker," the jury announced, looking up from the podium.

Peter Parker sat in the front row beside Tony Stark, his head down against his chest and his hands folded in his lap. The billionaire threw an arm around the teen, pulling him into his side.

"The first thing on Mrs. Parker's will is," the jury began, looking down at the paper in his hand. "I, May Parker, leave Peter in the hands of Anthony Edward Stark. Remember Tony, I'm watching you and and I will know if you do so much as make my nephew cry."

People chuckled lightly around the room but silenced once the jury looked up again.

"The next thing on Mrs. Parker's will is: I leave my apartment to my sister Kary."

This went on for a while, until it was time for the last person- Peter. Tony looked down at the teen who was shaking terribly as the jury cleared his throat.

"Peter, my handsome nephew. I love you so, so much and I'm terribly sorry for leaving you so soon. I know what you are, and what you hide behind every single night in the streets of Queens; I just want you to know I'm so proud of you for risking your life for the safety of the people."

A tear slipped down Peter's cheek as he stared at his shoes.

"And before I left, I took some things of yours; you know what they are. Know I'll always be with you, even in your darkest times. I'm leaving you Ben's watch, and my necklace as a way to remember us. Remember that I'll always love you no matter what, even if you never got the courage to tell me about your boyfriend that I definitely don't know you have."

The jury quieted and silence fell over the entire room as they pondered what Peter's section meant. Peter was quietly sobbing into Tony's chest, hands balling around the fabric of the elder's suit. The billionaire had never seen the boy cry so hard before- scratch that- at all. He didn't even cry when he was bleeding out from two stab wounds and a bullet in his shoulder when out on patrol.

Soon, everyone began to leave, giving their condolences to the young, depression-stricken teen as they walked by. Tony led him out to the limo where Happy was waiting, a solemn look on his face. Peter reluctantly crawled into the backseat, waited for Tony to sit before resting his head on the philanthropists knee.

The entire car ride was silent, and once they all arrived back at the tower, Peter trudged out of the car, into the elevator, and ran to his room. Locking the door behind him, Peter ripped off his pristine black dress shirt, yanked his dress pants off and threw on baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

Rushing into the bathroom, Peter's stomach dropped. He kneeled next to the toilet and puked up the apple he had for breakfast, a broken sob escaping his lips. He leaned back, resting the back of his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

That's when he felt it.

That's when he felt the urge to do it again, the thing that he hated, the thing that May hated. Almost on auto-pilot, Peter couldn't stop his hand from reaching out and grabbing the razor from his drawer. Instinctively, he took the cap off and ripped it across his wrist, wincing at the slight stinging sensation.

Cut after cut went by, blood pooling around his slouched form on the bathroom tiles, staining his clothes. Peter didn't hear the key jiggling in his bedroom door, the knob being turned and his room coming into view of the hallway. He didn't hear the footsteps rushing towards him as he sat there, staring at himself in the razor's reflection.

"Peter!" Steve gasped, kneeling next to the boy. Peter blinked before looking up, letting out a startled scream, scooting backwards. Steve's eyes softened as he extended a hand towards the teen.

"Pete... give me the razor..." he spoke quietly. Reluctantly, the teen brought a shaky hand up, setting the blood stained razor in the elder's hand. Steve slipped it into his pocket before grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink, and opening it.

He helped Peter stand up, setting him on the edge of the bathtub. Steve silently cleaned the boy's cuts, wrapping them in bandages before throwing all the trash away.

"Go lay down, get some rest..." Steve said quietly.

Peter hung his head in shame before trudging back into his bedroom, collapsing into his sheets and shutting his eyes tight. Steve stood in the doorway, a longing look casted upon his face.

Time to tell Tony...