Hi all! Fanfiction finally fixed the reviewing glitch, but some of them still haven't showed up so I'm going to reply to them here.

awesome (guest): I should probably get this out of the way because a couple of you guys had asked. I don't feel comfortable writing spider-widow. To me, Peter is still seventeen years old. Yes, he is a very mature seventeen, but that doesn't change his age. Natasha, especially in the comics, is almost seventy plus years old. I don't really subscribe to that age discrepancy. On top of that, MCU Natasha is fairly bland. I don't really think she is that strong of a character and Peter, more than anything, needs someone he can play off of.

Zyenna: love the name. And I'm trying to update as fast as possible. I'm balancing another fic our own demons and I update one then the other. So it's every other one!

Marvelandwinchesters: Thank you! I try :)

Questionoftheday: I have some plans for the Goblin, but I haven't solidified them quite yet. Some of my story points are definite, but I'm not sure yet which Osborn will be my Goblin.

Disclaimer: Peter Parker, the Avengers, Daredevil and all affiliated properties are not owned by me. I make no money off writing this fic.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JANUARY 2013

Peter Parker realized that having minor precognition powers and super strength didn't make him a better fighter some time around being thrown into the fall for the millionth. He had mistaken the length between him and the person he was swinging after and his agility didn't stop him from slamming hard because of that mistake.

Peter groaned on the ground.

His head felt like it had been scrambled, but every second he lay here the criminal got further and further away in the car.

Peter wanted to groan, "Ten more minutes Aunt May," but it was far from his aunt telling him to get up for school. For every second he didn't get up, there more chance a civilian would get injured.

Sometimes great responsibility meant fighting through the pain.

Peter rolled to his feet and balanced on his toes, closed his eyes trying to get a hold of the pounding in his head. He said out loud, "Well that wall wasn't made out of marshmallows like I expected," and sprung up to catch up to the car.

Three minutes later he dropped onto the roof of the car. The criminal swerved trying to shake him off. Peter lowered his center of gravity hoping to combat the movement.

There was a police blockade developing in front of him. The criminal tried to turn right instead to avoid it.

Peter called out, "Just when I thought my night couldn't get worse, you go and make a right turn."

He leapt forward, half summer saluting, half using his agility. Synonymously, he shoot out both of his web shooter pulling himself to stand in front of the car at the intersection.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath realizing that the car might slam into him.

Peter leap up at the last moment, flipping over the car. Well that didn't work. He shoot his web after the car, his webbing attacking onto the back hood.

He dug his heels into the ground, feeling the rug burn. Dammit, Peter thought, he would have to mend his suit later.

The ground buckled underneath him and the car slowed until the back hood popped off. Peter, however, had interrupted his path enough that the car tail spinned and towards a bunch a civilians on the sidewalk.

Peter jumped into action. He pulled one of the way with his web and swung another out of the way. The car had turned a hundred eighty degrees and the back end hit the edge of the sidewalk. It looked like it was going to flip.

Peter might want to stop the criminals, but he didn't want to kill them. He immediately used the webbing to attach to the car to stop it from flipping. It settled and for a second the world seemed to silent.

Peter was glad that it was so late out. He didn't want any more people in danger.

The police had moved to circle the car and Peter sighed out a breath as he realized that his job was over. He wanted to drop to the ground boneless, but it was still early in the night and there could be more to come.

Peter surveyed the aftermath from the air. There was a divot in the cement from where he had dug his heels and the woman he had pulled off to the side was holding her ankle. Peter grimaced. That wasn't his smoothest pursuit.

With his advanced hearing, Peter caught one of the police officers on the ground mutter, "Damn, Spider-man sure made a mess out of this one."

Peter felt almost ashamed.

….

Seven hour later Peter fell asleep taking his AP Chem test. Well, not during necessarily. It had constituted of a multiple choice portion one class and a practical portion the next. Peter had finished the multiple choice in twenty minutes and sitting in the dead quiet room, not allowed on his phone, made it so the second his head touched the desk, he was almost snoring.

Well, Peter hoped he hadn't snored; that would have been quiet embarrassing.

The bell rang and startled Peter out of his sleep. The teacher, Mr. Morrison, was a wiry man with old fashioned glasses and always dressed in slacks and a button up. He had, as he explained in a "get to know each other" during the first class of the year, graduated from MIT to which he had gotten a full ride. He had been inspired by his teachers growing up and had a full time job with the school and a part time job creating chemical patents for a think tank in the city. Teaching, he told the class, was his hobby.

Peter liked him for the most part despite having talked him individually only once or twice.

Mr. Morrison started speaking just as the bell rang, "Class, I want you to study hard for Wednesday. That will constitute for forty percent of the test, so don't think you can get through by just writing stuff down. You need to know the material in an applicable way. You will only have thirty minutes and the second half of class will be introducing the next unit. Parker, stay behind."

Peter blinked hard. He was very much a teacher's pet and not used to being called out. Something settled in his stomach.

Peter walked up to the front of the class.

Mr. Morrison said, "Peter, pull up a chair." He gestured to one of the shitty blue plastic chairs in the front row and Peter dragged one over to the teachers desk.

Peter's voice wavered as he spoke, "I really don't want to be late to AP Physics. We are reviewing for the test next week."

"I think your grade will be just fine Peter." Mr. Morrison smiled at him, and Peter started to get flighty. He spidey-sense wasn't going off, but he felt caged in.

"Did I do something wrong?" Peter asked, "I thought I had an A in the class…" Peter faded off his voice.

The teacher laughed. "Quite the opposite. You are bored out of your mind in this class. You're brilliant; you get things far quicker than any student I've ever taught. Us teachers in the science department are getting worried that you are becoming apathetic."

Peter started shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. If this is about me falling asleep I promise I will try and sleep more."

Mr. Morrison leaned forward to grab some papers. "This is the homework you turned in last week." He set the paper in front of both of him. It had some chemical formulas on it to which he was supposed to balance. Peter did just that, labeled what each formula was supposed to create, then improved upon them if they were really nonsense like a lot of them had been.

Peter had done that work in fifteen minutes.

Peter stared at the paper.

"Now, as I was saying," the teacher continued, "you have no purpose being in this class. You've gotten near a hundred percent on each test and I suspect the questions you got wrong were reading errors. And I'm not the only class. You have a hundred and two percent in AP Physics two. The average in that class for tests is sixty eight percent, and most of those kids are seniors trying to get into science colleges."

Peter hunched over. Science had been his entire life in seventh and eighth grade. He wished he had more time to take classes online like he used to, but with everything going on with superheroing, he put that on the far back burner.

Peter didn't understand what Mr. Morrison was trying to get at. "I don't understand what you want from me," Peter said.

"I have permission from you AP Physics and AP Biology teacher to spend this class giving you practice tests. We want to see what you know."

Peter suddenly didn't feel too sleepy- he wasn't quite as alert as if he had gotten a full eight hours of sleep, but his mind was spinning. Three hours later, Peter had gone through two of the three practice tests, the bubble and practical portion. He hand was killing him. He glanced up to the clock and saw that it was almost lunch.

Mr. Morrison had put him in a back room. Peter grabbed his papers and went to turn in the second practical. He had missed both AP Physics and AP Calc and was feeling mentally fatigued.

Peter knew the material, it was just a lot to go through.

The bell rang for the class Mr. Morrison was teaching and Peter walked up to his desk. "Finished the next one?" the man asked.

Peter nodded.

"We can finish this tomorrow if you want to go to you want to go to lunch and then your last class."

Peter, however, had a couple of questions. "What will you do if I know the material?"

Mr. Morrison shrugged, "We don't have a clear plan for you. It's really up to you Peter. You could go back to regular class and just sleep through them like you've been doing or we can design some sort of alternative program for you. Maybe you do research or work on some sort of project. Colleges like that."

Peter hadn't even begun to think about college. He could barely pay for his run down apartment in Queens much less having to think about having to pay for college.

Peter, however, felt like he needed to come clean with Mr. Morrison who seemed like he was just trying to help. "I don't fall asleep because I'm bored," Peter admitted, "I fall asleep because I'm not sleeping enough at home. My uncle just died." And aunt, he silently added.

Mr. Morrison's eyes softened, "My brother died from cancer last winter. I'm sorry son."

"He was my father," Peter admitted, "he supported me. My aunt is not really around and my parents are gone. I appreciate this."

"Well, get some sleep tonight and be ready for another one of these tomorrow. For now, your science homework is excused but do AP Calc. Michelle would be rather unhappy if her star student stopped trying hard in her class."

Peter smiled at him, "She's super nice."

"She's a good teacher," Mr. Morrison agreed. "Remember Peter we as teachers are here for your success. If you want to talk to me at any point, I'm here. And we have fantastic counselors in the office who I'm sure would give much better advice than me."

Peter immediately wanted to say "no" to the suggestion, but he forced himself to swallow and say, "I'll take that into consideration Mr. Morrison."

"Have a good lunch Peter."

"Thanks Mr. Morrison," he called almost running out of the classroom. His brain was fried, but he could really use some food right them.

He found an empty half of a long rectangular table in the cafeteria and sat down. He got the sack lunch he packed out of his backpack. He had made himself a PB&J and packed an orange and bag of almonds. His water bottle was still half full from the morning.

Flash decided that was the moment he would approach with all of his football friends. He was only a freshman, but his older brother was captain of the football team, and Flash had made it as a freshman. Peter would blame it on nepotism, if not for the fact that Flash had replaced the quarterback after he suffered from a leg injury and then led to team to win league.

Yeah, even Peter couldn't say anything snarky about that.

"What do you want?" Peter asked.

"Heard you fell asleep in class and Mr. Morrison made you stay behind. You losing your number one spot at school; can't handle it anymore."

"Flash, I can handle more in my sleep than you can while you're trying your hardest." Peter couldn't help himself.

"Puny Parker, you could be knocked over by a brisk wind," Flash sneered. The group of freshman around him had snickered at Peter comment and Flash looked dangerous; as if he was trying to save face. Not all of the boys looked completely comfortable picking on the small nerd eating alone.

There wasn't anything innately wrong with Peter. He just struggled to make friends with almost all of his classes consisting of upperclassmen, and most of the freshman standoffish because of the humors of his intelligence. They called him ranges of stuck up to arrogant, to nerdy and teacher's pet behind his back; or what they thought was behind his back and Peter could pick up with his advanced hearing.

It wasn't as if Peter could go out and make friends with his schedule being so fucked to hell from being Spider-man.

Peter decided it was time to diffuse the situation. "You're probably right Flash. A brisk wind would knock me right on my ass."

A few of his friends snorted. Flash reddened. Peter heard a voice to his right. "Flash Thompson, what would your brother think to see you setting a bad example for the boys and bullying a poor freshman?"

Everyone in the vicinity turned to see Jacob. He was heavy set, tall, and popular to boot. Flash Thompson could not bully Jacob Salvina. Jacob Salvina could bully Flash Thompson, except the older boy never would.

"He wouldn't care," Flash spit.

"Well, maybe not, but he is obligated to turn you into the office and you would receive suspension from the team. I don't think he would choose over being removed from team captain because that would happen if it got out he didn't say anything."

Flash swallowed hard. "If you tell him," he growled.

"I won't if you leave Peter alone." Flash and his buddies sulked off. Peter watched Jacob in awe.

The boy plopped himself down in front of Peter.

"So what did Mr. Morrison want to talk to you about today?"

"He wanted to test what I knew. He thought I was getting bored in class." Peter told him simply.

"Ah," Jacob laughed, "Well you are brilliant. Hey, you didn't come to the robotics meeting."

Peter fidgeted. Jacob had just rescued him from that mess of a situation.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Jacob told him, "We were assholes."

"Why are doing this?" Peter asked him, "I'm not a charity case."

Jacob shrugged, "You're fourteen, brilliant, and eating lunch alone. At one point I was fourteen and it would have meant the world to me if someone would have come and sat with me."

Peter looked at Jacob. He was everything he wished he could be as a hero; calm and collected, strong and smart. He radiated kindness.

Peter swallowed his pride and started up a conversation, "So what sort of robotics are you working on right now?"

….

There lived a devil in Hell's Kitchen and his name was Matt Murdock. He was fairly young at twenty seven and new to the whole superhero scene. His knuckles were constantly bloody and he only had one friend to his name.

That friend was currently wrapping those same knuckles in his appartment. "Why do you do this to yourself? I just don't understand Matt."

Why was the ultimate question of being a vigilante. What made a person don a mask, dress up in a costume and beat up criminals on the streets?

For Matt it was the unavoidability of the sounds of the city. It was impossible to explain to Foggy why he needed to do what he did; just that if he didn't he would go crazy from grief and guilt.

Matt stayed silent. Foggy opened his mouth again and could physically feel the vibrations coming through his throat and into the air. He said, "Have you heard about the new vigilante?"

Matt shook his head. He didn't normally read the news, imagine that.

"They're calling him Spider-man. He cropped up about six months ago, but he's finally getting real attention. He had a train wreck out of downtown last night. They are calling him a terror over at the Bugel."

"That newspaper is terrible."

"Tell me how you really feel Matty. But yeah, I agree. It seems like the person has his heart in the right place, but he just bungles it more than even you."

Matt was lucky he had some sort of training. Stick had spent four years with him teaching him everything he knew before he blew off to god-knows where. Matt had continued his training in the closed down gym. Nobody had bought up the space and Matt had fixed up the interior to be a place to train. Although he needed a space heater this time of year. He went out fighting now days with three pairs of socks on, although he feared that would compromise his "sight."

"I don't bungle things," Matt told Foggy.

"Sure," Foggy casually agreed, "and what was the whole thing with Fisk? Your ultimate plan."

Matt certainly bulged things, but he was getting better. It wasn't his fighting that was the problem.

"Maybe Spider-man just needs a teacher," Matt commented.

"Sure buddy," Foggy joked, "and you're going to teach him."

Matt shrugged. "Maybe."

Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to get this up- I had five straight nights of Christmas parties. So a couple things for this chapter.

Peter's schedule:

AP Chem

AP Bio

AP Physics II

Geography

AP Calc AB

Literature

Photography

Gym

This means that one day he goes AP Chem, Physics, AP Calc, has lunch and then goes to photography. The next day, he has AP bio in the morning, geography, lit, lunch, and then guy. Classes should be about an hour and forty minutes and the school would start at 7:40 and end at 2:40, with an hour lunch.

I another note, I'm fairly sure football is not a winter sport in NYC, but for the sake of the story we live in fantasy land where that is true.

And then with Daredevil, I'm going with kind of AU post season one. I might have either Punisher or Elecktra show up, but it is mostly going to be focused on Peter. I'm setting up Matt as Peter's mentor if you haven't figured it out.

Anyways! Thank you all for reading. Hope you had a wonderful Christmas (or holidays!) and I will see you all next time :)