Midtown held the first info session for the trip back in January. Just as the post-Christmas blues had begun to set in, the posters went up. Venice to London via the alps with a stop in Paris. It sounded like a dream.

“I wanna put my new camera to use,” Betty said as they filtered into the auditorium. “I’ve been shooting around the city, but there’s so much more colour and light in Italy.”

“And pasta,” Ned said. “And pizza and gelato.”

“Big deal.” Flash rolled his eyes. Peter wondered why he always followed him and Ned around since Flash always seemed annoyed by their presence. “I was just in Italy last summer. As far as European destinations go, it’s not my favourite- it’s overcrowded and overhyped. If the school wanted to do something actually interesting for a change, they’d take us to Portugal. Porto is going to be Europe’s hottest city next year.”

“They should really take us to Ibiza and just let us party for two weeks straight,” M.J. said.

“Exactly,” Flash replied, completely missing M.J.’s sarcasm. She was more excited about the museums and galleries than anyone else.

“I just want to get out of the city. I’ve never been before,” Peter lied. M.J. glared at him. “I don’t even have a passport.” That part, at least, was true.

Mr. Harrison got up on stage and the crowd quieted down; everyone wanted to hear the details.

The more Harrison talked about it, the more it sounded like a dream to Peter: food, art, culture, and M.J. - two weeks of bliss. New York could hold it’s own for that long.

Then Harrison said the cost. Peter’s stomach dropped. Five grand. There was no way he could ever make that much in six months, even if he did get a part-time job (which he couldn’t - he had other extra-curriculars filling his time).

As January faded into February, Peter tried to scrape together some cash. He did odd jobs around Queens whenever he had a few hours. People were willing to pay for the weirdest things: babysitting a gold-fish; cleaning the eaves-troughs of an old house; teaching someone’s Grandma how to use her computer. The odd jobs didn’t pay badly by themselves but at the end of the month he had only four hundred dollars.

The trip was still a long way off.

March came around the corner. His classmates started countdowns until the day they’d leave New York. Most of the families that sent their kids to midtown didn’t flinch at the cost.

Peter debated asking Mr. Stark. He’d had enough of Flash rubbing the trip in his face. Even if Italy was ‘beneath’ Flash, he never passed up the opportunity to make fun of Peter.

In the end, Peter decided against it. Mr. Stark had done enough for him, he couldn’t bother him over some school trip on top of everything else.

Peter resigned himself to spending another summer stuck in the city. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. There were always plenty of things to do in New York in the summer. Festivals and street performers and crime to stop. Maybe Peter could even find a decent part-time job, at a store or something. It would be a good summer in New York City. He put the trip out of his mind and focused on school.

If February had past fast, March was a blur that ran in to April. The city came to life again, after the rain, and the grass turned green and the blossoms sprouted on bare branches.

April ended in ash.

Then Peter came home. May cried and held him close. They couldn’t lose each other; each other was all they had.

Tony Stark did not come home.

Peter wore his best suit - the one that had once belonged to Uncle Ben - to the funeral, the private one. They held it at an old cemetery in upstate New York. The sun that day was bright and hot and the robins sang to it even though Peter wished for the cover of rain and clouds; the world could not bear any more darkness.

He couldn’t bring himself to attend the memorial for the fallen Avengers in Times Square. He studied and burried himself in school work. His exams were only a few weeks away.

Slowly, the world shifted back to normal. The grief could not hold back the world forever, even if it did shroud Peter’s world in fog.

Normal would never be where it was before, but Peter found shaky ground again, with Aunt May and Ned and M.J. beside him.

The second week of June, Happy knocked on the apartment door.

He handed Peter a cheque with more zeros than Peter had ever seen before in his life.

He’d been named in the will. Along with the money he had a sizable college fund, shares in the company, and a lab of his own.

A few months ago, Peter had accepted he’d never be able to afford the trip. Now, he could paid for it in full without noticing a difference in his bank account. He wished he couldn't.

The lump of money was just a reminder of the hell he'd been through. He went Pepper and tried to give it back. She smiled and thanked Peter for his kind intentions. The money didn't matter, she said. It wouldn't bring him back and she had more than enough to last a lifetime.

"Use it to build a good life, Peter. One where you can spend time with the people you love."

He promissed her he would.

Peter sat next to M.J. on the plane and watched the flight attendant show the proper way to buckle a seatbelt. “Nervous?” M.J. asked.

The plane started down the runway. Peter shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Not at all?”

“Nah,” Peter said, “why would I be?”

M.J. smiled to herself. “No reason. It’s just that most people are, the first time they fly.” With a lurch, they lifted into the sky.

Peter blushed. Out the window, he could see the New York skyline shrink in the distance. Life, he decided, was going to be alright.