Home is where the heart is.

Everyone knew the saying and just so, everyone knew the meaning. If you didn't, just about anyone could explain it to you. They would tell you that home is not a building or a place, really. It could be, but it doesn't have to be. Home is family- or someone who holds your heart dearly. Though we all know what it means- you never really know what it feels like, at least not until you find your home. Your place.

It was hard being him.

No, not Peter Parker (though some days it was a little difficult being him too), but Spider-Man.

Yes, he loved being Spider-Man. He loved helping his city and doing hero-like deeds. He loved the praise and the wonderful feeling he got knowing people loved him for what he did- especially when some people were cruel to him outside of the suit. Being Spider-Man was great, it was freeing and it let him do things he never dreamed he'd be able to. He wouldn't trade it for anything- but, even the best of things have their downsides. Some days, things didn't go the way they should.

Some days, he couldn't save or help everyone.

He'd seen so much pain- heard so many cries and watched so much life drain away from strangers eyes. He had always hated failure- but he hated it infinitely more as Spider-Man. He hated it with a passion because any small mistake of his could cost him a life- specifically one that did not belong to him. He was always cautious, always careful- but sometimes it just wasn't enough. He'd get beaten and slung around. He'd be shot at and just barely pricked or sliced with knives or other makeshift weapons. He would come home with healing cuts and fading bruises- but the pain always stayed. It never really left because for the beatings he'd be given, sometimes he got nothing in return. Sometimes he wasn't fast enough or strong enough.

Sometimes he simply wasn't enough.

He ached to know that. It was a deep dull ache, one that didn't hurt much, one that wasn't felt unless it demanded to be felt. It crept up at ungodly hours of the night when all seemed fine. It dragged him down and kept him trapped- alone and cold, with no one around to free him but himself- and some nights he couldn't even do that.

It was a hard thing to live with- a hard and large pill to swallow every morning. Their screams and lifeless faces haunted his dreams and waking thoughts. Only one thing could really will them away- only one person could tame the storm that sometimes raged inside of him.

You.

You were the only one to keep him sane. The only one to remind him that he could not blame himself. It wan't his fault, he didn't know that one gang would be packing high-tech guns. He couldn't have been able to tell that that one piece of shit man had already poisoned himself and his victim and that the commotion was just for show. There were so many things out of his control. He wasn't the one to pull the trigger- wasn't the one to start the fire or decide that someone should no longer live. It was the criminals that did this and he was as much a victim as the people wronged. Peter wasn't a bad man. He had no ill intentions. Mistakes happen to even the best of people, its what made everyone human- what made them normal.

You always reminded him of this.

So on these awful nights- ones where he was left shaking and letting out choppy breaths while he swung away from the sirens and screams he couldn't fix, he made his way to you. Quietly and carefully, he landed atop your fire escape, being sure to go unseen and unheard as he tapped on the glass of your window and swiftly slipped inside. He couldn't afford any more mistakes..

"Peter..", you'd whisper softly, a small frown of concern pulling across your features as you took in his beat up face and puffy eyes. Those beautiful pools of brown you'd grown to love looked so pitiful on these nights. They looked so sad and distraught, so unlike their usual look.

He'd just sniffle, wringing his mask in his hands as he tried to find the words to tell you what had went wrong tonight, "I- The guns- and- I-I dodged- and I tried to- she wouldn't-"

Your frown would deepen and it only made him feel worse, "Peter. It wasn't your fault-"

"It is!", he'd insist in a harsh whisper.

"It isn't.", you'd counter, "It never is. You always do your best. You always do what you're capable of and then some. You can't win every fight, Peter. You're not invincible or indestructible. You have your limits, we all do. Every hero has a limit- even the best of them. You're not the only hero to lose a life and you won't be the last to. The world isn't fair, Peter. Things happen, people get taken and sometimes we can't do a damn thing about it. You did what you could, I saw it on the News. You saved countless lives tonight-"

"I still lost one-"

"One. One out of what could have been hundreds. It isn't your fault that woman did what she did. You can't control people's actions. I know it hurts you- I know it sucks. I can only imagine what you're feeling and just barely at that-"

"I'm not the only one who blames me-"

"If anyone blames you it's because they want someone to blame. Someone other than themselves- they want a reason why the person they loved had to be taken. A reason better than the world being horribly unfair. If I got hit by a car while crossing the street because I wasn't paying enough attention, you wouldn't blame me, you would blame the driver. We all want someone to blame- some reason why. It's life. You're a superhero. You do everything in your powers to help others and do right by the world. It's not your fault."

He remained silent, staring at you with watery eyes, ones that were much less sad and even a little softer. He'd always feel guilt and you couldn't blame you for it, who wouldn't? Though, you did lift him a little. You took away some of the hurt for tonight and he loved you so dearly for it. He pulled you into his shaking arms and buried his face into your neck, taking in your warmth and sweet scent. He held you close, sighing at your softness and the way you wrapped your arms around him.

"I love you, Peter. I love you so much..", you would whisper softly.

He'd just burst, right there where he stood. Every emotion he'd forced back while underneath the mask came pouring out, bursting at the seams, but you held him together. You let him feel, let him grieve and feel sorrow. You always did, always had. He quickly learned that you were his home- that right here, in your warm embrace was where he belonged. No, it didn't take nights like this for him to realize- it just made the realization that much more real and impactful.

You were his home- his world. He loved you with all he had, and no matter how many mistakes he made (which weren't many), he knew there was no mistake in you being his home.

Home wasn't a building or a place for him. It was a girl with dazzling eyes and a breath taking smile. His heart didn't reside in his own chest, but inside of a warm and loving girl by the name of ___.

He loved you, and you loved him.

For tonight, that's all he needed.