Chapter Text
“Bye. Mr. Stark! Bye, Ms. Potts!” The kid called out as he skipped out of the lab, a smile plastered on his face.
“Bye, Peter!”
“Bye, kid. See you next Friday.”
Once the kid was gone, Tony’s own smile slipped from his face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. He liked it less and less. No, scratch that, he didn’t like it at all. He knew he’d promised everyone around him and himself that he would stay out of the kid’s business, but it was becoming seriously difficult to do so.
A gentle hand touching his shoulder pulled Tony out of his musing. “What’s on your mind?” Pepper asked. “You were all smiles and jokes until a moment ago.”
Tony shook his head. “I don’t like this, Pepper.”
“The meeting?”
“No! Well, yes, that too.” He sighed. “Kid had another bruise today. On his wrist,” he said, pointing to the spot for emphasis. “Second one this month.”
That I’ve seen.
The kid gave him the usual variation of ‘I tripped and hit my arm on the counter’, which, with how frequently it was being used, was losing its credibility faster than Hammer’s stocks before the 2010 Expo. Tony shouldn’t have accepted that answer. He should’ve called out the lie, should’ve pried more—
Except he couldn’t do that, could he? Peter talked about his foster family, the Crows, only when he wanted to. Which… wasn’t that often, to be honest. All Tony gathered were some names, but the mentions were so sporadic that he couldn’t tell who were the parents and who were the kids – biological or former foster.
Peter was doing better than he did months ago, but the subject was still touchy and he was quick to shut down if someone else than him brought it up or inquired further about his passing comments.
He’d learned that the hard way.
Tony couldn’t just walk up to the kid and voice his suspicion on negligence, or worse, abuse. So that’s why he, trying to be as respectful of the kid’s privacy as possible, had Friday take a quick peek at the files regarding the foster family Peter got placed into after the death of his aunt and uncle.
Long history of fostering, good track record. Not a single hint of something shady about the family.
He was worried, yes, and judging by lines on her face, Pepper was too. Peter was a good kid, kind of reminded Tony of his past self. Unfortunately, just like Tony, Peter was stubborn. He would rather bleed out than ask for help.
Where was the line? To what degree was it acceptable to get involved in the kid’s private life? After all, he was just a mentor. Nothing more.
But he’ll keep an eye on the kid while he will be here, looking for anything odd.
Just in case.
***
Peter seamlessly weaved his way through the sea of people as just another face in the faceless crowd.
Another session over. They’ve managed to get quite a lot done for the change actually, and if it wasn’t for Ms. Potts making an appearance to drag Mr. Stark to some meeting, they would’ve done even more.
Throwing the hood of his jacket over his head, Peter blended into the crowd even more. He was close to the alley now. Letting his sense guide him, he gracefully made his way through the seemingly endless stream of people.
Nobody noticed him slipping into the alley.
Quickly changing into his costume, he swung the rest of the way to his destination, stopping a petty crime here and there. The tall buildings of busy city gave way to more quiet, secluded area. Or, to use a better word, abandoned.
With practiced ease, Peter scaled the graffiti-covered wall to enter through the second story window. He stopped. Listened.
Upon no sign of any intruder, Peter walked towards the stairs that only lead up; he’d made sure of that with the impenetrable barricade of concrete and metal junk he’d put there.
The door of the top apartment squeaked as he pushed it open, revealing his humble living space. Slinging the backpack from his shoulders, he deposited it next to the wobbly chair, careful to avoid the pile of increasingly smelly clothes on the other side.
He dropped unceremoniously on his mattress pushed into the corner, the position giving him a clear view of the room. The box of scraps and a metal cabinet with a first-aid kit and his laptop on top in one corner, the water dispenser he’d found and fixed in another.
Peter let out a sigh. His heart sank a bit… like every time he’s made a count of his belongings. Of what remained of his hom-
No.
Peter blinked the tears away before they could fall, choking back a sob. He wouldn’t use that word. He couldn’t use that word. Not with Ben and May gone.
Yeah, it wasn’t the h-word; just a shelter that was made livable.
After the accident, he’d been devastated. Who wouldn’t be after being orphaned twice in fourteen years? There were no other relatives who could taken him in, nor another trusted guardian, which meant only one thing for him.
Foster care.
He’d been in foster care once before. Back when his parents had died, when he’d been nothing but a helpless little boy who didn’t understand why mommy and daddy hadn’t come to pick him up from kindergarten like they’d promised on the call from the day before. He hadn’t known any of those people or why he was in this foreign house. He’d kept asking and asking, growing more and more distressed because he just didn’t understand and nobody would take him in their arms and soothe him—
It had been only one day, but to Peter, it was enough to not want to take a chance on another emotionally unavailable home. That also wasn’t the only reason. Taking into consideration his Spider-Maning and his physical needs, it wouldn’t have taken people all that long to realize that something was wrong with him was reason number two.
Peter was well aware of the steadily rising anti-mutant sentiment. Spider-Man, a hero vigilante, was mostly safe because he was known for using his powers for good. Peter Parker, a regular teen no one knew nothing about, on the other hand…
In Peter’s case, it would be guilty until proven innocent.
There had been only one option.
Run.
To not raise any suspicion, Peter had hacked into the system and faked all necessary documents, assigning himself to a random family in hopes that once the ruse was up, nobody would search for him.
Packing had come next. Old photos and the most valuable mementos into Ben’s old suitcase, summer clothes into one bag, winter clothes into another bag, some money, food, phone, laptop and his suit into his backpack.
And then he’d found this place and has been living here since.
Strangely, his luck was holding up pretty well so far. Hanging around Mr. Stark posed a certain danger to him, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to severe one of the two remaining links to his past, happier life.
True, Ned and MJ used to be there too, but taking into consideration what happened first to his parents and then to his aunt and uncle, Peter had realized what both of those tragedies had in common.
Him.
Both pairs had spent almost every day with him. Both pairs had died. Ned and MJ had spent almost every school day with him. If he’d stayed, it would be only a matter of time before something happened to them too. That was reason number three.
And Mr. Stark… well, Mr. Stark was relatively safe since he and Peter met only for a few hours once a week.
Granted, he was all alone, but it was better than having another loved one die or being locked up in some research facility – because that’s where people like him got sent.
Rhythmic tapping on the door leading to the wide balcony penetrated the room. “Oh, right,” Peter nodded to himself. He was almost late. He opened the cabinet where he kept his food supplies and took out the bag of peanuts before heading to the balcony. Two black crows backed away from the door as he opened it.
Whistling, he reached into the bag and threw a fistful of peanuts on the ground. In a flurry, the two crows were joined by several more.
“Hey, guys,” Peter greeted as the crows began to peck on the shells.
Cameron, Christopher, Allison, Trevor, Cathy, Trisha, Ellie… Peter frowned. Where is Russel?
Flapping of wings reached his ears. He looked at the perch above, spotting the latecomer. “Hey, Russel,” Peter smiled. “There you are.”
The crow tilted his head to the side, then released the shiny object in his beak and proceeded to join the others.
The object rolled across the floor, coming to a stop at Peter’s feet. Peter moved his foot. “Nice,” he said as he picked up the coin and pocketed it. A whole quarter.
See, this was the perk of developing a kind of bond with the family of crows living nearby. You help one of the little ones back into the nest after it fell out (and almost get your eyes pecked out), then you regularly feed them some, slowly but steadily getting their trust, they watch you and they eventually pick on the importance of the shiny coins and paper notes.
So, maybe he wasn’t all that alone. Sure, the family he was “staying with” weren’t people, but…
Look, technically, Peter wasn’t lying. It was just that Mr. Stark has never asked specifically. And even when he did, Peter always had an excuse.
“What family are you staying in?”
“With crows.”
“How are they?”
“They’re nice.”
“Why did you stopped going to Midtown?”
“They live too far away, so I’m homeschooled now. Besides, anything I need to learn, I can learn here.”
“Where did you get that bruise?”
“I tripped.”
Which reminded him – Mr. Stark has seen the bruise Peter had gotten earlier on the patrol. He’d decided to limit the patrols on Thursday as much as possible to prevent these exact situations. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just ignore the distressed calls when they came.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter quoted under his breath as he watched the crows eat. He couldn’t stop putting himself into danger even if he wanted to. He had to somehow make up for the destruction and suffering his curse had caused.
***
How ironic. When Peter remembered how he and May had used to watch those shows about people bringing couponing to the extreme, he merely shook his head in disbelief, not understanding why anyone would do that. And yet here he was, doing the exact same thing.
Just so he would survive another week.
“Okay,” he hummed himself as he counted the coupons and budgeted the money. Ten dollars to the gym membership so he could keep himself clean for next month were set aside, fifteen dollars for the groceries that wouldn’t be enough to keep him full, which left him with two dollars and seventy-five cents. With the quarter Russel brought him earlier, he had three dollars.
Peter glanced at the mountain of dirty clothes. “Well, looks like I finally have enough to pay a visit to the laundromat.”
***
Living in the building with no electricity or running water wasn’t exactly easy. Yes, it had its perk of safely storing his belongings somewhere where the cover from some elements of nature like rain or wind was provided.
Cold on the other hand…
Spring was creeping in when Peter left, which was bearable. It got warm quickly and he didn’t have to worry about anything during following warm months. Yet the world kept spinning and the cold weather was becoming more and more noticeable.
And Peter wasn’t sure if Ben’s old coat would be enough to keep him alive during the winter.
A presence leaned over his shoulder. “Hey, that looks pretty good. What is it?” Mr. Stark asked.
Peter leaned into his seat to allow better view of the hologram. “Uh, it’s a heater. Low-cost for homeless people to survive the winter.” Why not help others while he was trying to help himself? “It won’t need electricity to work… for obvious reason,” he added.
Mr. Stark hummed, rubbing his chin. “From scraps?” he asked, pointing to the notes.
“Well,” Peter shrugged, “I said it was low cost.”
“Kid, I’m a billionaire. I know you love dumpster diving for old tech, but I can literally get you all of these.”
Yes, Peter was aware of the fact since Mr. Stark kept reminding him. Despite the continuous assurances, he couldn’t bring himself to just asking for more stuff. He was already taking chemicals he needed for his web fluid. Mr. Stark wasn’t particularly interested in what Peter was taking out of the lab to continue the experiments at “home”, as long as it wasn’t flagged as potentially dangerous by Friday.
“When will you be done with the prototype?”
“I would like to get it done in two weeks,” the nights becoming more cold kind of pushed him, “then I’ll take it out for a test run to catch any bugs.”
Silence. Peter realized he said something wrong when Mr. Stark’s face set into something unreadable.
“Take it out for the test where?”
“Like,” Peter stammered, gesturing with his hand, “like, I’ll set up a tent outside and see how it goes.” Half-truths weren’t technically lies, right?
“No,” Mr. Stark said firmly. “I’m not letting you test it on yourself. Too many dangers to that.”
Peter frowned. “Didn’t you inject those microchips into yourself a few years ago? You know – those you used to call the suit to you?”
It was Mr. Stark’s turn to stammer. “That- that was different!”
“How?” Peter raised one eyebrow, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Are you really the right person to lecture me about personal safety?”
“Little shit,” the man huffed, playfully shoving Peter’s head to the side. “How about we do some test runs here to make sure it won’t go up in flames and then you can test it yourself. Deal?”
Hm. Now this, Peter could accept. But- “Do you really have that little faith in my creations?”
“Modified coffee machine,” Mr. Stark deadpanned as he placed a pack of crackers next to him.
The reminder of the incident wiped the smile off Peter’s face.
Okay, fair enough.
They fell into their routine after that, some AC/DC song playing in the background. Peter stayed in his corner, working on the blueprints of the heater and eating away at the crackers, while Mr. Stark tinkered with something on his own workstation.
Hmm, maybe if I rewire the circuit and add two more batteries…
“Kid.”
…yeah, that could work without blowing up in my face…
“Kid?”
…well, not like there’s anyone who would miss me since it was my own fault I have no one left…
“Earth to Peter!”
Snapping of fingers brought Peter back to reality. His eyes darted around in search of the source of the snapping.
Mr. Stark was looking at him. “You with me?”
“Uh, y-yeah, yeah,” Peter nodded. “I just… got lost in thoughts for a moment.”
“Good. Now stop being a hoarder and pass me that monkey wrench on your table you’re clearly not using.”
“Right,” Peter said as he grabbed the wrench and stood up. This was an opportunity to gain some credibility for his claims of tripping. He had to make it convincing, but how—
He was on the floor before he could finish the thought.
“Jeez, kid. You’re alright?”
Eh, that works too.
“Ow,” Peter moaned as he pushed himself up. Mr. Stark helped to steady him, his touch sending sparks of electricity down Peter’s spine, though not unpleasant.
It’s been so long since someone held him close—
“Anything hurts?”
Peter ran his hands down his legs, wincing and hissing when his hand brushed over his left knee. “That will leave a bruise.”
“Let me get you an ice pack for that.”
As it turned out, the untied shoelace resulting in his fall was all it took to bring the rare, caring side out of Mr. Stark. Peter resisted the urge to lean further into the touch, reminding himself it was for the best.
He couldn’t allow himself to get too close to Mr. Stark.
Not with his curse.
***
After the kid left, Tony paced his workshop like a caged animal. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was everything, maybe he was seeing red flags where red flags weren’t.
Aside from the typical wolf hunger the kid displayed at lunch, there were no noticeable bruises. Just to be sure, he had Friday secretly scan the kid for any injuries and the results were… not quite what he was expecting. There weren’t any injuries. Still, he couldn’t claim that malnutrition was any better.
Feeding him second whole meal would be too obvious, so Tony had to settle for giving Peter a pack of crackers.
Like he said, it might be nothing and the kid was just still dealing with the loss by not properly eating (which wasn’t making it any better, wasn’t his foster family paying attention?), but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something shady was going on.
He’ll have to keep even closer eye on the kid.
***
Gunshots.
There were gunshots all around him and, oh God- Ben, May! Please, no!
Peter’s eyes snapped open, a cold sweat running down his back. It wasn’t rare for him to have vivid nightmares about the night of the accident, but what was rare was the sounds of gunshot prevailing after he woke up. Why weren’t they fading into echoes retreating back into his memory?
They were still so loud and… wait.
That wasn’t in Peter’s head.
Creeping to the single window, he squinted into the darkness where he spotted a group of teenagers laughing among themselves as they lit up another firecracker.
It wasn’t the robber. Just a group of kids that could be his age, probably looking to stir up some trouble. There was a possibility of new graffiti appearing.
Releasing a shuddering breath, Peter unzipped the suitcase with shaking fingers. He fumbled for the plastic bag inside and retreated back to his mattress. He pulled out a lavender-colored sweater, shoved his hands into the sleeves, reached for the coat and threw it over his shoulders before hugging himself.
It still smelled like her.
Closing his eyes, Peter curled into a ball, imagining it was his aunt and uncle hugging him.
He was hungry again. He was cold.
He cried.