i fall apart

by frogboyfrog

Summary:

may was up to something.

well- that certainly implied something much darker than it probably, actually was. maybe a different wording would work better.

she was hiding something.

when aunt may's new boyfriend, skip westcott, first appeared in peter's life, he would never even think that it might end up in him being kicked out and rendered homeless. on the (metaphorical) streets, he struggles to survive, spider-man, keep his grades up, and make sure, absolutely make sure, that tony didn't find out.

Chapter 1: introduction

May was up to something.

Well- that certainly implied something much darker than it probably, actually was. Maybe a different wording would work better.

She was hiding something.

Back to the point- May was sneaking around, making shifty phone calls, and heading out at strange hours. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d guess that she was Spider-Woman or some crap. It was just utterly, completely, wildly out of character for his aunt. It wasn’t just that though- whatever was going on had seemingly infected her mind, because she was distracted in ways that she had never been before. Their interactions were reduced to texts, and she hadn’t hugged him or asked him about school or even sent him off with well-wishes in days.

And so, Peter decided that he was going to find out what was up via official spidey investigative work. Operation ‘Aunt May.’

Yeah, he was a creative kind of guy.

It wasn’t exactly difficult to track her down in the wild. All he had to do was wait for her to go out, and then (stealthily) follow her in the suit. He emerged from his room at exactly 5:00pm, the time she usually left the apartment for her endeavors, and confronted her in the living room.

“Hey, Aunt May! Where you going tonight?” He looked her up and down, taking into account the tight, but not revealing dress, covered by a nice cardigan and complemented with slight heels. Strange. She rarely got dressed-up this fancy, never really having anywhere to go where it’d be required.

“I’m having dinner with a few of the girls from work, nothing special. I’ll be home in a few hours, alright?” She didn’t bother waiting for a response, turning around and heading out the door without another word, staring at her phone all whilst exiting.

Her phone. Her phone.

It was a new model. A very, very new model, and 100% something that she would never be able to afford on her own. Was she just working more hours, and was too embarrassed to tell him? He didn’t know why she’d be embarrassed, but otherwise it made sense. Peter decided to follow her anyways, making his way into his bedroom and grabbing his suit from the place he usually stored it. He finagled the thing on with practiced ease, popping open the window and climbing out onto the wall outside. 

Swinging was always something comforting to him, helping to calm his nerves with how quiet it got when he was up far enough into the air. He almost forgot the reason why he was out and about, right until he caught the sight of May climbing into a taxi below. His eyes latched onto the plate.

Peter, would you like me to track that number? Karen asked.

“That’d be great.” He mumbled back, busy changing directions mid-air. The taxi high-tailed it to the more restaurant-centric part of Queens, which was expected, but what wasn’t expected was where it stopped in front of, and yeah, that was definitely out of their budget. He dropped into a back alley, tucking his suit into the backpack he brought and awkwardly trying to get changed out of sight. He made sure the coast was clear before walking back onto the sidewalk and awkwardly peering in the window and-

That was definitely not any of May’s female colleagues. A man, somewhere in his early thirties, with slicked-back blonde hair and blue eyes sat across from May, though unfortunately turned away from the window. Unfortunately, because at that very moment, May made eye-contact with her nephew. She didn’t look very mad, thankfully, but beckoned him inside. Peter knew not to disobey.

“Uhm, my aunt is sitting over there and she wants me to join her.” Peter told the hostess, who eyed him warily but let him follow her to the table nonetheless. May stood up with a fake-looking smile, and held out an arm toward the man.

“Peter, meet my boyfriend, Skip. Skip Westcott.”

Chapter 2: Chapter 1

Notes:

short chapter but i felt like throwing something up today- enjoy!

Peter did not like Skip Westcott.

When he first laid eyes on the man, hand held outwards to be shaken, it immediately triggered his Spidey-Sense. And that was that. He knew that they were never going to get along- he’d already made his snap judgment. Granted, a judgment that was backed up with dubious biology, but at least he had some kind of evidence against the man. His Spidey-Sense had never been wrong, and he trusted it more than anything else.

Despite that, he took the man’s hand- flat-out rudeness wouldn’t do anything for his cause- and shook it firmly, with more force than he’d use for his peers. Surprisingly, Skip matched him in strength, and it was then that he noticed the muscles covered up but his button-down. Peter frowned. He didn’t think May really sought out that kind of man- she wasn’t a very superficial person.

“So… boyfriend, huh?” Peter confirmed. May looked up at him like he’d hung the stars.

“Yep! Well, we’ve only been seeing each other for a month, but everything has been going so quickly, it’s like we were made for each other.” Skip chuckled and levied a hand on her shoulder. Peter just stared at the offending appendage.

“That’s… great, May. I’m glad you found someone that you’re so compatible with.” He continued to glare daggers at their physical connection until Skip’s smile fell slightly and he let his hand slip to his side.

“Would you like to join us, since you’re already here?” Skip asked, fake smile plastered back on. Peter met his gaze.

“Sure, I could go for something.” He dropped his backpack on the hardwood floor and plopped down in one of the two extra seats. “What are you two getting?” May unfolded the menu and pointed at one of the entrees.

“Skip hasn’t decided yet, but I’m getting the filet mignon.” Peter leaned over and read the text next to it. He blanched. Sixty-five buckaroos.

“Is he… paying for this?” Peter whispered in her ear, hoping that the electric wouldn’t shut off the second they got home.

“Oh, of course! He’s such a gentleman, y’know, I told him that my love language was gift giving and he immediately picked up on that.” He looked over at the phone face-down on the table.

“I can see that.” May bit her lip self-conciously, looking over at her boyfriend.

“And what are you getting?” Skip put down his own menu and pulled out his phone, presumably checking his texts before responding.

“Probably the same as you. We’ll split the arancini as an appetizer, if that’s alright.” May nodded, rotating her head around toward Peter again. Before she could ask, he gave his own response.

“I’m fine with just fries.” He slid his menu toward May, done with his decision. She frowned.

“Fries? Really? You’re a growing boy, you know?” He knew that if Skip wasn’t here she’d mention his enhanced metabolism. Skip cleared his throat.

“Son, I can get you something a bit bigger than that, I’m sure you’re hungry.” Peter cringed. Son. He absolutely hated that, coming from the man’s mouth. 

“Nah. Fries are good.” He reaffirmed, taking a sip from May’s water.

---

Well, he certainly got his fries. Skip had insisted, absolutely insisted that they order them as a main rather than a side, which is how he ended up with an entire platter of the stuff. He grabbed a ketchup bottle from the side and began the arduous process of squirting out half the contents onto his plate.

“This is really tasty.” May commented, reaching for her knife to cut off another section of steak. Skip pushed her hand away gently, grabbing the knife himself and reaching out to cut the meat for her. “Thank you, Steven.” She gave him a fond look, and Peter wanted to throw up. What was wrong with her? Was this how he was going to act with his future partner? It was just straight up weird, and Peter wanted to go home, desperately. “And the sauce is delicious too! We’ll have to come back here some time!”

“Oh, but of course.” He replied, looking chuffed about his choice of eatery.

He popped another fry in his mouth, turning away from their antics and scanning the restaurant layout instead. It was funny- May was actually seemingly a bit underdressed compared to the other clientele, and Peter was spectacularly so, enough that he made eye-contact with a few judgy patrons who had apparently been staring at him for their entire meal. He store them down until they looked away before turning back to May and Skip, who were now staring at him.

“How was school today, Peter?” May asked, obviously trying to get brownie points or something because, again, she certainly didn’t ask that when he’d first arrived home. He picked up three fries with his index finger and thumb, taking a bite out of all of them at the same time before replying.

“Same old, same old. Ned left early for a dentist’s appointment so I was alone with MJ at lunch. That was… fun.” Skip nodded exaggeratedly.

“Those are your friends? Ned and MJ?”

“Uhh… yeah?” Peter pushed his plate away, appetite pretty much lost at this point. Why did he care?

“You got a crush on this MJ girl?” Peter couldn’t hold back the grossed out expression that implanted itself on his face. Skip laughed, obnoxiously loud. “Just kidding. I suppose that’s none of my business.”

“Yeah. It isn’t.” He spat back. May put a comforting hand on Peter’s back.

“Oh, honey, he’s just kidding!” Peter dug his phone from out of his pocket, turning it on and peering down at the digital clock.

“Look at the time! I think I have to go now, unfortunately.” May frowned disapprovingly. “Nice meeting you Skip, but I have homework.”

“How are you going to get-” She started, before being interrupted by the squeak of Peter’s chair on the floor. He stood up and briskly walked out of the restaurant, feeling like Skip was watching him the entire way he swung home.

---

9:00pm. She arrived back to the apartment at goddamn 9:00pm.

“Peter! I’m home!” She called out into the apartment, only to be met with complete and utter silence. “Peter?” She tried again. The teen in question rolled his eyes. If she wanted him to respond, she’d have to come to his room herself. Peter heard footsteps approaching slowly, tentatively, until a shadow appeared in the small crack between the slightly open door and the wall. “Are you in there?” She asked, in a softer tone. Peter sighed.

“Yeah, I’m in here.” She kicked off her shoes before pushing open the door.

“Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in.” May padded over to his bed, sitting at the foot of it and sighing. “I’m sorry. That I didn’t tell you about him sooner.” She apologized.

“Okay.” He replied, rolling over and staring at the wall.

“Everything was just so… new. And it’s been moving really fast, it’s like I didn’t have time to catch my breath before he swept me off my feet. It felt too good to be true, and I didn’t want to introduce you to a new partner and put you through that trouble if the relationship was going to go down in flames quickly after.”

“I get it.” She huffed.

“It doesn’t sound like you do. Look- I get missing Ben-” Peter sat up abruptly.

“I didn’t mention Ben. I wasn’t even thinking about Ben. Don’t bring him up when discussing that Skip guy.” He pointed at her accusingly. Her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t get why you don’t like him. He’s been nothing but cordial to you, and you’re being a big baby about it. Come talk to me when you’re ready to act like the young adult I know you are.” She stood up and walked out Peter’s room, slamming the door behind her. Peter felt himself shaking in anger at her words. He loved his aunt, and he had no idea what had come over her- why she’d ever bring up Ben in an argument like that. It wasn’t right anyways- he didn’t like Skip because he was fake and probably a douchebag, not because he felt like the man was replacing his uncle.

Right?

Notes:

peter you have no idea how right you are.

comments pls!

Chapter 3: Chapter 2

Notes:

cw brief mention of rape of a minor

Peter was unreasonably tired when he woke up the next day. Okay- maybe not unreasonably. Unusually? He did stay up late last night patrolling, trying to clear his mind- until Tony called him at 1:00am to tell him to, and I quote- “park his ass back in bed.” And so getting out from under the covers that Friday morning was much greater a task than it should have been. He really wanted to use his strength to throw his phone (and its blaring alarm) across the room, shattering the thing into itty-bitty pieces.

Maybe Skip would buy him a new one. He laughed to himself awkwardly at the idea as he pushed his duvet cover onto the floor, walking over to the bathroom slowly to do his business and brush his teeth. He threw his sleeping clothes in the hamper, before going to his closet for new ones. Peter liked to wear Tony’s MIT hoodie on his crappier days, so he threw that on along with a pair of acid-washed jeans and some sneakers. He turned around in the mirror mounted on his wall, taking in his outfit. He took his phone out and snapped a picture of it to the groupchat he shared with MJ and Ned.

“Peter! Time to go!” May called out. Peter pocketed his phone, grabbed his pre-packed backpack, and walked into the living room. May looked him up and down appraisingly, before giving him a thumbs-up. It was a pretty average subway ride to Midtown- a nice temperature for spring, so much so that it was almost too warm for the hoodie. Ned was waiting at Peter’s locker when he got there.

“Dude! I texted you like twenty times last night!” Ned complained, as Peter unloaded his books into the compartment. Peter shrugged.

“I was busy dealing with life stuff. I’ll tell you at lunch.” Ned frowned.

“But then I’m going to spend the entire next three hours wondering what’s up!”

“What’s up?” MJ asked, popping up behind them. Ned gasped in shock. 

“Jeez! You scared me!” He whined, hunching over on his knees. MJ shrugged.

“Not my problem. Now, what life advice can I offer you, Peter?”

“You can become the therapist I can’t afford at lunch. Heh, maybe Skip could pay for that too.” His friends looked at him weirdly.

“Skip?” The bell rang, interrupting their confusion.

“Yeah. Skip. As in- don’t skip class.” If looks could kill, MJ would be in police custody for manslaughter. She turned on her heels and walked away, not bothering to look back and disappearing into the crowd when Ned called out her name.

“Time for calc!” Ned announced, grabbing Peter by the forearm and dragging him to the classroom. They both groaned when they saw the whiteboard at the front of the room.

Pop quiz today! :)

“What’s with the goddamn smiley-face?” Peter complained, feeling less than smiley himself. Even Ned couldn’t look at the bright side.

“I’m totally going to fail.” He groaned, letting his head hit his desk. Judging by the reactions of his peers, it seemed the class were all in the same boat.

“Settle down!” The teacher called out. “Everyone, take a worksheet!” Peter got up and went to the front again, snagging two of the papers- one for him, and one for Ned. He handed the second to his friend, who sent him a grateful smile before he flipped it upside down after seeing the first problem.

Peter thought he’d done… fine as he left the classroom an hour and some later.

“I totally failed. Like… completely bombed.” Ned complained. “Zip. Zilch. Nada.”

“I’m sure you did better than me.” Peter countered, grabbing his health textbook from his locker. They didn’t share any more classes that day. “See you at lunch.”

“Firstly- no way. Secondly- see you there.” There wasn’t a surprise quiz in health, nor in American literature, so Peter had no idea why the calc teacher had decided to be such a dickhead that day. Not that he would have preferred three quizzes before lunchtime. Whatever. It was the principle of the thing. Usually, he was excited for the brief break that lunch gave him. But for some reason, the idea of even talking about Skip made him queasy. Probably his Spidey-Sense acting up again, even though the man was (presumably) miles away from him. He went to their usual table, after grabbing a tray of mid-tier cafeteria food, just to find Ned and MJ already there and ready to interrogate him.

“Talk.” MJ spat out, taking a bite of her PB&J.

“So, uh. Like, May’s been super busy lately, and y’know she always is but like- super super busy and ignoring me, basically.” Peter mumbled out, just loud enough for the two to pick up on. Ned frowned.

“Ignoring you? That doesn’t sound like May.” Peter threw his hands in the air.

“No, no it doesn’t. But anyways- I followed her around yesterday, and low and behold, she has this rich new boyfriend. Who gives off the most atrocious vibes.” MJ shrugged.

“So she has a sugar daddy. Big fuckin’ deal.” Ned’s pasta dribbled out of his mouth as he choked on it.

“No! I mean like- my senses were totally going off, dude.” Ned nodded sagely.

“Like, your spider tingle? I think I know what to do. What’s this guy’s name?”

“Skip Westcott. With two ‘t’s.’ Wait- Steven Westcott is what I think May called him.” He recounted, trying to think back to that fateful dinner.

“I’ll look him up when I get home. And I mean full deets.” Ned promised. “We can FaceTime when I pull up the results.” Peter sighed in relief.

“Awesome, dude. And when you find something- which you definitely will- I’ll go straight to May. I’ll get this guy out of my hair in no time.” MJ shucked her crusts into the trashcan behind her.

“Are you sure it isn’t a better idea just to milk this guy for what he’s worth and then dispose of the garbage?” Peter shook his head.

“Nah. Best to nip this whole thing in the bud. I don’t want to crash their wedding, because believe me, the way things are going that’ll be in two months.” MJ shrugged.

“Fine by me. Just make sure to sneak a twenty from his wallet as payment for this therapy session.” Peter recoiled.

“I was joking!” MJ didn’t answer, swinging her legs over the bench and making her way around the corner and into the hallway, leaving the two boys alone.

“I made it clear I was joking, right?”

---

Tony called him on his way home, asking if he’d like to have a lab day, which Peter politely declined.

“Tomorrow.” He told him, remembering that he had a platonic date with the man in the chair.

“Are you sure? Did I do something wrong?” Tony asked, not used to being rejected. Peter chuckled.

“Yeah. Just some stuff came up with Ned.”

“Ah. You and Ted have a fun time, alright?” He well-wished, before abruptly hanging up. Peter hoped that he wasn’t too put off or suspicious. Peter very rarely declined extra lab days. May didn’t greet him when he got home, which Peter was perfectly alright with. He didn’t need her hanging around their conversations and listening in. He sat down at the desk in his room, propping his phone against the wall and calling Ned before starting up his laptop in an attempt to double-task.

“Alright, what’chu got for me?” Peter asked, opening a new Google Doc to type out his Invisible Man chapter 2 analysis on. Ned’s face ducked out of position as he turned to his desktop PC.

“Steven Westcoat, you said?” Peter’s mouth twitched.

“Steven Westcott." He corrected. "Though he calls himself Skip for some reason- I hate it.”

“Alright, first I’m just gonna go through a bunch of public records, see if there’s anything there before pulling out the big guns.” There was the sound of frantic typing, followed by a single mouse click.

“I think I found something. He has some kind of record, that's for sure.” Ned told his friend, tentatively. “But it’s not publicly available. It just says that he had some charges dropped.” Peter chewed on his lower lip.

“Can you somehow… hack into those records and find out what it is? Like- is that possible?” He asked, not ready to give up yet.

“Uh, yeah, seems pretty easy.” He humble-bragged. Peter snorted.

Of course it was.

More typing. A few more mouse clicks.

“Wait- I think I’ve got it.” Ned’s face popped back into frame, eyes scanning over the text on the screen. They widened comically. “What the fuck.” Ned swearing was a once in a blue moon occurrence, so when Peter heard him do it right then and there, he knew he had found something juicy.

“What? Robbery? Break-in? Drugs? ” He inquired, running through the list of possible crimes the man might have committed. “Possession? Distribution? Illegal firearms? Was he in a gang or something?”

“Uh, no. None of those. It says that... he was accused of raping a twelve year old in 2015.” Ned looked vaguely disgusted. Peter felt a sudden wave of nausea come over him as well. He couldn’t even feel vindicated- like yeah, sure, they found something, but it certainly wasn’t anything Peter could celebrate. It wasn’t a gotcha. It was just fucked up and sick. Because Peter knew that those charges shouldn’t have been dropped.

“Oh.” Was all he could say. A few more clicks.

“I really can’t find any information on the kid. I don’t think it’d be right of me to tell you his name, anyways.” Ned relayed back to him. Peter nodded.

“Yeah. I’d probably do something stupid.” He admitted. The blue light on his face disappeared as he clicked out of the window. Ned looked... scared. Apprehensive.

“Promise me you’ll keep yourself safe." He demanded. "I know you’re Spider-Man, but this is some serious stuff, and you’re just a kid. I mean- do you know what I mean?” Peter grimaced. Yeah. He picked up what Ned was putting down. His mouth filled with spit that he couldn’t quite swallow as he tried to imagine how many single parents this Skip guy had probably picked up with less-than-innocent intentions. And he hated to admit it to himself, and it made his throat itch, but it appeared that Skip was attempting to do the same with May and… him.

“I’ll be safe." He promised. "I’m just gonna log off now.” Ned waved at him half-heartedly.

“See you soon.” Peter clicked out of the call with an index finger, letting his phone fall flat on his desk. He sat still in that chair for a moment, letting only the rise and fall of his chest indicate that he was alive, just processing. That was, until, the door creaked open.

“How are you doing, son?” Peter turned around slowly in his swivel chair, meeting Skip’s gaze with what he hoped were steady eyes. In reality, he probably looked close to crying.

“Where’s Aunt May?” Skip gave him a grin that made him shudder.

“She’s in the living room, we were just discussing you.” Peter was somewhat relieved that the man wasn’t alone with him in the apartment.

He felt stupidly weak upon the realization- he was Spider-Man, he could deal with a neighborhood creep- but for some reason, he felt stupid and weak and a bunch of other crummy emotions around the guy. He didn’t have the upper-hand here, no matter how strong he was, and he was sure Skip knew that too. Luckily, it appeared that Skip hadn’t heard much of anything, because he didn’t look very angry or anything like that.

He let his shoulders slip into a more comfortable position and stood up from his chair.

“Lead the way.”

---

May had a nervous smile on her face, welcoming him into the room. Peter looked around, anticipating that Tony would pop out and tell him that this was all one big, silly joke that had gotten out-of-hand. He knew that wasn’t the case, though. Tony could sometimes go a bit overboard with his surprises, but he wasn’t enough of a sicko to orchestrate any of this.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are you doing? How was school?”

School. Again.

He shrugged.

“Fine. What’s Skip doing here?” He wasn’t going to be a sitting duck and let May run circles around him, confronting her straight on.

“Well.” She peered up at him, and in response he gave her a comforting nod. “I’ve been called in on a bigger assignment to a hospital in Manhattan. I’ll be gone until Monday, and I wasn’t going to leave you alone, so I thought Skip would be a good choice.” Peter’s stomach dropped.

“What? ”

“This isn’t negotiable, Peter. I can’t leave you alone for so long, it’s not right and you might encounter some trouble without supervision.” Peter bit the side of his mouth, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right.

“Why can’t I stay with Tony like I usually do? I could help him with some of his stuff and we could work on my science fair project together for school.” May leveled him a glare, indicating that she wasn’t in the mood.

“You’re staying with Skip, and that’s that. You two need to learn how to get along, and this is the perfect opportunity for that. Play some games, watch some movies. I have to leave in thirty minutes, head back to your room and do your homework.”

Tell her. Tell her about what you found.

He felt Skip looking at him again, and for some- some reason, he couldn’t open his jaw, his tongue heavy in his mouth. So he walked dutifully back to his room, sat back down at his desk, and opened the Google Doc on his laptop again.

Notes:

ruh roh raggy

once again comments appreciated- new chapter either today or tomorrow, we'll see. i'm writing 1.5k words a day so most likely the former or even wednesday. i should probably try to get over my senioritis instead of spending 99% of my waking hours whumping and torturing a fictional sophomore in high school but will i? no.

Chapter 4: Chapter 3

Notes:

ok tws for this chapter for (both successful/unsuccessful) molestation and implied oral rape

first scene starts at "He moved slightly, just trying to stretch his legs" and ends at "“I’m- I’m going to T-Tony’s.”
second scene starts at “Let go of me.” and ends at "That was when Peter finally landed a kick."
third scene starts at “We’re not leaving until I get what I want," and ends at "The front door opened, a purse dropping by the coat hanger."

Peter was about halfway done with the assignment when there was a knock on his door. He closed his laptop gently, trying to slow down his movements. Maybe, if he took too long to get to the door, the adult behind it would just leave. He padded over and opened it. No such luck, though at least it was May. No matter how mad he was with her right now, it was better than the alternative. He wanted to keep that man as far away from his bedroom as possible.

“I’m leaving now.” She told him in a short, clipped voice. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” Peter nodded, reaching out to give her a hug. May visibly softened at the embrace. “Love you.” She tacked on, as if it were an afterthought. Peter didn’t really care. All he needed right then and there were those three words. She broke the hug after a few seconds, stepping back, turning around, and disappearing into the living room before leaving the apartment. Peter wasn’t able to move an inch before his space was invaded again. Skip appeared in front of him, surveying the teen.

“So, what do you want to do, kiddo?” Kiddo. That was Tony’s word. He grit his teeth, but said nothing. “Did you like any of May’s suggestions?” He offered.

“I have homework.” He said, simply. “For my American literature class.” Skip looked down at him thoughtfully.

“American lit, huh. I took a course on that in college, maybe I could help you?” He moved to step inside the room. Peter panicked.

“Actually, I think I’m mostly done!” He squeaked out. Skip nodded, taking another step back.

“So let’s watch a movie, then. I’m sure you can finish the rest of it later, if you don’t want my help.” He was stuck. Utterly, and completely stuck.

“I’m… tired.” He told him, lamely. Skip frowned.

“It’s 4:30 in the afternoon, though.”

Crap.

“If you don’t want to hang out with me, that’s fine, I’m just curious as to why. ” Peter knew it wouldn’t be wise to reveal his hand when he was alone with the man. Not like he couldn’t take him on in a fight if necessary- he just… didn’t want to.

“Okay. We can watch a movie.” He finally relented. Skip shot him a grin.

“Excellent! Do you have a preference?” Peter shrugged. Besides Star Wars, he wasn’t much of a movie guy. And looking at Skip- the first option wasn’t an option.

“You can choose, I guess.” Skip walked over to the TV, sitting down on the couch. Peter sat down on the same couch, but as far away from the man as humanly possible. He abruptly stood up, making his way over to the kitchen. “What are you looking for?” Peter questioned. He just wanted this done and over with.

“You can’t have a movie without snacks!” Peter groaned. Snacks. He wasn’t two, he could make his way through a movie without needing to be fed. The sound of cabinets opening and closing irritated his ears, until the man came back with a packet of pre-popped popcorn and another of gummy worms, tossing them down on the coffee table. He scooted past Peter just barely, opting to sit right next to him and thus crowding him into the side of the couch. Peter felt vaguely nauseous.

“Do you have Hulu?” Skip asked, picking up the remote. 

“Uh, yeah, I share it with Tony.” Skip nodded thoughtfully.

“This Tony guy… are you close?” Peter couldn’t help but smile slightly, just thinking about his mentor.

“Yeah. We are.”

“Mm.” Skip didn’t comment beyond that, opening the application on the TV and skipping downward to the movies section. “I’ve been wanting to watch this one for a few months- you up for it?” The poster was set underwater, and featured a weird-looking dude embracing a woman in red. Peter squinted. “It won four Oscars, too.”

“The Shape of Water? Is this that fish movie?” Skip chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” Peter shrugged, mindful of the way his shoulder brushed against Skip’s.

“Sure. We can watch it.” Peter snagged the gummy worms from the table. If he had to watch a movie next to this guy, he’d do it with sugar and gelatin.

The movie was… bizarre. To say the least. They were only half-way through when Peter realized where this was going, and he wasn’t the biggest of fans. Maybe he should’ve checked the IMDB page before agreeing to it. Skip got up to use the bathroom around that mark, thankfully giving Peter a reprieve. He picked up his phone and texted Ned.

watching a weird-ass movie with S. send help pls. Ned responded almost immediately.

dude!!!! are you sure you don’t need me to come over and punch him in the face??? Peter snorted.

i can handle it. he’s in the bathroom right now and we’re half-way done w it anyways.

mk just lmk :(

Peter pocketed the phone when he heard the bathroom door open again. Strangely enough, Skip almost seemed out-of-breath, entirely red in the face. Peter didn’t push his luck by asking if the man was alright. He sat down right where he got up from, unpausing the movie and staring at the screen unblinkingly. Peter hadn’t really been paying attention to what was actually happening on screen- until the woman was suddenly topless.

Okay. This is fine. I just need to get up and excuse myself and leave and never come back. This is fine.

He moved slightly, just trying to stretch his legs so he could move into an upright position, when he felt himself being… stopped. There was a firm hand on his upper thigh, thumb moving gently over the denim. Peter stared at it. And stared. And stared. 

He watched the hand move up just a bit further, unable to move an inch, no matter how much his brain was screaming at him to do so. It was when Skip’s hand was trailing across his zipper, and when he noticed that his other hand was on his own crotch that he finally stood up.

“I’m- I’m going to T-Tony’s.” He stuttered out, shaking like a leaf. He didn’t take anything with him but the clothes on his back and his phone as he rushed outside the apartment, not waiting for Skip to respond, going down the stairs and making his way outside. He heaved on the pavement, grimacing at the sticky residue of gummy worms that coated the inside of his mouth. Peter wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and pulled out his phone.

“Can you- can you send someone to get me?” He requested after putting in Tony’s number, all whilst jogging down the street and trying to distance himself a few blocks from Skip. He sent Tony his new address.

“I’ll be there in ten.” Tony replied, with an unreadable tone of voice. Peter disconnected the call immediately after, keeling over and trying to catch his breath. It only took eight minutes for a black Audi to pull up to the curb. Usually, he sent Happy to pick him up for lab days, but he supposed the man would probably be eating dinner or something by now. He checked his phone. It was only 6:19pm.

“You look like shit.” Tony commented, peering over at Peter’s still shaking form. Peter swallowed.

“I probably do.” On any other day, Peter would accompany that comment with a laugh, but he didn’t do so much as smirk.

“Why’d you need me to come pick you up on such short notice, so far from your apartment? I’m a bit lost here, kiddo.” Tony explained. Peter blanched at the use of the word, and the last person he’d heard it from. 

“Can you call me something else? Just Peter is fine.”

“Something else? Okay, right. Sure, buddy. That work?” Tony was always so… accommodating. No interrogations about why that word stuck in his ears like cotton, just acceptance and adaptation.

“Yeah. Buddy is fine.” Tony came to a stop at a red light, reaching over and ruffling Peter’s hair.

“We can chat about what made you upset when we get back to the tower, alright?” Peter nodded, reaching out to turn the knobs on the radio. Tony didn’t share his music taste with Peter whatsoever, but he let the teen choose whatever he wanted when they drove together. It didn’t take long for them to reach the building and head up to the living quarters, where Peter collapsed on the couch.

Tony sat next to him, and in response, Peter instinctively moved away. He felt bad seeing Tony’s crestfallen expression, but the situation was too familiar for him to feel comfortable with it. “I’m worried about you, buddy.” He finally said, looking at Peter as if he could find the secret of his discomfort in his dimples.

“Everything’s just been… a lot lately.” Peter replied, lamely. Tony frowned.

“Can you elaborate?” He asked, gently. Peter didn’t move away when Tony tried to come close again.

“May has a new boyfriend.” He blurted out. “And I don’t like him.” Tony quickly wiped the shocked expression from his face and nodded understandingly.

“Is it… weird? To see your aunt dating someone new after-”

“After Ben?” The corners of Tony’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah.” Peter could do two things here. He could lie and say that it was the reason, or give up what he knew and his experiences.

“He made me miss Ben even more. I feel like he’s being replaced.” Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. It was harder to lie about Skip than he thought, the words “ he touched me ” just begging to fall out of his mouth. Tony reached out and rubbed Peter’s back soothingly.

“I understand. I totally understand, and I think it’s normal to be apprehensive. This guy will never be Ben, we both know that, so just try to distinguish the two and give him a chance.”

I’m sure he asked that twelve year old to give him a chance, too.

“I can give him a chance.” Peter replied, drawing his legs into his chest. Tony smiled.

“Good, good. Now that that’s all settled- do we want tacos for dinner?” Peter nodded. “Alright, you put something on-” He placed the remote next to Peter. “-and I’ll get that started.” They ate dinner on the coach, making their way through season one of The Clone Wars until Peter felt his eyes start to droop. He set his alarm for 1:00am when he realized this, figuring he could nab some cash from Tony’s wallet and head back on his own when Skip was asleep. He did just that, after waking up on the couch to his alarm blaring at the given time.

---

Peter realized it only when he arrived back at the apartment. The front door was locked. He went out the back and tried his bedroom window. It was locked, too. He couldn’t exactly ask Skip to open his bedroom window for him, so he made his way to the front door again and just… stood in front of it, trying to work up the courage to knock. Eventually, after a good ten minutes, he did exactly that.

He knocked.

There was some shuffling from behind the door, but eventually the lock clicked and the door swung open. Skip had an unreadable expression on his face as he ushered Peter in.

“May warned me that you might try to run off without telling me where you were going.” Peter’s mouth went dry. “You want to tell me where you went?” He asked, staring Peter down.

“I…” Lie. Lie. Lie. “...was at Tony’s.”

Dumbass.

“You really like this Tony guy, huh?” He asked, herding Peter into the corner of the room. He looked around frantically, trying to find a way to slip around the man and back into his bedroom. “What do you do when you’re alone together? Science projects?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this.” Peter whispered out, unable to make his voice any louder.

“I’m not doing anything? What do you think I’m doing?” Skip goaded. For a moment he almost believed the man. That this was all just a big misunderstanding. But- only for a moment.

“Don’t- don’t gaslight me. I know about your little record. You probably do this to all the kids of the women you date. Do you even like May? Unfortunately for you, she’s not a little boy.” Skip’s mouth was a frigid line.

“Are you going to tell May?” He asked, sounding genuinely curious. Peter nodded his head up and down rapidly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her the second she gets back.” He pointed at the man accusingly. Skip chuckled.

“And… she’s going to believe you? Get rid of the big bad Skip?” Peter looked around for an escape route again. Skip, realizing this, closed in further and grabbed him by the forearm. Peter went limp. “She won’t. Believe me.” He tried to shake the man off, but he only tightened his grip. His strength wasn’t working. His strength wasn’t working.

“Let go of me.” He snarled. But there was no bark behind the bite. He couldn’t do much more than tremble.

“I don’t think I will.” Skip flipped Peter over and onto his stomach, snatching his hands and holding them together behind the teen’s back. He heard the shuffle of fabric. Peter kicked out, bucking like a mustang, only to meet air. His arms still weren’t working the way he wanted them to.

“Tony ever do this with you?” Skip asked, tugging on Peter’s jeans with this free hand. He couldn’t respond, face pressed into the carpet. He could barely breathe. “I bet he does. No way he could resist this.” He felt fresh air hit his bare back. “I was really confused about who this dude was until he called me last night. Imagine my surprise to find out Tony was Tony fucking Stark.” Peter’s eyes widened. “No wonder- all billionaires are a bunch of pedos.” He laughed at his own unfunny joke.

“He’s not!” Peter whined. And that’s what it was. A whine. “You know nothing about Mr. Stark!”

He felt so pathetic.

“What? The truth make you sad ?” Skip mocked. 

“Don’t speak about him like that!” He peered upward and wished he hadn’t when he realized that Skip was undressing himself now.

“You don’t want me to call Tony Stark a-” That was when Peter finally landed a kick. Skip stumbled back, hitting the opposite wall whilst Peter got up on shaky legs. He high-tailed it to his bedroom, clicking the lock when he got inside to further protect himself. The door handle jiggled as Skip tried to break in, though he quickly gave up and left. Peter ran over to his bed, buried himself under the covers, and just… sat there, unable to process what happened until he passed out of exhaustion an hour later.

---

When Peter woke up, the sun had eclipsed the skyline, his phone was buzzing, and the door was still locked. He checked his notifications.

Did you get home safe, Peter? Tony had asked twenty minutes ago. He felt queasy reading that. He got home safe, sure, but home certainly wasn’t safe. He wanted to tell Tony so badly, now that something had actually happened. He really did. But Peter wasn’t ready for Tony to come in, guns blazing, tearing up his life and leaving nothing behind.

sorry i didn’t tell u. i’m fine back at may’s. Was all he could come up with. His phone pinged again. It was Ned.

was everything ok last night? He could imagine how nervous Ned was writing that text. He couldn’t tell him either. Ned would never get over it, he knew the other boy would spend the rest of his life in guilt. Everything would be fine anyways. Peter was safe in his room.

He’d just wait it out.

Famous last words.

He got up to check the lock again and was, embarrassingly enough, reminded of the fact that he really needed to use the bathroom. The fucking urge to pee of all things was what made his blood drain from his face. Peter couldn’t deny it now that he was up though, and so he checked the time on his phone. 8:07am. Alright. Skip was probably still asleep. He could just… peep out, do his thing, and rush back in. He had hand sanitizer on his desk, he didn’t even need to wash up afterwards.

Peter leveled his right hand with the door knob, gently clasping it with the palm and twisting, popping open the lock. He peered out, looking both ways, before stepping into the hallway with light feet, padding to the bathroom on his tippy-toes. The bathroom door squeaked, he knew that, but if he finagled himself in just the right way… he pushed himself half through the empty gap before he realized what had happened. And what was going to happen. He made eye contact with Skip, who was leaning against the sink.

He’d been set-up.

The door slammed shut behind him as he was dragged inside.

“Lock it, would you?” He called out, and when Peter tried the doorknob again, it wouldn’t budge.

There was someone else on the other side. With a key.

“We’re not leaving until I get what I want, so you better do what I want you to- no funny business.” He grinned wickedly. “Oh- and take a leak before we start, I’m not having some little freak piss on me when I’m in them.”

Peter looked at the door again. He could… he could just break it down, couldn’t he? But- how would they explain that to the landlord? It was so stupid. He was about to be… and all he could think of was the bills. He looked back at Skip, mind made up.

He gathered his strength, and with one well-placed kick, knocked it down. It hit the burly man on the other side of the door square in the back, who keeled over in pain. Skip tried grabbing him by the wrists again, but Peter was quicker. He rushed into the living room, and immediately tripped over the coffee table, slamming his head on the floor. He felt blood trickle down his temple as the two men cornered him.

Skip’s friend held down his legs, apparently with the knowledge that his fight-or-flight move was to flail them, whilst Skip hovered over him, letting his bare hands run downward. Peter screamed, sobbing desperately and trying to use his strength again, but his head still hurt like a bitch and the blood was clouding his vision.

The worst part was that, when they were finally done, there were no marks that indicated that anything other than a purely physical altercation had happened- bruises around his wrists, sure, but that could be explained away. Just hands on his body and his mouth and-

The front door opened, a purse dropping by the coat hanger.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The three of them looked up to see a shocked Aunt May standing in the doorframe.

Notes:

me: what's the most awkward and uncomfortable movie you can watch with an acquaintance
me: oh yeah. fish sex movie (honorable mention to wolf of wallstreet which i definitely should not have been watching with my sister at age ten)

spoiler alert aunt may isn't the most sympathetic character here so i'm sure you can guesstimate how the next chapter will go

comments always appreciated :)

Chapter 5: Chapter 4

Notes:

tw for gaslighting and victim-blaming before the first page break. yeah i love may but i kinda made her an asshole here.

Immediately upon her arrival, Peter was pushed further into the floor. He struggled against his fate for a moment before relaxing his limbs, realizing that they were trying to get a reaction out of him to build a case for themselves.

“What are you doing back so early, Aunt May?” Peter asked through grit teeth, craning his head to the side to amplify his voice. He could see his aunt’s flower-patterned sneakers on the welcome mat.

“I- I was worried about how things were going.” She admitted, clutching the fabric of her scrubs. “And now I know I was right.” May inhaled deeply, collecting herself. “Skip, Nathan, please get off my son and explain what's going on.” She pleaded. They followed her command and let Peter up, Skip holding out a hand for him amiably. Peter didn’t take it, instead standing up on his own merit with a scowl. Nathan took in the exchange with knowing eyes and shook his head back and forth slowly.

“I don’t know how this happened.” He lamented. “I do apologize for having to restrain your son, but Skip called me over to help look for him when he disappeared, and it’s been chaos ever since.” Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood whilst trying to keep himself from socking the man in the face.

“Disappeared?” May questioned, narrowing her eyes and setting her gaze on Peter.

Oh, shit.

“We were watching a movie- everything had been going alright so far, no complaints.” He started, before walking to and sitting down on the couch in an attempt to appear poised. “I got up to use the bathroom halfway through, and while I was in there, he snuck out to Tony’s without telling me.” Skip relayed, leaning back into the cushions. “I didn’t even know where he was until he came back and confessed to me. For all I know, he could’ve been standing on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“Is this… true ?” May asked, still staring at her nephew. He had never seen her look at him like that. Maybe a bad driver, sometimes an aggravating teacher.

But never him.

“Yes, but-” Peter started.

“No buts!” She yelled, before turning to her boyfriend. “Skip, please continue.” He sighed deeply.

“When Peter got back, I tried to reprimand him, and so in response he holed himself up in his room and wouldn’t open the door when I asked. I was so worried about him, that he might try to sneak away again in the night, so I slept by his door.”

Peter couldn’t help the disgusted look that flashed on his face at what he had just learned. The creep sat by his door all night?

“I woke up early to try and catch him, but he just… freaked out on me. We- me and Nathan- both had to restrain him to keep him from hurting himself or others, especially after he knocked down the bathroom door trying to run away again.” May’s frown deepened any further, if that were possible. She looked beyond furious.

“Is this true?” May asked, danger evident in her voice.

He knew then that she wasn’t going to take his side.

He tried anyway.

“He- he hurt me. That’s why I ran away.” Peter protested, rucking up the sleeves of his hoodie and showing off the bruises. However, they had lightened significantly, and May didn’t seem to be in the mood to get a talking-to about Peter’s unusual biology. “We were watching a movie and tried getting into my pants.” May’s face went blank, and somehow that scared him more than anything.

“Are you- are you seriously trying to say that my boyfriend tried to sexually assault you to get out of a grounding? No, more than a grounding. You knocked down the goddamn door? Do you have any idea how much that’ll cost to get fixed? How do I explain that to the landlord?” Her tone was that of a scream now, and Peter wondered if one of their neighbors was going to call the cops or file a noise complaint. Skip merely tutted, as if this was an inconvenience to him, rather than a possibly life-changing accusation.

“He hacked into private legal records the day you left and found a false claim another jealous kid of a woman I was dating made- so now he thinks I’m some kind of monster, without even reviewing the facts. I was honestly reluctant to date you in the first place because of it.” He admitted.

Peter had to say one thing about Skip- he was a damn good liar, and his friend Nathan was smart enough to stay out of it. May took in a shuddering breath.

“You think this is some kind of game? False rape claims, Peter? I didn’t raise you to be so goddamn disrespectful of the real children who go through this stuff.” She chastised. “Is that what teenagers get up to these days?”

Peter was done at this point. He was absolutely, 100% done. He didn’t bother mentioning what they’d been in the middle of before May interrupted, swallowing again and trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“It’s over.” Was all he said before turning around and walking back to his room nonchalantly, locking it again once inside. After a moment of peace, the sound of fists pounding against the door started up, and May yelled his name once or twice. He ignored it all.

“Duffel bag?” He contemplated to himself, pulling it out from underneath the bed. “Yeah, that’ll do.” He slowly made his way around, snagging comfortable and warm clothing, deodorant, a hairbrush, shoes, socks, underwear, laptop, phone, chargers, important documents such as his birth certificate from his locked file cabinet, along with his wallet and some emergency cash, and lastly- his suit. Oh, and a picture of his parents and Ben. The latter had May also in the picture, and so he folded it over to hide her face, not ready to completely tear it in two.

“I hope you’re all fucking happy!” He yelled at the door. The pounding quieted. Peter popped open the window, and slipped out into the cool morning breeze. He pulled his, thankfully, fully charged phone out of his pocket once he was on the ground.

u up? He texted Ned.

---

Ned spun around in a wheelie chair in front of him. The window he’d come in through was still open, letting air circulate throughout the room. Peter shifted his body so his back faced the stream, cold and unable to thermoregulate.

“So… how long are you planning on hiding from May?” He asked, still spinning. Peter shrugged.

“As long as I can without your mom noticing. Or just however long I can, period.” He brushed his hand through his wet curls, grateful for Ned granting him access to his shower. Peter had used so much mouthwash that the inside of his mouth stung, but he didn’t regret it. He’d been so far deep in survival mode that it was only when he finally got to Ned’s that he cracked and locked himself in the bathroom for an hour. The other teen had definitely heard him crying, but thankfully decided not to mention it until he’d settled in.

“Cool with me.” Ned replied, giving him a thumb’s up. “So… what do you want to do? I mean, we could, like, walk around outside and get lunch from this place next door, or play video games-”

“Second option. Definitely the second.” The idea of May or Skip coming around to Ned’s and catching him outside on the front steps made him blanch, even though he knew he was being paranoid.

“Right.” Ned accepted with a grin. “You brought your laptop?” Peter smacked his backpack and opened the zipper at the top, sliding it out of the case and presenting it to his friend. “Fortnite?” He questioned, knowing that Peter would begrudgingly agree, as he always did.

“Fine. But I’m totally kicking your ass this time.” Ned rolled his eyes.

“You’ve said that, like, fifty times now, and all of those times have been inaccurate.”

“Fifty-first time’s the charm.” He mumbled in response, opening his computer and typing in the password.

It was half-way through their first round when Ned finally started asking questions.

“So.” He started, trying to sound nonchalant despite obviously being nervous. “What did you two fight about?” Peter shot at a guy repeatedly from the top of Tilted Towers.

“She was just- being a piece of shit.” Ned frowned, recoiling in shock at the word choice.

“I’ve never heard you complain about her like that before. What was she saying- if you don’t mind me asking?” Peter peered over at Ned’s laptop and watched his character do nothing but loot boxes for a solid minute before responding.

“We were fighting about, uh, Skip- y’know the dirt you dug up on him?” Ned looked mildly disturbed at the reminder.

“Uh, yeah. I do.” Momentarily distracted, a group of four came in and quickly killed both of them right as they were about to face off. “Hey! That’s double teaming!” Ned complained. Peter clicked out of the screen and turned to his friend, who immediately noticed the change in mood and quieted.

“Well- she said it was all fake, and that I was just mad that Skip wasn’t Ben, and a bunch of other crap.” Peter closed his laptop and pulled his legs up to his chest. Ned followed suit. “I just- I don’t know why she’d believe this guy she’s known for only, like, a month. Over me! Her nephew!” He hit a fist against his swollen chest. “Does everything we’ve done together mean nothing? When she cried on my shoulder at Ben’s funeral? Has she just been putting up with me, the whole time, secretly resenting my existence? I’m just so angry I don’t even-” Ned reached out and wiped something wet off Peter’s face.

A tear.

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you some tissues.” He proposed, snagging them from his desk and gently handing them over.

“Thanks- sorry.” Peter sniffled, trying to hold it in. He didn’t have the liberty of plausible deniability that a shower would’ve afforded him anymore. Ned shook his head slowly.

“Nope. No apologies. You’ve watched me cry so many times it’s not even funny.” Peter laughed wetly.

“Like when we watched The Notebook together in eighth grade?” He mentioned, thinking back to that fateful sleepover.

“Hey, you cried just as much as I did!” Ned exclaimed, suddenly standing up from his chair, which toppled in his wake. Peter cringed at the loud noise but said nothing of it. Ned, though not often said to be the most perceptive of people, must’ve noticed him flinch, because something dark suddenly flashed across his face. “Hey, so- nothing happened between you and Skip, right? It was just May?” Peter paused to think. He… wanted to tell Ned. His skin felt too small for his body, the words stuck in the back of his throat like a too-big potato chip or a pill taken without water.

But he didn’t.

“Nah. Do you want to play another round?”

---

They’d stayed in that room, just talking and playing video games from morning until night. Luckily, Mrs. Leeds never bothered to check in on her son besides occasionally opening the door, leaving them to their devices. Peter was basically fucking exhausted by 8:00pm, so they set up a space for him in Ned’s large closet, clearing out the bottom of shoes and fallen shirts and replacing it with a few blankets and pillows. Ned was going to stay up a bit later, since he wasn’t nearly as tired, but the doors did a good job filtering out the light from his PC.

All was well- until Peter woke up in the middle of the night, inconsolable. When he thought about it later, he couldn’t even recall what he’d been having a nightmare about (though he had a pretty good idea). Whatever it was, it was harrowing enough that even Ned couldn’t calm him down.

“Okay- I’m getting my mom- alright? I’ll be right back, buddy.” Peter didn’t respond, still trying to get his breathing under control just enough that he wasn’t at risk of passing out. Peter liked Ned’s mom well enough, but having to do breathing exercises with her on her son’s closet floor at 2:00am was not on his docket of ‘wants’ in life. Nevertheless- that’s what ended up happening.

Thankfully, once Peter was coherent, she didn’t immediately begin to reprimand her son for sneaking him in. She first offered to call May to pick Peter up, which was immediately vetoed, before instead telling Peter that he could stay there until morning and get a ride to school. The rest was up to him. He didn’t know if he’d be open to trying to make amends with his aunt yet, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. He'd make some emergency plans first.

It’d be fine.

---

Mrs. Blois was always nice to him. He often came to their local library to study when his neighbors got too loud, or when he needed extra sources for a history project. It had started to rain when he was half-way there, and immediately after coming in like a soggy puppy, she jogged over to him. He probably needed another shower by now, anyways.

“Oh my gosh, Peter, you’ll get sick! Just stay here, I’ll get some towels.” Peter waited right where he stood, until she came back with some dish towels. “I apologize, this is all I could find- they’re from the staff kitchen. I’ll have to petition for a shower.” She joked. Peter gave her a slight smile of acknowledgement before drying himself off as best as he could. “Do you need any help finding anything?” She asked courteously, concern still in her eyes.

“I’m just gonna hop on one of the computers to do some research, and use the outlets to charge my phone and laptop before I go home at the same time. Two birds, one stone.” He lied.

Going home, his ass.

“Alright sweetheart- just let me know if you need something else.” The swivel chairs at the library’s computer section were always way more comfortable than the one he had at home, and his legs and back were grateful for it after walking almost a mile to get to where he was. He opened a new incognito tab, and entered Google in the search window. His fingers were tentative as he sought answers.

Services for homeless youth in New York? The results were luckily numerous, and the pictures of the rooms they could potentially provide Peter looked decent enough.

There was one problem- he wasn’t sixteen yet. Most of, if not all of them, had that as an age requirement. And more than that- he couldn’t exactly change his birth certificate, which he’d probably need to qualify. There were probably more temporary places that just required an ID. He could probably deal with that though- Flash was in his contacts for some reason, probably put in there as a joke, and he knew the other boy most certainly had one and could probably put him through with someone.

One thing he was grateful for was, surprisingly, being bisexual. A lot of the shelters were specifically for LGBT youth that’d been kicked out, and he appreciated being able to stay at one without lying about his identity- definitely lying about why he’d been kicked out, but he didn’t feel like a total asshole doing it and stealing a spot from someone with bigger problems than him.

He looked through some Google reviews, which were surprisingly numerous, and write down a few of the better ones on a slip of paper with their addresses listed below.

Peter looked down at his phone. Time for school. It hadn’t stopped raining, upon a further glance at the weather outside, but thankfully the library was between May’s apartment and Midtown, so it wasn’t too far of a trek.

---

For the first time in his life, Peter wished that school would go slower. He was dreading pulling Flash aside and begging him for help at lunch, and more than that, he was dreading having to explain what he was doing with the other teen to Ned and MJ. Ned must’ve picked up on his nervousness, because he handed him an Almond Joy at the start of third period. Ned liked to buy the bulk party bags, and hand the contents out to MJ, Peter, and any acquaintances that asked- the former took the Peanut M&Ms, whilst Peter took the Twix and Almond Joys.

“You doing good?” He asked Peter, searching his face. Peter paused for a moment before nodding. Ned noticed his hesitation, and opened his mouth to speak on it, before he was interrupted by the teacher starting to lecture. “We’ll talk at lunch.” He whispered to his friend, turning to his own laptop to take notes. Peter didn’t, infact, believe he was going to talk with Ned during lunch.

When the bell rang, he hightailed it out of there, not bothering to wait for his friend, trying to be first to the cafeteria so he could pick out Flash as he entered. He walked in a few minutes later with his posse, and Peter flagged him down reluctantly. Flash looked weirded out, but said a few words to his friends, and made his way through the crowd and over to Peter.

“What do you need me for, loser?” He asked, picking at his fingernails.

“I need a fake ID.” He mumbled out. One eyebrow raised, and he returned his gaze to Peter’s.

“Shit, really? If you have money, I can direct you to someone.” Peter pulled out a crumpled ten. Flash snagged it from him. “Be more discreet next time, thanks. This’ll work. I’ll text you his contact information. And don’t die of alcohol poisoning, thanks, don’t need any of this tracked back to me.”

“So empathetic.” Peter said, sarcastically. Flash hit his shoulder with his own as he passed by the other teen. He sat down at an empty table, ignoring how Ned and MJ were staring at him from across the room. A text came through a minute later, with a phone number and nothing else. He added it to his contacts as ‘ID’ and proceeded to send off a message. No point dawdling- he went straight to the point.

this is a friend of flash- i need a fake ID. 16-17 is fine. Immediately, three dots popped up.

come behind the bleachers rn. that’s where i hang out at lunch.

How classy.

Peter snuck past the lunch monitor, heading out the back doors and walking over to the gym. The doors were locked, but when he rattled them to try to force them, they swung open. A senior Peter recognized, but didn’t know the name of, looked him up and down.

“You’re the friend of Flash?” He asked. Peter jerked his head up and down. He made a gesture with his arm, inviting him inside.

“This is how it’s going to work- you’ll provide me with some information, and I’ll send it over to a friend who’s gonna print it. Easy peasey. You need it for tonight?” Peter nodded again. “That’s fine, I’ll just have him drop it off here at the end of the day- stay ten minutes late in the car park. Now- payment.” Peter pulled out what he had left. Eighty-four bucks. The senior snagged it from his hands and counted everything out himself. “This’ll do.” he stated, obviously not happy but not willing to decline the money. “Car park- 3:10pm. Be there.” He slammed the gym door right after Peter took the first step out of the space after giving over his information- some of it would obviously be made up, but they wanted to match it with his physical being as much as possible.

At 3:10pm, on the dot, he reappeared from out behind a Toyota. The ID was slapped into his hand.

He was officially sixteen. 

---

He walked up the flight of stairs, perhaps for the last time in his life, and made his way over to May’s front door. He let himself catch his breath for a moment, taking a bit longer than necessary to calm his nerves. His fist hesitated for a moment, before he hit it against the door gently, once, twice, thrice. There was some shuffling- perhaps she had been lounging on the couch- before the front door opened, just a crack. Peter took the liberty to start speaking.

“I- I’m sorry, Aunt May. I don’t have anywhere else to go, I can try to get along with Skip if you need me to, I just don’t have anywhere else to go.” He pleaded. May didn’t speak for a moment.

“Are you sorry? For everything you said?” She asked, tentatively.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He nodded frantically, despite knowing that she couldn’t see him

“Were you lying? Can you admit that to me- that you lied?” Peter didn’t think before the next words left his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not- I wasn’t lying. I’m not going to pretend that he didn’t hurt me. I’d go crazy. But I’m sorry. We can agree to disagree.” He frantically corrected himself. The door opened a bit wider before abruptly slamming shut.

Peter didn’t fall to his knees. Didn’t cry.

He just walked away.

First stop- he looked down at the address typed into the maps app on his phone.

Notes:

some parts of this are a bit rushed, but i didn't want to spend any more time on this chapter when it's already 3.6k words. i might do something different with may later, redeem her as much as possible or otherwise, but for now her cameo is over.

i'm also trying to do as much research on homeless youth services in new york, but unfortunately i can't find a super amount of information. if any of you hadn't noticed, i deleted a different fic of mine featuring an OC i like, so i might repurpose her for that part.

let me know what you think of where this is going so far! from the bottom of my broken heart is not abandoned but i'm putting it on hold until i finish this (which will be before the end of april).

Chapter 6: Chapter 5

Notes:

sorry that this took so long i was away on vacation (to new york, actually. i'm going to college there hehe) enjoy!

Peter didn’t know what to do, now that he was here. All he had under his belt was around thirty minutes of research, give or take. He could’ve probably called ahead, he knew they offered transportation, but he wanted to put off his arrival as much as possible. It was humiliating how humiliat ed he was for seeking out help.

Peter knew that they might not ask for every identification paper one could possibly own, knowing that most homeless youth aren’t that of their own volition, and might have been thrown out with no belongings, but he still wasn’t sure just a fake ID would suffice. Nevertheless, he walked into Prism Coalition, a shelter for LGBT youth, and approached what he presumed was the front desk. There was someone behind the counter scrolling on their phone, and Peter felt self-conscious alerting them to his presence.

“Sorry about that! How can I help you today?” She apologized and asked, with practiced ease that could only come from years of customer service.

“Uh.” Peter started, eyes darting around the facility. “I need… help.” He admitted, stumbling over the words. She smiled.

“Certainly. Would you like to speak with a case manager?” Peter had no idea what one of those was, but it sounded vaguely helpful, at least more so than a low-level secretary.

“...Sure.” She picked up the phone next to her and hit a button on the keypad. It rang out twice before someone picked up on the other end.

“Hi Martha, we have someone for intake, could you come down and help?” The desk-lady asked, glancing over at Peter. “Do you want to put that down?” She asked, referring to the bag. Peter shook his head fervently, not wanting anyone else to be that close to the suit. And besides that- he certainly wasn’t feeling tired holding it.

Yay, super-strength.

A lady with black eyeshadow popped around the corner before beckoning Peter over.

“That’s Martha, she’ll help you get settled in.” Desk-lady once again told him. Peter hefted his bag over his shoulder and walked over, before she showed him into a tiny office. He took the chair that was across the one she had already claimed, and slouched down in it.

“So- hi, welcome, my name is Martha, as Abby may have already told you. I’m a case manager at Prism Coalition, an LGBT youth focused homelessness services center, and I’m here to get some information and to see what you may need help with.” Peter nodded slowly.

“That… sounds fine with me.” He acquiesced. Martha smiled.

“Firstly- we’ll do the information part, and then move onto your situation. Legal name?” She clicked her pen and set it against a blank form. 

“Peter Parker.”

“Preferred name and pronouns?”

“Peter- and he/him is fine.”

“Date of birth?”

“August 10th… 2000.” She nodded at that, seemingly not having picked up on his pause.

“Do you have an ID available that I could see? If not, that’s also fine, but it’d certainly be helpful.” Peter picked his wallet out of his pocket, and slid it over to Martha. She peered down at it, confirming what she’d heard. “Alright- now for the more personal questions.” Peter shifted in his chair, leaning forward to take it back and put the card in his wallet once again. “What led to you coming here? And please let it be known- unless you are actively in danger to yourself or others, we will not inform the police of any crimes committed by you or others that you report.” Peter paused. Thought.

Martha did, infact, pick up on his trepidation. “We just want to know the truth so we can help you best with triggers, counseling, possibly help with legal matters, such as restraining orders and all that.”

“My aunt- I lived with her- didn’t believe me when I said her boyfriend was hurting me.” He blurted out. “And I wanted to be somewhere that I wouldn’t have to hide my bisexuality.” Martha nodded sadly- not pityingly, but in a way that told Peter she had heard this exact story many, many times.

“Hurting you how?” She asked, in a quiet voice. Peter ground his feet against each other.

“Sexually.” She nodded again.

“Alright, I’ll mark that down so the other staff know what topics to avoid with you. Are there any triggers that accompany your trauma that you’d like us to know about?” Peter shrugged.

“It’s all fresh- so I’m not sure yet. But I’ll let you guys know if something starts to bother me.” She checked off a box.

“Are you interested in therapeutic counseling along with the other counseling options we provide?” Peter noticed that she had chipped, black nail polish on. He thought it looked cool.

“Maybe? I think I’m okay right now- but I’m not sure if that’s still some kind of adrenaline speaking.” She shuffled the papers in front of her and slotted them into a filing cabinet underneath her desk before responding.

“Let me know if you change your mind, alright? We’re here to help. I’d now like to provide you with some information on our overnight, emergency residency services.” She grabbed a pamphlet from a transparent box on the side of her desk. “This contains the run-down, and also lists your rights as a resident. Essentially- if you are able to prove that you’re a successful candidate- this means maintaining grades, committing to counseling, finding employment, saving your money, and everything else that comes with being an independent young adult, you’re guaranteed residence for up to a year. Some of the perks that come with residency include having a home address that can be used to apply to a job and to continue schooling.”

Oh, right. Midtown.

“I have a scholarship at a school- do I need to get in touch with them about my living circumstances?” Martha paused.

“Smart boy, huh? Definitely makes you a better candidate, in our eyes. It’s certainly… recommended, but not necessary. I think you’d want to remove your aunt from the emergency contact list, however. But back to my question- does that seem like something you’d be able to commit to?” Peter internally snorted. Who could turn that offer down?

“I’m positive. I don’t currently have a job, though.” Martha smiled.

“We’ve had no trouble finding employment options for our residents in the past. My colleague Abby actually specializes on that front- once we get you settled in, we can discuss options with her.”

“Get settled in?” Peter questioned.

“We have co-op style rooms upstairs.” She explained. “I’ll show you them.” She stood up and walked to the doorframe, beckoning Peter to follow. They walked up a short flight of stairs to the second floor. “The first floor is offices- as you may have seen- the second floor is entirely dedicated to our residential services. To prevent incidents, there’s always going to be a supervisor up here just to make sure that everything’s going alright with everyone. It’s usually pretty quiet up here during the day- there’s only one resident who’s here during the day, and it’s-”

“Who’s this?” A girl popped up from under the covers of a twin bed.

“That’s Bridgette. She works as a custodian during the night, so we let her stay here and sleep after school. She’s a junior in high school.”

“Mhm. And who are you?” She mumbled, still sleepy.

“I’m Peter.” He introduced himself, simply. Martha gave Bridgette a look.

“Help him get settled, please. I’ll leave you two alone to chat. Feel free to take any bunk that’s free.” Everything was strangely… nice. Not luxurious- but the beds looked more stable than his back at May’s. He noticed that the one across from Bridgette was empty.

“Any chance I could take this one?” He asked, pointing to it. She shrugged.

“Sure, but I’m a snorer.” Peter set down his bag on the plain white sheets.

“That’s fine with me.” Bridgette looked over at his bag.

“If you have anything in there that you want to keep secret, best to hide it under my floorboard.” She offered. She got off the bed, pushed it to the middle of the room, and beckoned him over. There was a loose board in the center of where the bed had once been, and when she pried it up, there was a surprisingly large hole that someone must’ve lined with metal at one point. There was tons of clothing inside, and a few high-heels, stuff that a janitor probably wouldn’t be wearing. “They go through your stuff once a week. I don’t let most people use the box, but I figured you were protective over that bag for a reason.” Peter laughed.

“You have no idea.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do tell. You have to if you want to use it, anyways.” Peter didn’t think she posed much of a threat. Who’d believe that Spider-Man was a homeless teenager, as reported by another homeless teenager? And he needed to use that space. He walked over to the bag and zipped it open, pulling out the suit and showcasing it to her. Her eyes lit up.

“Oh my gosh! You saved me once! I was getting robbed while on my way to a job when you swung in and threw the guy into a dumpster!” She exclaimed. Peter shushed her. “Sorry!” She whisper-yelled. “I’ll keep your secret. Put it in there and close the lid so I can put the bed back.” It was funny- Peter did, actually, remember the woman from that night- but what was interesting is how different she looked, when it wasn’t so long ago- and why wasn’t she at her job? Peter packed up those questions and saved them for later, helping Bridgette push the bed back with ease.

“So- give me the spiel.” Peter asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s good, what’s bad.” Bridgette flopped back down on her bed.

“It’s pretty decent here. They’re anal about grades and jobs and stuff, but it makes sense. They don’t want to help people who don’t want to help themselves. And it looks better to the state to have all success-cases. Otherwise, they’d start to pull funding. The staff are all nice, too. So not many complaints.” Peter kicked his legs.

“That’s good, I guess. Martha also mentioned that they want kids to be out of the house when they get home from work or school?”

“They want us to build social skills and be ‘out in the community’ or whatever.” She shrugged. “It’s definitely given me a reason to interact with the shitheads at my school more, so that’s a plus. Oh, and I got a girlfriend out of that.” Peter thought spending after-school Spider-Man-ing sounded pretty good to him, with the occasional Ned visit. Right on time, his phone pinged.

It was Tony.

Tomorrow. After-school. Lab? Peter smiled.

heck yeah. He replied.

“Who you texting?” She asked, getting up and slinging an arm over his shoulder so she could lean in and see. “Mr. Stark? Don’t tell me that’s-”

“Yep! That’s Tony!” He proclaimed. “He found out I was Spider-Man and now we’re really close.” Bridgette frowned.

“Why don’t you live with him, then?” She asked, seeming genuinely curious. Peter pursed his lips.

“I don’t want to saddle him with my problems. And I don’t want him to know about how I became homeless.” Bridgette removed herself from his person.

“New step-dad?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Uh, yeah, actually- well, kinda. How’d you know?” He responded, extremely confused.

“Same. And FYI- it’s super common. Love is shit.” She proclaimed with an unreadable expression. Peter nodded slowly.

“I guess you’re right. Love is shit.”

There was a knock on the door, and before Peter could answer it swung open. It was Martha.

“Sorry- I forgot that I have to do a bag check. You seem like an upstanding young man, so I don’t anticipate any contraband, but I’d like to check just in case. And then we can go downstairs and I can set you up with our career counselor. That sound good?” Peter beckoned her over to his bag. She snapped on some gloves and started rummaging around, looking for any hidden zippers or compartments that might contain drugs or whatever. After a minute she withdrew her hands and zipped it back up. “You’re all good, kid. Come with me.” Peter descended the stairs, this time sans bag, and followed her to a different tiny office. There was a woman sitting in the seat behind the desk- Abby- and he shuffled inside.

“Welcome!” She called out. “You can sit anywhere.” She joked.

There was one unoccupied chair, which Peter took.

“I’m sure Martha told you a little about me- essentially, I help kids find jobs that’ll help them by A.) creating a steady income which can be used to put down a deposit on a place when they leave here in a year and B.) cultivate skills that they’ll need for the rest of their lives, such as stress management and coworker collaboration. Any questions?” Peter scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t have any identifying information besides an ID- how do I get a job?” What Peter was really concerned about was his age. Any government information he could provide would give away his age, and he’d be kicked out, and maybe even put into foster care.

Yuck.

Abby smiled.

“We’ve had kids with nothing but the clothes on their back get jobs- most of the time smaller businesses that employ minors don’t particularly care about all that stuff, as long as they’re old enough to not require permission from their school to work there. We can also help our residents recover and obtain legal documents.” Peter bit his tongue worriedly, wanting her to move on to a different subject. “They’d pay in cash or check, so no worries about a bank account, though getting one when you’re eighteen wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Can I try to find a job myself?” Abby looked surprised, but schooled her expression quickly enough.

“Well, of course, though you’d have to clear it with us before starting.” Peter scratched at the back of his neck.

“Sorry- it's just that I want to make sure it’s between here and Midtown. And that it’s the right fit, and all that stuff.” Abby frowned.

“I mean, we can definitely help you find a job that fits those parameters, but if you’d like to do it yourself then that’s perfectly acceptable. And you don’t need to worry about transportation- we provide our residents with enough money to get to school and back, money that they only have to repay in part when they are hired.”

“You serious?” Peter asked, grateful that he wouldn’t have to either risk Spider-Man-ing every day or walk over an hour each way.

“Yep. We can provide a prepaid card for the subway.” Peter’s phone buzzed, and he looked down at it and smiled. A single thumbs-up emoji from Tony. Abby peered over at the device as well. “Who’s that?” She inquired. Peter pocketed the phone again.

“A friend of mine. I was going to see him tomorrow after school.” Peter replied, trying to not give away too much information lest she ask why the hell he was homeless with a billionaire pseudo-dad a la Bridgette. She’d probably ask Peter if he could ask Tony for funding.

“Curfew is nine, barring if you work at night, so just be back before then.” She cautioned. “We won’t close the shelter at any point at night and lock you out, but infractions will bring consequences.” Peter shrugged.

“Fair. And I’ll be back by then.” He promised, getting up from the chair. “I’m gonna take a nap. I’m tired.”

“Are you sure-”

“I’m fine.” Peter dismissed her with a wave of his hand, before making his way back upstairs. Bridgette was back fast asleep, clutching a worn teddy bear in her arms. He pulled out his laptop from his bag, before finding out that it was completely out of battery upon trying to open it. He sighed, going to find his bulky charger. It dropped out of his hands, onto the floor, and rolled under his bed.

Peter sighed again.

He dropped to the floor looking for the thing, reaching under the bed with a hand blindly, and coming across something strangely… soft. He pulled that out with one hand, his charger with the other, and compared them in daylight. It was a crudely made Spider-Man plushie, and upon checking the hand, it had Bridgette’s name written on it in Sharpie. He took it over to the teenager and tucked it in with her, before flopping back down on his own bed with a significant ego-boost.

His laptop started up almost immediately now, and he went to Indeed.com, typing in his new address and searching. He scrolled around, trying to find places that would be between the two epicenters of his life. Peter found an opening at a small pizza place a mile away from the shelter, and clicked on the ‘positions’ tab. They were hiring cashiers, thankfully, so Peter probably wouldn’t need to fake experience either. He found a phone number on their website, and bookmarked the page for later.

Peter was fucking exhausted, especially hearing Bridgette’s snoring. He drew the covers over himself and promptly fell asleep.

Notes:

not all homeless people are on the streets. these programs do exist (i found a number of them in my city- i got a lot of the info used here from their websites) and runaway youth especially qualify for them. they're not always amazing but i have a few homeless friends i met in the psych ward who went on to live in government-run housing for minors (that was completely separate from the foster care system), and they had little complaints.

i adore all homeless peter fics (A Good Reason- baloobird, The Third Option- Uncertainty_Principle), but i also love the research part of my fic writing process and introducing realism to fanon tropes that don't often qualify for that (such as my fics about reproductive rights), and i hope you enjoy that too!

comments appreciated!

Chapter 7: Chapter 6

Notes:

sorry that this took so long, i had the WORST case of writer's block in a hot second- enjoy.

Peter was able to take the subway to school the next morning, which he was eternally grateful for. Everything was almost normal- he’d woken up to the sound of his phone alarm, gotten dressed, brushed his teeth, had some cereal, and took off for the nearest station. Midtown’s school day started fairly late for New York, so he didn’t even have to come up with niceties for his new ‘roommates,’ who were already out the door.

The ride was as uneventful as it could be in New York, and so was the shortened walk to Midtown. Ned and, strangely, MJ shot him concerned glances the second he stepped into the building, but before either of them could approach, he had scurried off to his next class. Three periods went by without incident- it wasn’t until lunch that they were able to confront him.

“Where’d you stay last night?” Ned demanded, plopping down in front of Peter’s place in the corner when he failed to come to their usual table. It was a fruitless attempt to maintain emotional and physical distance, one that he knew wouldn’t work, but the failure of his plan did tell him that his friends cared enough to approach on their own will- for that, Peter was thankful. He shrugged.

“May’s. We made up.” Ned frowned and narrowed his eyes before leaning over the table. Peter leaned back instinctively.

“Well, that’s funny, because I had my mom drop me off at her apartment last night. She told me you were staying with a friend when I knocked on the door.” Peter looked down at his sandwich.

“I was around.” He finally spat out, without any real venom in his voice. MJ’s eyes were almost… sad, in a way that Peter had never seen before. He was tempted to tell her that it wasn’t a good look. 

“Please tell me you didn’t have to sleep outside.” She asked, tentative. Peter shook his head.

“I found somewhere to stay. Pretty long term, too. Just until I get onto my own two feet.” He found a small comfort in the fact that those words weren't necessarily a lie.

“And where’s that?” Ned’s tone had raised significantly, and Peter shushed him, not wanting others to hear about his predicament, lest they snitch or spread rumors.

“A shelter- listen, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” MJ rolled her eyes, no longer overburdened with the worry that last night’s pillow had been a concrete bench.

“You sure? Because being homeless at fifteen and having to stay in a shelter sounds pretty fuckin’ bad to me.” Peter shushed her too.

“I promise you, it’s really well-run. Nice staff and kids. Definitely better than any alternatives, and I haven’t seen a cockroach yet, so it's already superior to May’s.” He explained, adding a little joke so he wouldn’t sound entirely defensive.

“Does Tony know?” Ned asked, crossing his arms over his chest. A sudden surge of anger went through Peter’s body.

“No. I’m not a charity case, and I don’t need his pity.” He snapped. Ned held up his hands in defense. “He’d have a real reason to start treating me like the dumb, helpless baby I know he thinks I am.”

“Are you sure about that? Don’t let your pride get in the way of your safety.” MJ warned, placing a comforting hand on Ned’s back and throwing her hair over her left shoulder.

The bell rang, and Peter realized that he hadn’t eaten a bite. He shrugged and shucked it, still wrapped, in his backpack. It was only filled with veggies so hopefully he could eat it later.

“We’ll be visiting.” MJ warned, hoisting Ned up by his forearm and walking away. Peter watched them disappear into the crowd, feeling more lost than when he’d had that apartment door slammed on him.

---

Tony was running just a bit behind schedule, Peter noted, as he pulled into the pick-up line five minutes after the final bell had rung. He paused for a moment to compose himself, and Tony honked his horn impatiently. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Coming!” He shouted, speed-walking over to the passenger seat. By now, the student body had grown used to him clambering into expensive cars once or twice a week, and Flash himself had thankfully grown tired of the sugar daddy jokes. As always, it was another one of his obnoxious sports cars, so Peter had to duck his head to properly fit.

“So! How was school, ‘roos?” He asked amiably, revving the engine and taking off into traffic. Peter shrugged his backpack off, and put it down by his feet.

“Pretty good. I got a 99 on my chem exam.” He told his mentor, blushing slightly when Tony’s grin grew even wider.

“ That’s my boy!” He boasted. “You were complaining about possibly failing it the other week- I knew you had it in you, I did.”

If only that was still Peter’s biggest problem in life.

“Yep.” He admitted, still blushing. “You were right. Silly me.”

“We gotta get that confidence up. I need my best and brightest intern to know that he’s my best and brightest intern. Humility won’t do you any good in this industry, I promise you that.” Tony lectured, wagging his finger. All of a sudden, Peter’s phone began to ring. The caller ID was simply ‘job.’

“I gotta take this, sorry.” Peter apologized, clicking the green ‘accept’ option. “Hello?”

“ Hey, it’s Robert, the manager at Tony’s Pizzeria. We liked your application- can you come in now for a formal interview? ” The gravelly voice on the other end asked, sounding slightly bored. Peter frowned.

“Right now?” Peter had been looking forward to the lab time he’d have with Tony the entire past twenty or so hours, and he was reluctant to give it up so easily.

“ Yes, right now. We want to hire ASAP. ” Peter looked over at Tony, who was staring at him with bugged-out eyes. Luckily, they were at a red light.

“...Alright, then.” The man suddenly hung up, seemingly not caring about niceties. Peter couldn’t exactly be picky, could he? There weren’t many jobs that were willing to overlook his living situation combined with his minor status.

“What was that? ” Tony asked, dumbfounded. “A job interview? Right now? ” Peter shrugged, not bothering to reprimand the man for eavesdropping.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I really, really need this job.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at the curled tips.

“Job. You need a job.” He said, not directing the words at Peter, and instead trying to convince himself of something. “Why?”

“May’s hours got cut back. Just trying to keep the electricity on.” He lied, as smoothly as he could possibly be. Tony’s expression went from confused to distraught.

“I can help with that. You don’t- you don’t have to do this by yourself. You’re fifteen- you need to worry about kid things, like Legos and trig homework. Y’know what- hell, I can speak to the hospital, if you want me to.” He offered, mind spinning to come up with suggestions. Peter kicked at his backpack.

“Just drop me off at the address, please.” Tony went silent.

“If you ever need help paying bills-” He started, voice tentative.

“I know, I know.” Peter interrupted. “Please. The address.” Tony went silent again.

“Where to?”

---

Tony snorted as they pulled up to the small pizza place, tucked between a laundromat and an ice cream parlor.

“Really? Tony’s? ” He asked, chuckling to himself. Peter didn’t laugh. It definitely wasn’t a restaurant that Peter might find near the tower, that’s for sure. Not necessarily… decrepit, but had seen better days, and was woefully outdated. The neon ‘open’ sign hanging on the big window to the left of the door was partially blown out- if Peter was in charge of the decorating, he would’ve swapped it out for a wooden thing you could get at Michael’s.

Still- he wasn’t about to turn down $15/hour.

He clambered out of the vehicle, trying to ignore the giant wealth disparity between the thing in question and the surrounding area, slamming the door shut behind him. Tony rolled the window down immediately after.

“You need a ride back to May’s?” He asked, looking Peter up and down worriedly. Peter pulled out his wallet and showed Tony his subway card.

“I got it, thanks.” He said, turning the older man down. Tony frowned, but put the window back up, motioned between his eyes and Peter with two fingers, and dutifully drove away. Peter let out a deep, trying exhale, before turning back to the restaurant. He pushed open the glass door and the bell that had been placed above jingled as he entered, making him jolt, embarrassingly enough.

The place was completely deserted- the only piece left to complete the picture would be a blowing tumbleweed across the dirty floors, gray grout making him shiver.

“Hello?” He questioned, glancing around at his surroundings. “I’m here for the job interview.” Peter said in a slightly higher tone of voice, hoping it would help to alert someone to his presence easier. The sound of footsteps on the tiles started up gradually and grew increasingly louder, until a man popped out from around the corner. He looked how he sounded on the phone- an older, rough looking guy, with sharp eyes and calloused hands. Peter didn’t know how tossing pizzas would give someone that physique, but he didn’t question it.

“You’re Peter?” Robert scanned over Peter’s form curiously, taking in all his soft edges and baby fat. “You don’t look sixteen.” Before Peter could respond, he flapped his right hand noncommittally. “Frankly- I don’t give a shit either way. Come back with me.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating where he was going. Peter followed him behind the counter without another word, not wanting to get on his bad side, and eventually he found himself sitting in a wheelie-chair across from the man in an office that’d been last renovated forty years ago. “So Peter.” He asked, knocking a stack of papers off his slightly crumpled metal desk. “Why do you want this job?” He splayed his hands under his chin, and set his jaw. Peter shuffled in the seat provided.

“Uh, I’m living at a shelter right now, and I need to start saving up for my own place, and for living expenses and rent once I’m actually- y’know- living on my own. Oh, and college- that too. So yeah.” Robert nodded slowly.

“Hard worker?” He asked, clicking a pen once before setting it down again.

“Yes- yes sir.” Peter replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly, because the older man chuckled harshly at his enthusiasm. Peter drew his arms tight to his chest.

“What’s with the sports car?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re homeless and all that.” Peter blanched.

“You saw that?” He shrugged.

“The road is visible from the office.” Peter’s mind blanked for a minute, trying to come up with an excuse.

“He’s my… other boss. I have an internship at a tech company- sometimes he has to drive me to the office from school.” Thankfully, Robert had either not seen Tony or didn’t want to mention it. Also thankfully- Robert’s eyebrow dropped, along with the subject.

“What’s your GPA? You seem like a smart kid- Midtown, fancy school.” Peter made a so-so motion with his hands.

“Currently- I think it’s a 4.8.” Robert whistled.

“Don’t let that get to your head.” He warned, to Peter’s annoyance. He was currently fucking homeless - Peter didn’t think it was possible to have an inflated ego in those circumstances. “Anyway- you got the job. It’ll be nice to have some fresh blood around here.” Robert stood up slowly, rounding the desk and going over to the doorway again. Peter, unsure of what he was supposed to do, also got up. When he wasn’t yelled at, he mirrored the older man’s actions until they were out into the main (still empty) dining area. “Let’s see.” He said to himself, scanning the area. “Right. Cashier. Cash register.”

“Are we doing training now ?” Peter asked, glancing at the watch Tony had gifted him.

“The register is a box of bills and a calculator. It isn’t rocket science, Einstein.” Peter jerked back, as if controlled by an invisible string.

Deep breaths. You can’t fuck this one up over something so small.

“Please don’t call me that.” Peter managed to get out, weakly. Robert snorted, evidently not taking him very seriously.

“What? You got a creepy uncle who calls you that or something?” Peter gagged.

“Don’t talk about Ben like that.” He said, defensively.

“Babysitter?”

“Why do you care?” Peter fired back, now extremely uncomfortable being alone with the man.

“I don’t. Just messing with you.” Peter scrunched his nose up and frowned, but said nothing else, not wanting to get on his bad side. He turned back around to look at the antiquated register. “You know math? Yeah, you know math. Forgot about the 4.8 GPA. Alrighty then, you start tomorrow. Pronto.”

“That’s it?” Peter said, looking for some other kind of instruction. How was he supposed to communicate with the chefs? Other tasks, like the garbage? Closing ? Right as he was about to ask another question, the bell on top of the door rang.

A dude in a full goddamn suit walked right behind Robert and into the back without introducing himself, or saying even a single word. The man he had previously been talking to held up an index finger- before going with him, leaving Peter alone. Just like that. He was slightly relieved, and slightly tempted to just immediately raid the register and quit. Instead, he popped out the door, and pulled out Google Maps, looking for the nearest subway station.

---

Bridgette was in bed when he walked upstairs after his light dinner, still slightly empty but not wanting to push his luck. She immediately lurched up upon seeing him.

“How was the interview?” She asked, excitedly. Peter sighed and flopped down on his twin bed.

“Weird. Definitely weird.” Bridgette, picking up on his mood, changed subjects.

“School? How was school?” Peter rolled onto his back, popping his shoulders as he did so.

“My friends found out about my living situation. I think they might visit sometime.” He groaned, snuffing his own face with a pillow.

“None of my friends know. Or- former friends. Former girlfriend.” Peter threw the pillow off.

“Former?” She pursed her lips, evidently hurt by the recent development.

“They got sick of being bullied for being friends with slash dating a transgender woman.” She told him, simply. Peter’s eyes widened.

“Oh. You’re-” She gave him a deadpan stare.

“Don’t act too shocked. Most of the kids here are some flavor of trans.”

“No, I mean- how do you afford HRT without insurance?” Her mouth fell open slightly, before fixing it with a red face at her assumption of ignorance.

“I bum it off a friend. You can’t get through life with a man’s face and long hair.” She explained, motioning to her visage, which indeed passed well as her gender. Peter let his gaze linger longer than necessary, taking in her button-nose and deep brown eyes. Bridgette leaned over and snapped a finger in his face, looking amused. He flushed just as red as she had previously been.

“Sorry.” He mumbled out, weakly. She flung her hair over her shoulder, and it vaguely reminded him of MJ.

“I gotta get ready for work. You have a good rest of your night, Peter.” The Peter in question buried his face in his pillow again.

Notes:

setting up a few plot points :eyesemoji: let me know if you have any theories about what the hell is going on, and my queen bridgette. i realized i hadn't written many transfem characters so i thought i'd change that :)

Chapter 8: Chapter 7

Notes:

ok so. i am very sorry for the super late chapter, they should be coming out much faster from now on as i finish everything up. basically got bogged down with finishing school and writing for other fandoms.

Kids slowly started filtering in later that night, coming back from their various jobs with weary faces and shuffling feet. Peter, who had just woken up from his nap, eyed the newcomers (in his eyes) warily, trying to categorize each in terms of possible disposition from just a glance. He grabbed his backpack, which he had placed between his bed and the wall, and pulled it up onto his bed before taking out his laptop. Normally, he had around two to three hours of homework after school. It didn’t seem like he had as much this night, however, after connecting to the WiFi again and checking Google Classroom.

Peter pulled up the digital PDF of his chem textbook that he had saved to his bookmarks (after realizing that he didn’t bring any of his school stuff with him) and scrolled down to the correct chapter before getting to work, opening the Google Doc attached to the assignment. The kid in the bed in front of him cackled at a joke in a YouTube video, and Peter gave him a look before pulling out and popping in his cheap noise-canceling earbuds in response. He was nothing if not a fast worker when he got into the right headspace, and Peter plucked through all his subjects with minimal interruptions.

One of those interruptions was YouTube kid getting into an argument with the teen across from him over Nintendo IPs. Half of him wanted to but-in with his own opinion, and the other half watched the display in annoyance. Another one of those interruptions was a phone call at around 9:00pm from an unrecognized number.

Peter stared at it for a moment. 

Then another moment. 

He never really picked up calls from people who weren’t in his contacts, but something in the back of his head was nagging at him to do so. Now that he was in an… alternative living situation, it was probably important that he do so, now that the important calls weren’t going to a guardian. Besides- he had a job now, right? It could just be that.

Peter hit the green ‘accept call’ button without another thought.

“Uh, hi, who is this?” He asked, drumming his bitten-down fingernails on the trackpad of his laptop. It inadvertently scrolled him down to the next chapter, and Peter narrowed his eyes at the screen. His attention was redirected back to the call when he began to hear low choking noises that, upon further listening, sounded suspiciously like stifled sobs. “Do you need… help?” Peter then asked, changing the subject.

He was Spider-Man. He could do this.

“Peter ?” They gasped out. “Peter, I’m sorry, oh Peter. It’s not- I’m-” Peter’s head spun as he racked his brain for possible explanations.

“How do you know my name?” He settled on, feeling less than settled himself.

Without another word, the line went dead. Peter stared at the screen until it went black. It was probably one of those things that he should’ve thought harder about, because even through the static-y phone line and the crying and the everything - that voice was familiar. But he had a chem write-up that needed his attention, and half a sheet of calc, and so the investigation was put on pause. He plugged his phone back in and turned back to his laptop screen, just to see that he had completely lost his page.

Damn it.

He was a good student- always had been, and probably always would be. So it wasn’t much of a shocker that he finished his homework, but the slow pace that he went through whilst completing it was. Peter was burnt out, to be quite honest, and this was after dropping AcaDec. What he needed was some good ol’ Spider-Man’ing, especially since Queens had gone way too long without him already. And if he kept up the streak to the extent that he had, Tony would eventually notice.

That was a big no-no.

Once everyone had fallen asleep, he slipped out from under the covers and padded over to Bridgette’s bed, squatting down on his heels and feeling around the hardwood flooring until the tips of his fingers brushed upon the loose board. Gently, he lifted it up, using the moon as his only light source to see what he was doing, and pulled out the suit, quickly tucking it under his shirt before anyone could catch a glimpse of red and blue.

He stood up slowly, still not trying to draw attention to himself, and tip-toed over to the communal bathroom. There was a big-enough window near the ceiling, and Peter used his powers to climb up to it and slip out into the night, undetected. He just had to be back before dawn. New York City was particularly sleepy this night, upon a rudimentary survey of the area, and as Peter flung himself through the cityscape, he let his mind wander. Doing so turned into a bad idea as, before he knew it, he had distractedly swung into the roughest part of the borough that he usually only ventured into when he knew that Tony was on-call. Maybe he just needed an extra thrill tonight. Yeah, that was it.

“Karen, any crimes around here for me to bust?” He asked, faux-cocky to something that wasn’t even another human.

“Detecting an assault nearby, generating coordinates.” the AI responded. Once Peter was told where he was supposed to go, he high-tailed it to the location, knowing that these sorts of things often happened quickly. It was a typical-enough alley- faded brickwork, mysterious and ever-lingering stench, along with the sludge puddles that didn’t seem to have any actual water in them. But what made Peter still was the scene unfurling in front of him. 

In one of those sludge puddles was a long-forgotten and now heavily stained beige purse, and against one of those faded brickwork walls was a young, college-aged woman being pinned down by an older and much stronger man, obviously against her will. He had bleach blonde hair and blue eyes. It was a familiar and unwelcome look, especially his eyes, and the obvious intention shown plain and simple in them.

Peter couldn’t make his limbs work. Usually, he would’ve sprung into action by now, got the bad guy, called the cops. But he was frozen. Only when the woman let out another scream was he able to move, rushing forward and dislodging the man from her person.

“Get off her!” He yelled, tugging at him with enough force for his body to fly into the bricks on the other side of the alley. The man didn’t so much as twitch once he had been knocked out cold. Or at least, that’s what Peter presumed in the best case scenario. The woman looked at the exchange with wide, shaky eyes, and Peter felt his blood turn to ice when he realized that she was scared of him. “I’m sorry !” He gasped out before fleeing the scene, climbing to the top of one of the taller buildings in the area that happened to be a block over.

He could feel his breathing only getting worse and worse as the knot in his chest drew tighter and tighter, and only a minute later he was full-on hyperventilating. The sudden hand on his back didn’t help either, but the accompanying words did.

“Hey, c’mon, kiddo just listen to me, alright? You’re okay. It’s been taken care of, I called the police and everything. The girl’s fine, gave her an autograph, the guy… well, he will be fine. Eventually. Physically.” Tony soothed (in his own way), running his hand across Peter’s shoulder blades. “You’re good. Everything’s good. You’re safe, yeah?” Peter swallowed loudly and nodded.

“Y-yeah. I’m… safe.” He nodded again, as if to further convince himself. “I’m safe.” Tony’s hand settled on his left shoulder. Peter stilled, before his mind caught up with the instinctual reaction to shrug it off. Then his rationality came back. “Wait- how did you- what are you doing here?” He asked, confusion overrunning anxiety. Tony bit his lip, as if he were expecting this question, but didn’t necessarily want it.

“You don’t usually come around here. In fact, I told you not to come here. It’s too dangerous on your own. So I get a notification when you do decide to go out of bounds, per-say. But- I don’t think it was intentional this time, no?” Peter, who would normally protest even more surveillance, just shook his head, acknowledging that objections were a losing fight in this situation.

“Wasn’t. Just got- I don’t know, sometimes I get lost.” He said, lamely. “Get too caught up in my head.” He pointed at his forehead, as if someone with as many qualifications as Tony needed the demonstration. Tony nodded.

“I feel that. I guess swinging is your version of flying.” He chuckled lowly.

“I suppose.” Peter agreed, though he was distant again. “Swinging. Flying. Yeah…” Peter’s voice trailed off into the night. Tony gave him an odd look that he couldn’t place.

“Maybe you should go back to May’s and try to get some sleep. I can fly you there.” Peter jolted back to full consciousness.

“Uh, no, I can swing back on my own.” Tony gave him another look, this time distinguishable as doubt.

“I don’t know about that.” He said, plainly.

“No I- I can do it. It’ll calm me down.” Peter stood up abruptly, shaking Tony’s hand off him. Tony imitated him immediately.

“Wait- just hear me out.” Tony begged.

Peter didn’t hear him out. Instead, Peter jumped off the edge of the building and swung back to Queens, back to the shelter, back to the bathroom window. When he got there, his eyes met Bridgette’s, which were still-open at 2:00am. She must have just gotten back from her job.

“Spider-Man?” She mouthed, in a voice too quiet to be classified as a whisper. Peter smiled softly.

“Yeah.” He mouthed back. Bridgette reached into the covers and held up her Spider-Man plush. Peter gave her a wider smile and crawled into his own bed, watching as her eyes slowly fluttered shut, before he followed suit.

---

Peter wasn’t exactly excited for his first day of work, but nonetheless he couldn’t help himself from jittering all day. Tapping his feet, his fingers, thumbing at his temples, brushing through his hair. By the end of the day, MJ looked about ready to snap all his appendages off. In the hallway after the last bell had rung, she cornered him by his locker.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, not necessarily concerned. “Because I don’t need this to become a new normal for you. It’s irritating.” Peter shrugged.

“I thought you knew that I have ADHD.” MJ shot him a glare.

“Don’t ever do that again- the gaslighting thing. I know something’s wrong, so don’t try to B.S me.” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“No clue what you’re talking about.” He said, slamming his locker shut. “You’re being sorta ableist right now.” MJ looked at him.

Then looked at him some more. And some more.

She let out a deep, trying exhale.

“Right, well, when you stop acting like an asshole, I’ll be here to listen. Until then- ciao.” She tugged her backpack over her shoulder and walked off, quickly being absorbed into the crowd and disappearing from sight.

“That went well.” Ned commented, appearing out of the corner of Peter’s eye and evidently having bore witness to the entire interaction, or at least part of it. Peter elbowed him, mindful of his enhanced strength. “You wanna hang?” Ned asked, before he realized that things weren’t so simple anymore. “Ah- nevermind.” Peter gave him a slight smile.

“Maybe later this week. I have stuff after school today.” Ned narrowed his eyes, but unlike MJ, didn’t push the issue.

“Stay safe.” Was all he said before disappearing as well. Peter sighed, and turned around to exit at the back, thumbing at the subway card in his pocket.

Just gotta keep going.

---

He stood outside the glass door for a long moment, trying to work up the courage to push the thing open and report for his first day of work. It was 3:42- work started at 3:45, he had only a bit of time left to sit here and do nothing, and that wasn’t considering the fact that Robert might want him to come in as early as possible for training. So, without further ado, he tentatively made his way inside the restaurant.

“Hello?” He called out. Again- footsteps. Robert shot him a glare.

“Fucking finally, god. Come in, come in, we have work to do.” Robert grabbed him by his forearm, gently dragging him behind the counter. “Alrighty, you know what to do?” He asked, not really looking for an answer other than ‘yes.’

“Uh, I guess? But how do I know what everything costs?” Peter asked, trying to appear more knowledgeable on pizza selling than he actually was. Robert gave him an exasperated look and pointed up and behind Peter. He turned around on his heels to see a dirty, yet large, yellow sign with names and prices hanging above the window to the kitchen. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Listen- I got shit to do. You man the front, I man the back. Capiché ?”

“Yep, I got you.” Peter gave him an awkward thumbs-up. Robert pushed the offending hand down with his own.

“I’ll be watching from the office. Don’t fuck this up.” Robert pushed past him and made his way over to the back. He slammed the door shut, then a few moments later, opened it again.

“Oh- and by the way. If anyone asks for Bob, send ‘em back here and tell them to knock. That’s more important than the pizzas, alright?” Peter nodded stiffly, trying to not annoy Robert again. He couldn’t tell whether or not he had succeeded by the door slamming shut again. The bell on the door rang for the first time, and Peter turned toward it. It wasn’t a man in a suit this time- rather, a mother and a young child, looking to be around kindergarten age.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” The woman pulled the kid up against her.

“Just two slices of cheese pizza.” She pulled out her wallet, and took out a ten. “This should be enough, right?” She asked, with a nervous smile. Peter peered behind him at the menu surreptitiously, trying to read it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yep! Three dollars and twenty five cents is your change.” He reported, turning back around and taking the bill and exchanging it with money from the register. Now to actually… procure the food. He stuck his head through the large glassless window. “Two slices of cheese pizza? For the customers here?” Instead of being acknowledged verbally, two slices of pizza on a paper plate were pushed onto the window counter. “Thanks, I guess?

Silence.

He took the plate and put it on the counter next to the woman, who was looking down at her phone, kid now sat at one of the booths. “Your order?” Peter reminded her, and she gave him a small smile as she took it and the change over to her child. He busied himself by cleaning off some of the grease that had dripped onto the front counter with a paper towel he found on one of the lower shelves, but as he was trying to find a trash can to throw it away, the bell rang again.

He watched as the woman looked up, face immediately paling as she seemingly recognized the man in the doorway. She tugged her son up onto his feet, and quickly slipped past the man, pizza long forgotten and half-eaten.

Peter was confused. Wildly, terribly confused. The man was still standing in the doorway.

“How can I help you?” He asked, not making eye contact with him as he walked to the other end of the room and picked up the pizza from the booth table.

“I’m here for Bob.” Peter looked up, pizza in hand. It was the guy from the other day- the one in the suit, though this time he was dressed down a little- just wearing a white button-up and slacks.

“I- alright, go behind the counter and knock on the door. He said he’ll let you in. I think that’s what he said.” He muttered the last part to himself, unsure of the man’s intentions. Whether he’d smack down a thumbs-up like Robert. God, he did not like Robert. Not at all. He didn’t think he liked this guy either, as he drifted across the space like some kind of ghost. Did nobody in this joint have any social skills? He sighed, walked behind the counter, and dumped the pizza in the newly-found bin.

Time to get back to work.

---

Peter got home after his five hour shift at 9:12pm, right when Bridgette was getting prepared to leave again. She was dressed in a black button-down and high-waisted black jeans, topped off with some slightly heeled booties.

“Janitor, huh?” He remarked. Bridgette looked over at him and sighed.

“You promise not to tell anyone?” She said, looking over at him. “I mean, everyone else buys it, or at least pretends to but you’re- yeah, you’re a smart one.” Peter bit his lip.

“I mean, yeah, of course I’ll keep your little secret.” She smiled and leaned in.

“I work at a bar. Pays well. Saving up for college, y’know.” Peter tilted his head to the side.

“That’s your big secret?” Bridgette nudged him teasingly.

“That’s the big secret. Now you’re in the club. Of two.” Peter frowned.

“Nobody else knows?” Bridgette shook her bangs out of her face.

“Nobody. Look- I gotta go, but-” Bridgette took the chance to lean in and give him a peck on the check. “See ya.” She strutted past a very confused and very red-face Peter, chuckling to herself as she slinked out the door.

Notes:

i stan one (1) heterosexual couple.

and before anyone gets mad at me concerning the phone call- you have no idea what i have planned for the ending, so try not to make any assumptions as to where i'm going with it. i'm trying my hardest to not disappoint you all, believe me.

see you uhhh hopefully? in a week or two? listen i'm trying.

Chapter 9: Chapter 8

Notes:

i wanted to try letting my chapters flow more smoothly instead of chopping events up constantly so this is the result of that

Peter was not a big fan of his job, he thought to himself. For a multitude of reasons. 

Firstly- he was expected to run the whole joint, bar actually putting the pepperoni on the pizza and throwing the dough. Secondly- this meant that he also had to clean at closing. By himself. And Peter was tired of trying to get grease out of his shirts with the Tide To Go stain remover pen Bridgette had gifted him after being morally offended at him trying to throw one of his old white tees out in the communal trash. He had no idea how things got so dirty so fast with so few customers, but he always ended the day in sore need of an extra, extra long shower. At least the pay was decent- in fact, $16/hour was well beyond decent, especially for how little business they got. Robert probably inherited the place or something from a rich relative and just ran it for fun with how much they bled money.

But so what if Robert was kinda weird, and so were the customers? It was still a necessity for his living arrangements, and so he couldn’t really do anything about it. Maybe he could apply for a different job later, but later was that keyword. And he was absolutely sure that, even with his new job experience, no other starting job would top his current pay. Ned pushed his pasta around in the metal container it came in and watched him think through the issue with a raised eyebrow.

“So… you gonna talk to us?” MJ asked, leaning backward on the lunch bench and leveling a glare at him. Peter looked up from the blue plastic table. He didn’t remember making his way over to the caf, or sitting down, or procuring the PB&J sitting in front of him.

Huh.

“Huh?” He repeated, this time out-loud. Ned stabbed the spaghetti with a plastic fork so hard that a big dent appeared in the handle. Peter was less than enthused by the idea of Ned and MJ getting his limbs to match.

“Are you going to talk to us?” Ned reiterated, in a less than pleasant tone. Peter and his mood deflated.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. Just- work stuff on the brain.” MJ narrowed her already judgemental eyes.

“Work stuff? Since when did you work ? And why haven’t you mentioned this, y’know, earlier?” Peter sighed, knowing that this was coming sooner or later.

“Well, one of the requirements of staying- well, where I’m staying- is that I work. Work a job, I mean.” Ned and MJ gave each other a look.

“That’s why you dropped AcaDec? To work at a-”

“Pizza. A pizza parlor.” MJ snorted as a smile crept across her face, and she ended up having to stifle a laugh with a hand.

“What’s the place called?” Ned asked, purposefully ignoring the girl next to him.

“I forget?” Peter gave them a fake smile. Ned just stared at him. “Okay, fine. It’s Tony’s in Queens.” MJ suddenly dropped her hand.

“I’ve heard of it before, actually.” MJ said, talking slower than she normally did. “Not… great things, though.” Ned took another bite of pasta just as Peter did with his PB&J. “Y’know what- I’ll try to find a new job for you. For five bucks.” Peter opened his mouth to protest, and reclosed it upon seeing her face. Yeah, he could probably find a different fight to pick. Ned nodded.

“Me too. We’ll get back to you.” He agreed. Peter frowned.

“I can’t really quit, no matter what you find.” He told them, shaking his head. “There’s not many job opportunities for fifteen year-olds.” Ned bit the corner of his mouth.

“Jeez, how much are they paying you?” Peter tore the crusts off manually, chucking them in the trash behind him.

“More than minimum wage.” He said, not wanting to show all his cards.

“If you can’t quit, then at least start talking to us about these things.” Ned pleaded

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep you in the loop.” He smiled, and MJ’s frown turned to a more neutral expression.

“Good.” She smacked him on the back good-naturedly, except it kinda hurt.

“Ow.” He whined, leaning away from her. MJ’s eyes widened.

“Oh, sorry.” She apologized, lamely. He didn’t know why she wasn’t joking about him being a baby, or coming up with a sarcastic quip, but her recent stint of pitiful sincerity wasn’t helping. Was this what his life had come to? A Spider-Man that required bubble-wrap?

“Thanks.” He mumbled, turning around and throwing the rest of the sandwich in the trash.

He wasn’t very hungry anymore.

There was another, final class after lunch- world history- but Peter couldn’t seem to give much of a shit about it. It was a requirement for underclassmen, however (despite them all attending a very notable STEM school), and so Peter begrudgingly paid attention and played star student. Most of the time. That afternoon they were talking about Mesopotamia, and to be quite honest, Peter was over Mesopotamia and its lack of relevancy to both modern society and his own mounting issues. He was all over just, like, everything. In general.

It was beginning to dawn on him just how fucked his situation was, and the urgency of classwork and homework and lab reports and essays was fading from his consciousness. His grades- God, he wanted so badly to say “ fuck it ” and give up on them, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the last of his former, normal life.

When the bell rang, it worked more as his morning alarm clock than a reminder that school was over. He trudged out into the hallway, tactfully avoiding Ned and MJ as he grabbed his backpack from his locker and slipped outside. Peter had fourteen bucks on his subway card, but still, he hoped he would get paid soon. He got a weekly salary, so by Saturday there should be another couple hundred in his newly opened bank account. 

Peter so far didn’t really know what to do with the slowly accumulating sums of money besides save for an apartment. Maybe buy back his Netflix subscription? Then again- he could just ask to share Tony’s without arousing suspicion. Probably.

Maybe when he got back to the shelter after work he could try to find someone in resources who could give him some direction, in that regard, especially since he was nearing enough for a down payment. For now, he needed to head over to work. But when he walked out the door, there was Tony sitting in one of his “inconspicuous” Audis (plural) with the top down. He sighed deeply, heavily, and walked over. Tony pushed his sunglasses up onto his temples.

“How’s my favorite intern doing?” He asked, giving him a blinding smile that Peter didn’t return. “Listen- it’s a beautiful sunny day out- not that it’ll matter when we’re down in the lab, but still. Absolutely gorgeous. Now, whaddya think?”

“I have to- I have work, Mr. Stark.” He complained, wringing his fingers in front of him. Tony frowned.

“I thought we’d moved on to Tony.” He pondered. Peter ignored his pseudo-question and begrudgingly walked around to the other side, before getting in the passenger’s seat, buckling his seatbelt with more force than necessary.

“Fine. You can drive me. Be quick, though. I start at 3:45 and it’s currently-” Peter flashed his phone on and off. “3:10. Giddy-up.” Tony chuckled nervously.

“Woah kid, you’re taking this job thing real serious. May still hasn’t found a new nursing position?” He asked, pulling onto the main road. Peter gulped loudly, then covered it up with a cough. Tony wrinkled his nose, but didn’t take his eyes off the road to give him a signature ‘look.’

“Nope. Still… still searching. I’ve got everything under control though- you can check my grades for proof of that, actually. You’re added to my grades portal, y’know?” He proposed, hoping that Tony would drop the subject.

Tony didn’t.

“I’m not worried about your grades, kiddo. I’m worried about you. Working an almost full-time job every day is going to start to wear you down, eventually, y’know?” He explained. “And on top of Spider-Man? No wonder you’ve been distracted. Growing boys need sleep, me-time, and Tony-lab-time.”

“Pepper’s always complaining about you being a workaholic.” He countered, knowing that it was a low blow. Tony whistled.

“Damn, that was harsh. I’m just saying-”

“And what I’m saying is that I’m trying to prevent me and my aunt from going homeless. Something that you’ve never had to worry about.” Tony furrowed his brow.

“You will never have to worry about that, Peter. The second you are in any danger of that happening, I’ll set you two up somewhere else, or in the tower, or wherever.” Peter snorted at the dramatic irony of it all.

“I don’t need your money. I’m good, everything’s good, and I like my job!” This time, Tony did shoot him a quick look. Peter quickly relented, realizing that his lies were getting a bit too big.

“Okay, maybe the last part’s a lie, but I’m getting paid sixteen an hour!” Tony furrowed his brow further.

“Really? With no job experience and on a teen work permit? I gotta Google this place, damn.” Peter didn’t have a great grasp on the reputation of both Robert and Tony’s, but for some reason, that seemed like a bad idea. He needed to switch subjects.

“Hey, don’t stalk me- don’t we already have the Baby Monitor Protocol? And wow, look at that, we’re here! Ten minutes early, too!” He said, speaking as fast as possible whilst also getting out of the car as fast as possible. “See ya, Tony!”

“Peter, wait-”

Peter was already walking into the establishment, and he didn’t look back when Tony called him either. He watched Peter disappear before sighing, starting the car, and taking off. He needed to have another chat with May, one of these days. For some reason, she hadn’t responded to any of his texts.

Or… maybe she was just busy, and she didn’t have time to indulge his worries. She was probably looking for a job right as he sat in his Audi and internally criticized her. And so he pushed the thought out of his mind, and turned the street corner.

“I have something special for you to do today.” Robert announced, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. Peter, who had previously thought to make his way over to behind the counter, stilled in his tracks before turning around. “You know the guy that comes in- the one in the suit?”

Yes, Peter knew him. Infact, Peter knew him very well, considering he came in basically every shift he’d ever worked.

He nodded.

“Well- that’s Anthony. Tony. The guy whose name is on the sign.” Robert paused to let that apparently life-changing information sink in. “Anyways, he’s bringing a few buddies over to the other backroom to try and work out some, uh, business deals. You’re closing the front of shop and serving drinks. Do not fuck this job up, alright?”

He nodded once, and when that didn’t seem sufficient enough, nodded again. Robert made a face as if he’d accidentally bit into the green part of a watermelon, but gestured for Peter to follow. He quickly flicked off the lit-up open sign, and padded behind Robert into the office. He had no idea what “other backroom” meant, until Robert pulled out a set of keys and unlocked what he had previously thought to be a closet door. 

Apparently, it wasn’t, because when he opened the door, it revealed a deceptively large, classically-styled, conference room, complete with a lacquered mahogany table in the middle. It was oddly… nice. Too nice. Especially for a pizza restaurant called fucking Tony’s.

Peter was becoming just more and more mystified by his job as the weeks went on.

“You. There’s a kitchenette behind the door on the right- grab some glasses and the two bottles of 21 year Aston Martin Bowmore. I’m gonna go herd the fellas, they should be here any minute.” When Peter just looked at him blankly, he elaborated. “The whiskey. The 21 year Aston Martin Bowmore whiskey. And don’t drop ‘em- that shit’s expensive.” Peter pushed past all the leather wheelie chairs, and sure enough, there was a sliding door that he was able to easily push aside, revealing a very small kitchenette that was nice, but probably not the main focus of the budget. That had to go to the behemoth of a table smack-dab-center in the middle of the room.

The glasses were in a wooden box on the counter, which was a score, but he had to dig around the cabinets for a solid minute before he found the bottles. He had never drunk anything like Bowmore before, and decidedly popped the top off before taking a sniff. It was so unexpectedly pungent that he immediately began coughing, and screwed the top back on immediately. They both fit snugly in the box, and so he carried all necessities over to the conference table at once, right in time for the door to slam open again. There were only around six guys, including Robert, but they all spoke so loudly that Peter’s super-hearing was completely bugging out.

The man he recognized as Anthony looked over at him conspicuously, before deciding to approach. Peter gulped and internally steeled himself for whatever questions were about to be directed his way. Robert, noticing this, followed Anthony, probably hoping to introduce his newest employee.

“So- this is Peter- the kid I was talking to you about. He’s a real hard worker, been holding down the place.” Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently Robert couldn’t praise him for going above and beyond at any other time. The corners of Anthony’s mouth upturned ever so slightly, in a way that was more than a little bit unnerving. Peter shook off his burgeoning Spidey-Sense, not wanting to, in Robert’s words, “fuck this job up.”

“Thank you for introducing us, Bob. Nice to meet you, Peter- I’ve heard many things about you- all good, of course.” Good things. Okay, Peter could work with that. It was also pretty funny how Robert went by Bob among his associates, but didn’t with Peter, probably anticipating the usual reaction his generation had to that name. Anthony held out his hand for a shake, which Peter took with the knowledge that he’d have to be extremely careful with his strength. Firm, but powerless. Thankfully, Anthony’s hand didn’t shatter in pieces when his own made contact and squeezed.

So far, so good.

“How’ve sales been?” Anthony asked, now oddly interested in barraging Peter with questions that were above his pay grade.

“Uh, good? At least from my side of things- I’m not really in control of the finances, besides handling the money at the register.” He explained, to a man who probably already knew this. In response, Anthony nodded his head as if it were new information. At this point, Peter was more than confused.

“Good, good. Well, kid, you better get to serving my friends. Bob told me that was your task for tonight, yes?” Peter nodded, thankful for the change in topics. “Right. We’ll chat again later tonight, yes?” Peter nodded again, less thankful for his continuing insistence on conversation. “On your way then.” Peter walked back over to the table on his orders and began to unload the whiskey glasses, which he had identified as such with his very limited knowledge on nice alcohol.

Actually pouring the whiskey would be his hardest task that night, he supposed. Robert had mentioned it being expensive, and Peter didn’t know how expensive, but he knew that alcohol got more expensive with age, and 21 years was a pretty long time. So spilling was a no-go.

He twisted off the cap with minimal resistance, placing it upside-down on the surface before picking up the bottle and beginning to pour a decent amount into each glass with concentration beyond even what he gave to his and Tony’s lab projects. When he thought he’d gotten six glasses… mostly even, he stepped back from his work and tried to blend in with the cream colored walls. Evidently, his efforts went to waste, because within the next ten minutes he’d shaken four more hands and been introduced four more times before they returned their attentions to each other.

And then Peter was bored.

He would try checking his phone, but when he did, it was to an empty instagram timeline and a complete and utter lack of cellular reception. The next best activity available to him, besides asking to use the bathroom and sitting in the stall for the next hour, was to just sit down in one of those comfy chairs and eavesdrop.

So he did.

And he didn’t understand a single thing anyone was saying.

Peter was good at science and building things and computers, not running a restaurant or pizza or economics. Infact, they didn’t seem to be talking about anything he recognized. A lot of talk about ‘inventory’ and ‘stock’ and ‘territory’ and ‘ the don ’ and a bunch of other vague business nonsense. Anthony kept looking over at him for one reason or another, and at this point he wasn’t even being subtle about it. It was only when the talk winded-down and they’d finished off the second bottle that he actually decided to approach for the second time, with Robert accompanying him again. He’d had three glasses of his own, Peter had noticed, and it showed just the slightest bit.

“Does he know?” He asked Robert, smirking slightly and elbowing him. Neither of them were necessarily drunk, but if you had to ask Peter, Robert seemed significantly less sober.

“Nah. Smart kid, goes to a smart kid school, but he’s completely oblivious. Fuckin’ hilarious.” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Oblivious to what?”

Robert just chuckled.

“I mean, God, the whole thing really. Really- real funny. We’re right under his nose, probably didn’t understand a word that came out of anyone’s mouth tonight.” Peter frowned, because Robert was actually right about that. “Listen- I’ll leave you two alone. Have fun- Anthony, Peter.” Robert popped a cigarette in his mouth, a habit that Peter never liked, per say, but he’d learned to live with the fact that he’d die probably earlier from second-hand-smoking than patrolling. Robert and co. left the room, and Peter? Well, Peter was beginning to panic. Because he did not like a scenario in which he was pawned off to some strange man that he had known for two hours in a large, empty room. Anthony leaned against the table, picking up his half drunk fourth glass.

“Midtown? Funny that you’re here. I thought that school was for stuck-up rich kids, but you seem pretty normal to me. Average. Well, if I’m to believe what I’ve been told, certainly not in the smarts department.” He chuckled. “Look- let’s just cut to the chase.” Peter shifted so that he was closer to the exit than Anthony.

“What chase?” He asked, dubiously.

“C’mon don’t be dense. I mean- why else would Robert keep such a pretty face around?” Peter blanched. Did he have a sign on his back saying “creepy, grown-ass men please proposition me?”

“I- okay, I think we’re done here. It seems you’ve had a little too much to drink, alright?” Peter took a step backward. Luckily, it seemed like Anthony wasn’t intent on a chase, standing still right where he was. For the first time that evening, however, he seemed less than amiable.

“You wanna play hard to get? Fine. But don’t you dare- fuckin’, don’t snitch on us. Snitches get stitches, y’know what they say.” He was beginning to fumble over his words, and it was unnerving. Because drunk people were unpredictable. In a flurry, he had speed-walked backwards out the door, watching as Anthony took another sip of his drink. The last thing he heard was Anthony shouting-

“Stupid ass bitch. Can’t even tell a pizza parlor from a goddamn- whassit called? A front. Stupid ass-” Peter was backing out of the office now, more confused than ever, and completely, utterly, humiliated.

He knew one thing though.

This called for some recon.

Notes:

i'm so evil sorry peter :') next chapter should be out before the end of the month and i'm sure you presume this but shit is about to hit the fannnn. more tony interactions as well, since i've been kinda neglecting him. he and peter are kinda being dumb dumbs right now but thats ok we still love them.

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

Notes:

short chapter sorry- wanted to upload something but couldn't really eek out more than this :(

Recon was boring, Peter had decided, after waiting on the rooftop opposite the back end of Tony’s for the past hour and a half whilst waiting for something to happen. He didn't know what he was expecting, but some more action would be nice- maybe a fistfight? With all the shit that’d happened today, he was more than ready to head back to the shelter and put everything behind him.

But he couldn’t.

Peter was a curious person- so sue him- if he was presented a puzzle, a mystery, he would solve it. And, well, this seemed to be quite the puzzling mystery- so he was certainly curious, and certainly wanted to solve it.

The weirdly elegant backroom, pricey whiskey, and high pay, despite abnormally low profits, along with the incomprehensible business language, dubious tones, and hungry eyes- it all seemed to be stacking up to something, though Peter didn’t know what that something was. His best guess so far had been that Robert had some rich relative keeping him and the joint afloat, but lately it seemed as if the reins were driven by Anthony- not Robert (A.K.A “Bob”).

And so that was why Peter was crouched on a dirty rooftop opposite a pizza parlor in the middle of the night. Hopefully, this would sate the scratchy feeling in his chest, and he could go back to being a good worker-bee and avoiding as many Anthony-interactions as possible, whilst maximizing the Tony-interactions. Sixteen an hour, he repeated to himself internally, as an encouraging mantra. He’d set his phone to vibrate, and yet his phone kept going off. When he checked the number, it matched that weird crying person who had called him a bit ago and somehow knew his name.

He shut off his phone fully then, not wanting any more notifications that might serve as a distraction, and it was then that the back alley was illuminated with light as the alternate kitchen door opened. Peter repositioned himself, wanting to get the absolute best angle to see what was going on down below him in the dead of night. He wasn’t in his Spidey-uniform, as he was out past curfew, but instead donned a suspicious-looking balaclava, along with a nondescript black hoodie and sweatpants.

It certainly wasn’t high-tech, but hopefully it’d get the job done, albeit he was left a bit… vulnerable, unable to showcase his powers if things got hairy. Another con was just how easy it would be to expose his identity, in that same hairy situation. Just a tug on the wool face-covering and it was over for Peter Parker.

This needed to be done.

He didn’t require binoculars- his vision, fixed from the spider-bite, wasn’t enhanced beyond 20/20 vision, but 20/20 vision itself was still pretty good, and the building he was perched on wasn’t necessarily a skyscraper. Pictured in front of him was Robert, who was leaning against the brick wall, along with an annoyed looking Anthony- shudder.

“Look- I don’t- I don’t give a fuck about the pizza, okay? So let's get that straight, first off.” Peter cringed, at both the loudness of his voice and the intensity of his words. It didn’t seem like either of them were having a good night, at least from his interpretation of the situation. Maybe he would get that fistfight he so desperately wanted. He shifted a little further back from the edge of the roof, looking carefully to make sure he hadn’t dislodged anything by doing so. Robert swapped his cigarette to his left hand, as he used his right to scratch at his hairline.

“I know that, Jesus, who do you take me for, that Peter kid? I’m sure you’d rather have him in this alley, though.” He joked, rolling his eyes. Peter didn’t find it very funny from his perspective, and apparently neither did Anthony, who didn’t respond to the jab. “I was just trying to be subtle- you know what pepperoni inventory means, don’t you? Just trying to keep the kid safe- he’s a real good one, y’know? Funny to see him run around like a headless chicken but I’d rather not have to-” Robert made a violent movement that involved his hand and his neck.

“I suppose I have to agree with you, though obscuring, y'know, our real business in such a way is quite… juvenile.”

Wait- what?

What real business?

“When’s the next shipment of dope coming in?” He asked, flicking the ash off his own cigar. It clicked for Peter then- everything coming together, the missing puzzle piece finally in place. He was half-relieved, half-envious. Envious of his previous ignorance, that is. 

Peter took another step backward, this time dislodging a metal beam from where it was resting against a vent. He wanted to say that the noise wasn’t significant- that it wasn’t noticeable, but it was, and Robert and Anthony looked up immediately after, catching him in the act. Peter was stuck still for a moment, or at least until Anthony drew a gun out of his jacket and pointed it upward. Then he leaped back, throwing himself over various obstacles until he was on the other side.

He then proceeded to climb down the brick wall in a move that Tony would call risky for his identity, and sprinted down a maze of back streets and alleys until he was in the part of Queens that he recognized. He looked down at the cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark watch that he’d taken as an alternative to constantly checking his phone. It was already 2:37am, his legs were achey, and he hadn’t even made it back to that bathroom window he so loved. He set his chin, and began the rest of his trek back.

---

The next school day was spent in contemplation. They didn’t appear to know that it was Peter on the roof- how could they? And so it was, really, up to him whether or not he reported what he’d heard back to HQ, otherwise known as Mr. Stark, otherwise known as Tony. It wasn’t even an easy case of morals, here. Of course, busting a crime ring would go down prettily on his resume, but so would keeping a homeless teen off the streets, and in this case, that homeless teen was him - making it all the more tempting of an option.

In the end, his self-sacrificing savior complex won out, and he decided that his best course of action would be to bring the information to Tony when classes were done, which was… now. All that was left was to dodge Ned and MJ, as he’d recently taken upon himself to do, basically every day after school. He hurried out of history, ignoring Ned’s calls from back inside the classroom, only to run straight into MJ.

“We’re talking. Now.” She said, in one of her most MJ-esque voices. So, apparently, he’d gone through all the effort of eating his lunch in the single-stall gender-neutral bathroom closest to the cafeteria for no reason. “I know that you’ve been eating in the bathrooms. Fucking gross- first of all.” Peter flushed even deeper as she grabbed his wrist and dragged him into an alcove. “Second of all- playing hot and cold with your friends is toxic, so don’t do that again. Third of all- me and Ned found some shit on Tony’s. You can’t work there, Peter. Like, it’s not safe.” She told him, stumbling into some semblance of concern.

Peter, of course, already knew this- or at least knew the jist of it- he didn’t have a one hundred percent clear view of the full picture. He was still curious concerning the puzzling situation, and for good reason.

“What… what, uh, shit did you find?” He asked, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible, putting his hands in his pockets and cocking his hips. MJ looked at him weirdly but continued.

“Well, at first, it was just a case of another small business not properly filing for taxes which- alright, fine, I get it, Jeff Bezos should be covering for those.” Peter snorted. “But then we dug deeper, and things got weird. We hacked into a police database- don’t tell Tony that, B.T.W- and they've apparently been under a slow-moving investigation on their ties to a larger NYC-wise crime ring. Drugs, guns, the works- with some guy named Anthony Barone as the ringleader.”

“Right. Anthony.” MJ quirked an eyebrow.

“You’ve met him?” She asked, now looking more than a little concerned. “When? How? What’s he like- y’know as a person? Lazy eye? Any funny scars- like over the socket? Oh, that’d be hilarious.”

“He tried coming on to me.” Peter said, smirking slightly. Because to him? Yeah, that was pretty funny. Apparently, MJ didn’t think so. She recoiled, lip curling in unabashed disgust.

“Are you serious? Tax evasion is one thing, drugs and guns are another, but-” She started, before Peter promptly interrupted

“Jeez, calm down, MJ, it doesn’t matter. I just rejected him and everything was cool.” That was the wrong thing to say. Because, if anything, MJ did the opposite of calm down. A mixture of confusion and anger were apparent in her expression, and Peter? He didn’t know what either meant, or who they were directed at.

“You are a child Peter, holy shit, that’s horrible! How would you feel if that happened to me? Or Ned?” She whisper-yelled, trying to prevent their conversation from being overheard by the last school day stragglers. Peter shrugged.

“Well, nobody has ever cared when it’s happened to me. ” Immediately after the words left Peter’s mouth, he regretted saying them. It was a regret that was swiftly becoming common. 

Because now MJ looked more than slightly, more than very concerned- she looked devastated, as if Peter had kicked her new puppy or something. 

And once again, Peter couldn’t understand why, for the life of him.

Ned and MJ- they enjoyed his company, sure, and pitied him when appropriate. But it wasn’t like he was someone worth worrying about. Tony didn’t seem to care much about him these days- at least not enough to, y’know, uncover that his workplace was a mob front. May certainly didn’t either, and she was supposed to be his actual legal guardian, not just the Avengers-appointed babysitter.

Why on earth would MJ care so much about something so little and pointless, when the world has so many bigger, actual problems.

So what?

“What- what do you mean by that? Why would you… Peter? Peter!” She yelled after him, with her full lung capacity this time, as he fled the building. He ran so fast that he nearly sped past the station and the subway he’d need to take to get to the tower, ever since he’d warded off his mentor from waiting in the pick-up line every day.

He stepped onto the train just as the doors shut (behind him, luckily), and tried to think of different things, nicer times.

And yet, Peter couldn’t conjure up an image that respected that demand in the slightest. Infact, they seemed to be the exact opposite- MJ and Ned, sneering down at him. Anthony. Skip. It was like his brain was working against him. Instead of continuing to run against the wind, he popped in some cheap bluetooth earbuds and put on an older Glass Animals album.

His stop came up eventually- it had to- and he reluctantly stepped back onto the platform, growing more and more dubious of his decision the closer and closer he got to the tower and Tony himself. By the time he was walking again in natural light, his palms had begun to sweat, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Maybe that was his Spidey-Sense, in retrospect, because his reaction seemed more severe than run-of-the-mill anxiety.

Either way, a block from the tower, his hand was grabbed, and he was tugged into an alley.

“Wh- get off me!” He yelled, yanking at the mysterious face, only to come back to face with Anthony, Robert, and another unknown, large, grunt-looking man who was holding a gun to his face. Peter immediately paled.

“Woah, did I forget to clean under the counters?” He joked, trying to not let his nervousness show too much. Maybe he could just finagle himself out of the situation.

“We know it was you. We checked the CCTV footage in the area.” Robert said, as succinctly as possible. Peter’s smirk fell. “I hate doin’ this to ya kid, you’re a good one. But curiosity killed the cat, y’know, and in that scenario- you’re the cat.”

“You must be-” The grunt cocked the gun. Peter decided on a new strategy. “Please! I won’t tell anyone!" Internally, he scoffed at the stereotypical pleads coming out of his mouth. "I don’t have anyone to tell, anyways.” He tacked on, a little pathetically. Anthony stepped forward, looking very satisfied with the situation he’d conjured for all of them.

“I got a deal for you. You will disappear. I know where you live- that homeless shelter for gays, right? Pack your shit tonight. Leave. I don’t care where to- but you’re moving, you’re keeping quiet, and you’re most certainly not going to any coppers, yeah? That’s a good boy.” He slapped Peter’s face lightly, before stepping back again. For good measure, the grunt whipped his right cheek with the gun, splitting his lip in the process. Peter stayed silent, if only a small grunt managed to escape.

“I’ll be gone before you know it. Promise.” He agreed, wondering how the fuck his life had gone so far to shit, so quickly.

Notes:

ok so update on this fic- it was originally going to be like... 8 chapters. then, somehow i ended up with 12. seeing the amount of hits this has gotten, and the fact that i'm averaging 1,000 a week with each chapter- i will be continuing this beyond 12 chapters. no clue how many, might only be an epilogue, might double the whole thing over.

either way, i thought it would be a waste to finish this abruptly when so many of you like it!

comments are always appreciated :) sorry for the cliffhanger oof

Chapter 11: Chapter 10

Notes:

wow this took a lot longer than i thought it would for 2.2k words. vacation that made me lazy + job that works me too hard for being part time = this. i really apologize- hopefully the next chapter won't take me over three weeks ;__; i hate not updating as much as you guys do

Things weren’t really registering in Peter’s mind, at the moment. 

At all.

It wasn’t necessarily a reaction he could categorize as shock, in the medical sense, but it was certainly one he could categorize as the state of stunned. He had initially planned to get back on the subway to go grab his stuff quickly and leave before the sun sank below the cityscape, but he was so spaced out that he missed his stop once, twice, thrice, again and again, just watching people hop on and off, over and over. By the time he was fully cognizant again, it was 6:49, and he was so far from Queens and the shelter that it took another hour to right his direction with more subway travel.

There was so much to consider now- new housing options, if any, where he’d sleep tonight, how he’d leave without alerting the workers there, and how he’d make money now that he didn’t have a home address anymore. Instead, Peter wondered about the lives of his fellow subway-goers, imagining that he was one of them.

Their families, their backgrounds, and where they were going. Not a productive use of his time, for sure, but he wasn’t looking to have his surely imminent mental breakdown on public transport. One of the women sitting in front of him looked like someone else he knew, with the same slight features and narrow nose as a certain high school junior, one that now brought a myriad of questions with her. How often would he be forced apart from those he cared about? How often would he be asked those questions?

Peter almost missed his stop for the millionth time, but luckily caught himself just in time- at the same stop as the woman he kept finding himself making awkward eye contact with. When he had finished walking to the building, scaling it, and slipping through the bathroom window, it was 7:57. Bridgette was still around, along with some other familiar faces. Familiar, in the way that he knew their faces, but certainly not their names, ages, or personalities.

He still didn’t have a plan for his next steps, but what he did have was a plan for his next hour- his final minutes with the girl in front of him. It was certainly a stupid plan, and he had no idea how it’d be received, but fuck it, one last hurrah. He sent off a quick text to Bridgette, who checked her phone immediately upon it buzzing, before sending back her own texts and watching carefully for a reaction.

do u wanna go on a date?

Peter cringed upon re-reading his own, hesitant words. Three little dots popped up, disappeared, and then popped up again.

what brought this on lol

He cringed again. Was he about to get rejected?

nothing just bored

sudden but alright, i like the initiative :)

gotta b back by nine thirty tho

dunno if that’s much of a date

He bit the inside of his mouth, silently fist-pumping.

that’s deffo enough time

casual, y’know

i can do casual

Bridgette looked up from her phone, giving him a small smile. She repocketed the device, getting up from her bed and shucking on a bomber jacket that was hanging on the footboard of the bed.

“So- where are we going?” She asked, looking down at the floorboards beneath her, as they descended the steps together. Peter shrugged.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He said, simply. She snorted.

“It better not be something stupid, like an escape room.” Peter huffed, intentionally squeaking his sneakers on the floor to emphasize his point.

“Nah. Don’t have enough money for that. Tony’s pays well, but not that well.” He said, lying about his occupation status. He wouldn’t show his cards just yet. Peter held the front door open for her, and she looked about to protest, but Peter shushed her. “Indulge me.” He requested, jerking it further open.

“I can’t tell if I should be happy that you’re treating me like any other woman, or offended because of stereotypes and stuff.” She deadpanned. Peter smiled awkwardly, not entirely sure if he was allowed to laugh at that.

“Well, I hope I exceed expectations in that department.” He commentated, playing the safe route. Bridgette nudged him slightly as she pushed past him, in a joking manner.

“In my books, you already have- calm down. Actually, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She amended, before taking in a deep breath of fresh Queens night air.

“Fair enough.” He said, before reaching down and grabbing her hand. It was bigger than his- she was taller than him too, so that tracked. It seemed like the perfect size to him, though. Comforting. Encapsulating. “Follow me.” He told her, pushing forward. He tried to be as gentle as possible with his grip, whilst also tugging her along firmly, so they wouldn’t get lost in the dark side-streets.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Peter?” Bridgette asked, as they got further and further away with no apparent end in sight. Peter was mindful of her time restraint, sure, but he was more so mindful of the importance of savoring this moment. He gave her a reassuring look.

“You gotta trust the process.” He reminded her, half-joking. 

“Trust the process?” She repeated, motioning toward the abandoned laundromat to the left of them. 

He stopped abruptly.

“We’re here!” Peter announced loudly, pointing over at the store directly next to it. Bridgette stared at the ice cream shop.

“What if I were lactose intolerant?” She asked, voice flat. Peter paused. Thought.

“I don’t know. Are you?” He asked, voice cracking on the last syllable. She smiled.

“Nope. Not in the slightest.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Peter, whose heart had dropped into his beat-up sneakers, did not find it as funny.

“Jesus christ, you’re going to be the death of me.” He told Bridgette, pushing open the door and holding it for her once more. This time, she didn’t protest the treatment.

“We’re splitting the bill. No questions asked.” She demanded, instead. The store was obviously in the throes of closing, but Peter wasn’t in the mood to give much of a shit. He and Bridgette were going to get some ice cream, annoyance of the staff be damned. This wasn’t a gentrified area of Queens- the tile grout could certainly use some soap and water- but he remembered getting ice cream at this place with May once, and it was pretty good for what it was.

He was also most certainly on a budget, and even with Bridgette’s instances, it still wasn’t a great idea to splurge on this non-necessity. The man at the register took one look at them and sighed.

“Can I help you two?” He drawled, leaning against the counter with the bulk of his left hip. Bridgette looked him up and down before ordering.

“Medium cookie dough in a cup. Thanks.” Was all she said, before stepping aside.

“I’ll just have that too.” Peter told him, trying to minimize himself and the possibility of an altercation. 

“So you and the boyfriend are getting the same?” He asked, ruining Peter’s plans of a nice wholesome date night of uninterrupted bliss with the smirk slowly growing over his face.

“Girlfriend.” He corrected, even though they weren’t exactly a thing. Yet, at least.

“Yeah, alrighty, sure.” He replied, running a hand through his hair and chuckling to himself. Peter’s grip on Bridgette’s hand tightened.

“Have a nice night.” Peter said simply in response, turning around with a surprisingly reluctant Bridgette in tow.

“Dude, it’s okay.” She whisper-yelled to him, as he yanked open the door with more force than strictly necessary. He didn’t respond, instead focusing on finding a lit area for them to sit down in, which happened to be a steel bench on the other side of the street. “We could’ve just ordered, I didn’t give a shit about the guy at the front. It didn’t bother me that much, really.”

“Well, it bothered me.” Bridgette stilled.

“Why?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and curious. Which was a surprise to Peter. She was usually so headstrong, it was almost weird to see her act placating in the face of dickwads.

“Because he was disrespecting you?” Peter intoned, not unkindly. Just undoubtedly confused. Bridgette sucked air into her mouth.

“Yeah, but- you didn’t have to ruin the entire date over it. I was fine. It was fine. It wasn’t that important, really.” Peter scoffed in disbelief.

“What are you - I’m not spending the little money I have on supporting some… some cretin.” Bridgette looked down at her clasped hands silently. Peter lowered his voice, noticing her sudden apprehension. “It wasn’t a bother- really, it wasn’t. I enjoy spending time with you- all time with you. Not just when I’m stuffing my face.” Bridgette snorted quietly.

“And what does that mean for me ?” She said, chuckling. Peter nudged her shoulder.

“I have an enhanced metabolism, remember? I was planning on getting something larger than a small, y’know.”

“Yeah, well, me too.” Bridgette’s expression was picking up once again, the mood getting lighter.

“Two larges. I bet you couldn’t top that.” Bridgette raised an eyebrow.

“You wanna bet? I mean, not right now, but-”

“Sure right now. I’m sure we can find a convenience store somewhere around New York.” Peter interrupted, standing up abruptly. Bridgette slipped her phone out of her pocket and turned it on, presumably looking for the time. At the same moment, Peter’s phone rang.

It was Tony.

Figuring he couldn’t finagle his way out of this one, he answered, to Bridgette’s immediate curiosity- and awe- upon hearing the other side of the line.

“Peter? ” Tony asked, sounding frantic. “Peter, is everything okay? ”

It was not, nothing was okay, but Peter wasn’t going to say anything along those lines at this point in the dumpster fire that was his life.

“Yeah, just on a- just hanging around.” He corrected, not wanting the inevitable teasing to happen whilst he was on the phone in front of the subject of said teasing. Bridgette frowned, but said nothing.

“May wasn’t- I called her, alright?” Peter’s blood froze. Fullstop. Bridgette, noticing the sudden change in demeanor, reached out with one hand to try and comfort him. 

He turned away.

“I already fucking told you, she’s been busy job hunting.” He yelled down the phone, knowing that he was out of line and just not caring. 

“And when she didn’t pick up- I called her workplace, just to see if she’d been reassigned. Peter- she still works there.” Peter was silent. “I’m… I’m just confused- why did you lie to me? About something that big? I was so worried about you, and I still am, but for a different reason, now.” Tony sounded devastated. He had been lied to- by Peter, and was still concerned about him, for some crazy reason. And Peter couldn’t take it.

He hung up.

“How can I help?” Bridgette asked, surging forward. This time, Peter didn’t turn away. He knew Tony, and he knew the man was probably tracing his call at this very moment. Without much hesitation, he pushed her away gently, and threw his phone to the concrete. Bridgette cringed, but said nothing. There was no time to waste, getting a change of clothes or brushing his teeth again would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Make up an excuse for me. Any excuse. I gotta go.” He panted out. Bridgette nodded placatingly.

“Got it.”

“He can’t know.” He said, shaking his head. “I can’t… he just can’t know.”

“Go, then.” She started “I don’t get it, but-”

“You’re right. You don’t get it.” Peter pointed out, backing away from her.

“Fine- I don’t. Just go.” Peter paused for a moment, just to look at Bridgette’s face, trying to calculate how long he could go without seeing her. His movements were abrupt as he turned away and began to run.

He had no plan B- there was no plan B, and with every slap of his rubber soles against concrete, he was losing rationality.

At first, his thought was to find another shelter to stay at, until he realized that they all had business hours for some fucking reason, and then it was downgraded to “warm apartment,” which was quickly downgraded to “abandoned apartment” once his fog-ridden brain remembered breaking and entering is, y’know, A.) a crime and B.) creepy. It was spring- but not a warm spring, certainly not in New York at night, and Peter was beginning to feel cold.

But shivering did nothing.

And he knew exactly why.

Still unmasked in his civilian clothes and risking it all, he walked and climbed, until he was on the complete other side of the city, his legs ached, and it was 10:28pm. He wondered what Bridgette was up to at her job when he collapsed to the floor of a derelict building. At first, Peter was just trying to catch his breath, but it wasn’t long until the cold reached him once again, and shivering proved ineffective, as always.

He was a (rudimentary) biologist- he knew what thermoregulation was. He just didn’t know how it applied to him, until now. And it was biting him in the ass, as he curled further into himself fruitlessly. Peter wasn’t sleepy. But he was tired- of a lot of things. And as his breath slowed down, and his body temperature continued to drop, his eyelids fluttered closed.

He wished he could feel his toes, and he hoped the slowly approaching bright light was a shooting star.

Notes:

overusing cliffhangers is my passion.

comments critiques thoughts hate comments (shoutout to the moron who commented blue lives matter on lovestruck) i appreciate all attention

Chapter 12: Chapter 11

Notes:

fresh new chapter mama mia

Peter was warm, and warm meant good in his sleep-addled mind, so he was pretty chuffed when he woke up. Until he made eye contact with one Tony Stark from across the room. Which was, upon further inspection, a hospital room, as evidenced by the bleach white walls and smell, the beeping of machines, and the IV stuck in his arm.

He was a little pissed off, and growing angrier by the second, but more than that, very confused by the fact that they hadn’t sent him to the medbay for his apparent injuries. Injuries that he did not remember incurring, and injuries that he certainly couldn’t feel. Which was odd because he wasn’t on a cocktail of mutant drugs- he was probably on some regular human shit, if anything. He tilted his head to the side, and when it didn’t make him even the slightest bit nauseous, he concluded that he wasn’t on any drugs.

“Do you remember what happened? Why you’re here?” Tony asked, after a period of silence. His lips were drawn thin, brow furrowed in concern. Peter shrugged.

“No fucking clue.” When Tony didn’t even bother to reprimand him for his language, Peter knew something was up. A nurse swept into the room, having been alerted to his awakening, and immediately began marking down his vitals. Tony ignored her presence.

“You were- your body temperature dropped below 70 degrees fahrenheit, Peter. You were so, so close to… to y’know.” He took a moment to collect himself, inhaling deeply. “And nobody knows why. Hell, I don’t know why, it’s not common for someone to be so affected by such a drop in temperature, all I know is that I send out a fucking Avengers manhunt in the middle of the night, and find you passed out in an abandoned building.” Tony’s eyes were very distinctly wet- Peter could see the extra shine emphasized by the fluorescent overhead lights. “I was terrified.” He whispered, looking down at his lap. Peter looked down at his own, covered by a thin blanket. The nurse exited the room, not bothering to shut the door quietly.

“How long have I been out?” He was scared of the answer to that question, but it needed to be asked. His throat was dry, and when he looked to the nightstand, there was already a plastic cup of water that he took thankfully. A wisp of a smile returned to Tony’s face at the action, before quickly disappearing.

“You were awake, around eight or so hours ago. I think you don’t remember though. They had to sedate you.” Peter recoiled, a small amount of water falling onto his lap with the movement.

“Why would they have to sedate me?” Tony chuckled awkwardly, scratching at his slightly overgrown beard.

“Y’know, I was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that question, even though I know I couldn’t avoid it forever.” He relayed. Peter put the cup of water back on the nightstand and leant in.

“Just tell me.” Tony visibly bit down on his tongue.

“It’s complicated.”

“Please.” Peter begged. Tony looked at him for a moment, an unrecognizable expression on his face, before relenting.

“Originally- we’d kept you in the Med Bay. It was only when we got the news that you were transferred back here.” Peter pushed a lock of hair out of his face.

“What news? Stop speaking in circles.” He demanded.

“...The news that- well, that May had been admitted here.” Tony finally admitted.

Peter’s face dropped.

“Why… why would she be at the hospital?” He asked, already conjuring a picture of the situation in his head. Tony looked slightly ill.

“Peter. She OD’d.”

“What.”

“We don’t know the details, or even how she did it, but her boyfriend called for an ambulance when she presented with symptoms just a few hours after we found you. You know Skip, right?” Peter didn’t respond, and Tony’s brow furrowed further. “Peter? Peter, are you alright? Talk to me.”

“You never answered the question.” He said, finally. Tony blanched.

“What question?”

“Why did they have to sedate me?” He asked again, looking impatient.

“...Skip told us you’d been close. He was there when you woke up. You freaked out.” Peter’s eyelids fluttered closed.

“We weren’t close.” Was what he settled on. Tony probably detected an underlying message, but left it alone.

“We’re working on stabilizing May now, and doing some drug tests to see what exactly happened that night. She’s expected to make a recovery, but the situation is still ongoing. Do you want to see her?” Peter settled back into the sheets.

“No thanks.”

“Are you-”

“I’m sure. I’m tired, just let me rest.” Tony sighed, and got up. He walked closer to the hospital bed, and began straightening out the sheets, before fluffing the pillows, and finally tucking Peter in as the teen drifted back off.

“Good night, Peter.”

---

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” Peter stretched his legs out in front of him like a cat, and rolled over. Someone poked him on the forehead. “Wake the fuck up.” That got Peter’s attention.

“Whadda hell.” He mumbled out, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes blearily, before finally setting eyes on the intruder.

Oh, just great.

“Go away.” He told Skip, trying his hardest to glare in a menacing manner. Skip poked his arm this time. “Don’t fucking touch me.” He snarled whilst swatting at the hand, trying to conjure some bark behind the bite.

“Someone’s testy.” He remarked, dodging the swipe and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t call me that.” Skip rolled his eyes and sat down where Tony had previously been. “And why would they let you in here?”

“You’re just across the hall from May. Walking over and opening the door wasn’t rocket science, Einstein.” Peter pulled the covers further over his body, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable. They keep cameras in hospital rooms, right?

Do they?

“What do you want?” He settled on.

“The million dollar question, huh. What I need is for you to keep your mouth shut, alright? I’m already in hot fucking water, I don’t need you throwing wood on the fire.”

“Ok, firstly, what does that mean?” Peter asked, confused.

“Nunya.” Skip got up abruptly. “Keep quiet and stay that way. You definitely will, but just a reminder. Got it?” Peter didn’t respond, knowing that Skip was right. God, he hated when people like him were right. “Got it?” Skip said, interrupting his fast-moving thought process.

“Sure. Fine.”

“Good. I’m leaving before anyone notices shit- don’t you dare tell Tony that I so much as left May’s room.” Peter lowered himself further under the covers, watching him exit unceremoniously.

Immediately, and unexpectedly, there was a commotion. Normally, the door might muffle some of the finer details, but Peter’s hearing certainly wasn’t normal. He jolted up and strained his ears.

“We’re gonna have to take you in for questioning.” Someone who sounded quite like Skip scoffed.

“For what reason? Taking care of my addict girlfriend? Calling 911 when I was supposed to?” Skip sounded genuinely shocked, which meant that he really did think he was going to get away with… whatever he had done. For a moment, Peter was genuinely scared that the whole thing had something to do with him, and that Tony would find out, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Skip, though he might not have known that he’d be arrested today, had an inkling of some unrelated wrongdoing. Now Peter was intensely curious as to what that wrongdoing actually was. Tony chose the perfect time to re-enter the room and sit on Skip’s and his former seat, right then.

“You look marginally better.” He commented, giving him an approving thumbs-up. Peter rolled his eyes. “I take it you’re listening to the conversation outside?” Currently, the officer(s)? were reading out his Miranda rights.

“Duh.” Tony shifted in the chair.

“You have any clue what it’s about?”

“Nope.” Peter replied, popping the ‘p.’ “Care to enlighten me?”

“Well.” If Tony wasn’t nervous before, he certainly was now, as evidenced by the slowly deepening crease in his forehead. “It’s about May. And her condition. The test we ran on her hair came back.” A slow realization began dawning on Peter.

“That’s how you determine long term substance use, right?” Tony chewed on his lip.

“Yes. Exactly. So when we got the results back, and when it had shown she’d been on a pretty stable dosage of Flunitrazepam for the past… well, over a month, it raised some red flags.” Peter needed clarification.

“What’s Flunitrazepam?” He asked, dumbly.

“Most commonly? It’s known as a date-rape drug.”

“Oh.” Peter tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Oh.”

“They- the police- got a search warrant for the apartment. They said they’d tell me if they found anything, but they need your help, Peter, since you’ve been living with her. A statement, any leads.” Tony leaned in further, and put his hand on Peter’s knee. “Are you up for it? It’d be a great service to your aunt.” Peter froze, panicking as he tried to choose his next words carefully.

“I mean- if they really need me.” Tony leaned back, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course they need you, Peter. This is serious. Wouldn’t Spider-Man want to help?” Without particularly needing to or meaning it, Peter scoffed.

“Really? You’re going to bring that up? Low blow.” His mentor looked at him searchingly, pausing to think, before finally speaking again in a concern-heavy voice.

“Peter- what’s wrong?”

And that was the last straw for Peter. A flash of uncontrollable and incomprehensible fury rose up in him.

“What’s wrong? What’s fucking wrong? You- you have no clue what’s wrong, y’know that, right? Newsflash asshole, I don’t care about May, and I haven’t so much as seen her in goddamn weeks upon weeks!” Tony was very, very still, watching Peter’s outburst with wide eyes. “Everything was ruined by him. Everything. I don’t even have a place to sleep anymore. It’s all ruined.” Peter slapped his hands over his temples, cradling his head gently as he began to cry. Now? He was just sad.

“Peter.” He started. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re the g-genius here.” He stuttered out, trying to control his breathing enough to respond coherently.

“Not really.” Tony replied, softly, if not saddened. “I didn’t even know that anything was wrong. But I need you to help me out, Peter, alright kiddo?” He said, tone devolving into deliriousness.

“Don’t call me that.” Peter hissed, before choking on another sob.

“Sorry- sorry, I forgot. But really, Peter, I’m kinda freaking out here.” Peter was selfless. So selfless. And when Tony told him that, he looked up and wiped away his tears to get a better picture of the older man and his heaving chest. He let out a low whine.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to- please calm down.” When that didn’t work, Peter leaned over the bed and began to go through breathing motions with him. “In and out, come on.” It took a minute- or more than one or two, really- but eventually Tony’s flush began to disappear and his fluttering lungs quieted.

“I didn’t mean to be such a drama queen.” Tony said, with a touch of humor in his voice that didn’t help Peter’s guilt very much. “I just get scared. I was scared- and I’m still scared- I need to know what’s going on. I panic even at the thought of you in danger. If not for May, then for me.” Peter came to an easy decision then- a decision that he’d previously sworn off, but one that had been a long time coming. To come clean.

“It’s a long story. I'll have to shorten it.” Tony placed his hand over Peter’s.

“I have time.”

“You’re not going to like all the decisions I made.” Tony shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Because you are right in front of me, Peter, and you are alive. And that’s all that matters. Alright?”

“Alright.”

And so Peter began to talk.

“Even before I knew Skip, I didn’t particularly like him. I just knew him as the person who was distracting my aunt so much she couldn’t bother to ask me about my day anymore.” Peter shrugged. “Meeting him didn’t help either. It just set off my Spidey-Sense.” Tony frowned.

“So… you knew he was some kind of danger from the get-go?” Peter shrugged again.

“It didn’t stay a secret for long. What that danger was. I got Ned to look at his online records and stuff.” Tony coughed, subtly interrupting the teen

“Can I record this?” He asked, pulling out his phone.

“I mean- fine.” Peter acquiesced. “Anyways. We ended up finding something. Something about him assaulting a kid a few years back. Sexually.”

“Peter.” Tony interrupted once again. “Peter, is this… relevant? To you?” His voice cracked on that last syllable. Just a bit.

“May went on a weekend break, Tony. And left me alone with him. What was I supposed to do?”

“But I was-”

“It happened after I left.” Tony shook his head.

“Why. Why did you leave, I could’ve protected-”

“May didn’t believe me. When I told her. She kicked me out, Tony.” The Tony in question was profusely shaking.

“I’m going to kill them.” He said, simply. “Useless. So goddamn useless.” Suddenly, Tony slunk down into his chair, evidently winded. “But I can’t do anything.” He whined, almost childlike. “I can’t fix this. Why didn't you- why didn’t you tell me? Peter looked at the dirt under his nails.

“My own aunt didn’t believe me. Why should you?”

“I would have.” He said, meekly. Tony turned off the voice recorder. “I really would. I promise, oh my God, I’d have killed him. I would, if he wasn’t in police custody.”

“Let me ask you this- why do so many bad things happen to me if I don’t deserve them?”

“Peter!” Tony gasped. “Oh, Peter. Nobody deserves that. Nobody deserves what you’ve gone through.”

“I… can’t think of another explanation.” He admitted.

“Sometimes there isn’t. An explanation, I mean. Life can just be horrible, without rhyme or reason. A coincidence.” Peter snorted.

“What a big, bad coincidence.” At the same time, the door to the room opened just wide enough for a nurse to peek in. The rest would have to wait for later.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Parker? She’s awake.”

Notes:

aaaand the truth comes out.

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Notes:

sorry for the long wait and short chapter i am seriously going through it. by the time the next chapter will probably be done i'll be in my first college semester so it might be a while. will try to get some other stuff out though

The room was quiet for a moment before Tony spoke up.

“I think we need to talk to an officer on the case beforehand.” He said, breaking the silence. Peter looked at him abruptly, confused.

“What do you mean?” Tony sighed deeply, looking like he was less than enthusiastic about the ensuing conversation. The nurse, taking a hint, swept out of the room and closed the door behind him softly.

“Kid.” He started, speaking slowly and clearly. “Apparently I’m the only responsible adult in your life, and I’m gonna take steps to uphold that reputation. I can’t just… hold onto that information about you being hurt, and pretend I never heard it. There are processes, legal processes I am obligated to abide by, and from what you told me, you aren’t his first victim. You need to be his last.” Peter thought on those words. He had never really known what he’d wanted to happen to Skip in the long run. He’d just kinda assumed it wasn’t his problem anymore once he became homeless, and that he couldn’t really do anything about it anyway at that point.

Now, talking to the man with probably the most legal personnel employed in the country, he realized that wasn’t true anymore.

“Will I have to… like, speak in a trial?” He asked tentatively, mind already racing at the implications of that. Of people hearing, of people knowing, people like Flash.

“I don’t know, Peter. That depends on a few different things.”

“I mean- I’d do it.” He said, jaw tight. Tony looked up at him in surprise.

“Really?” Peter waved his right hand in a dismissive movement.

“It’s what Spider-Man would do, really.” The older man cracked a smile at that. “But, uh, before anything. Firstly, I’m not giving a statement here. I want it to be done properly and not when I haven’t showered in two days. Also- I need to talk to someone. Can I borrow your phone?” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Firstly, sure, but we can’t wait too long. And secondly- is that because you shattered yours? I found what remained of it when I was out searching. Jeez kid, you must’ve really hated that thing.” Peter blushed furiously, remembering that irrational decision.

“May-be.” Tony leaned down and fumbled with the tote bag he’d brought with him, before pulling out a brand new phone. Brand new, as in, the model hadn’t even been released yet. Maybe he should’ve thought about tossing his phone sooner if he was gonna get a freebie anyways.

“Have fun. I already imported your contacts and whatever, knowing you and your generation, you probably don’t know this person’s actual number.”

Huh. Nice.

The first thing Peter did upon opening the phone was looking through his contacts. He did not know Bridgette’s info off the top of his head, as Tony had predicted. The second thing Peter did was call Bridgette, who miraculously picked up on the first ring. Almost as if she had been waiting for a call.

“Peter?” She yelled down the line. “Peter, literally everyone’s been looking for you. Are you okay? Holy shit, dude.”

“Tell them to stop looking. I’m at the hospital. I’ll shoot you the address.” He said, simply. The voice on the other line became static-y as she heavily exhaled into the mic.

“Peter, you moron, you scared me! Throwing shit around and running off like that in the middle of a date like a maniac isn’t very appealing to a lady, y’know. And you didn’t answer my-”

Peter hung up, going to the installed messaging app and forwarding his location to her.

“Was that Ned?” Tony asked, evidently not hearing the voice on the other side of the line.

“Nope. Not MJ either, before you ask.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Do tell?” Peter couldn’t help but give him a small smirk.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Friend? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” He asked, conscious of Peter’s preferences.

“Won’t tell.” He made a motion with his lips, symbolizing zipping them.

“So… that means girlfriend or boyfriend.” Tony deduced. “Because you wouldn’t be so hesitant to tell me otherwise. Unless your friend was, like, a serial killer.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“You got me. Nice work, Sherlock.” Tony’s face settled back into something more neutral and serious.

“And everything’s… good with them?” Peter lowered his head, knowing that Tony would probably now be dubious of any of his relationships for a hot second.

“She’s… amazing. Well- I like her.” He amended, not wanting to let on too much.

“Good, good.” Tony said, sounding distant. “Well, I’m gonna pass along the news of you wanting to charge Skip with… that to Officer Hernandez.” Peter didn’t fully sit up, but subtly bobbed his head a few times. “Yeah, uh, just stay here.”

“Can you let Bridgette in when she comes?” He asked, finally making her name known.

“Bridgette, huh? Sure.” Tony got up and patted Peter on the right shoulder before exiting the room, leaving him alone with his slowly fraying blanket. He was only gone for a moment, but a long moment, nonetheless, and in that moment Peter had time to think. And panic.

Why’d he have to blab to Tony about something that probably only denigrated Peter to him? And why did Tony seem to… care so much? After all, in recent history, he hadn’t exactly paid attention to Peter’s living situation. He should just leave. This all seemed like some kind of trick. But where would he go, without Tony being able to find some freak-ass way to track him again?

He probably just wanted Spider-Man back in action, now that Peter thought about it. It was the most logical explanation.

But… why the pats, then? And the nicknames- it was so genuine and so confusing that it made his head hurt. Especially with how much he craved those words and touches. Maybe it was easier to just pretend that Tony cared as much as he wanted him to. He could do that.

Fake it ‘til you make it.

“Peter? I rushed here as fast as I could, are you ok?” Bridgette, in all her glory, was hovering over Peter’s bed with Tony at her side, looking relatively concerned. He must’ve spaced out.

“Yeah- I mean, they’re basically keeping me here for observation at this point.” Peter said. “I probably don’t even need this IV.” He poked at the needle embedded in the crook of his left elbow. Bridgette cringed.

“Don’t touch that.” She said, sounding very repulsed by the thought of something going wrong. “I’m not helping clean up the blood.” Peter smirked.

“That’s the Bridge I know.” She shook her head, exasperated, before leaning in and kissing him. Tony scrunched his nose.

“Get a room, please.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “On second thought- I’d prefer to keep you two in my eyesight. This is a place where babies are born, not conceived.” Bridgette burst out into laughter. Tony was confused. “Jeez, I knew I was a funny guy, but you don’t have to fake it.” He muttered.

“Dude, believe me, nothing’s gonna happen in my tummy. I’m a trans woman.” Tony’s mouth dropped open slightly.

“Ah. Is that why you’re so…” He lifted a flat palm into the air, indicating her height. She dwarfed Peter, a fact the teen not-so-secretly enjoyed. Obviously, Tony also had to look up at her.

“I was just going to ask the same thing.” She replied, making a pinching motion with her index finger and thumb. Tony turned bright red, as Peter hid a smirk behind both his hands.

“Alright, point taken. Sorry for the question.” Tony said, sounding apologetic. Bridgette nodded curtly in acknowledgment before moving onto other affairs.

“So, how much longer are they keeping you for observation?” She asked. Peter shrugged.

“Dunno. I mean, I feel fine? Probably soon, I guess.”

“There’s a lot of moving parts.” Tony added, trying to manage expectations. “For example- where you’re going to live.” Peter furrowed his brow, mouth dropping open slightly. The older man shush’d him. “Because no way are you going back to May’s. Even ignoring the fact that you still have school while she’s going through withdrawal, her criminal negligence is enough for CPS to intervene.”

“I’m not going into foster care.” Peter spat out, suddenly uncharastically angry. “So forget it.” Bridgette placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“Nobody said anything about foster care, Peter.” Tony narrowed his eyes. “Who do you think I am? No, I meant- well, I was thinking about taking guardianship of you, myself.”

“What.” Peter and Bridgette called out, perfectly in sync with one another.

“I know I’m not father-figure of the year, lord knows that, but I just- you need somewhere to go? I got you. We’re close enough for that, right?” He asked, chuckling nervously.

“What’s the catch?” Peter said, butting in. “Because there has to be one. Why- why would you even-”

“No catch, Peter.” Tony’s voice was solemn, all of a sudden. He was apparently serious, for once in his life. “If you agree, I can get my lawyers on the paperwork in seconds. They’ll be able to set up something temporary until everything’s sorted out with your former guardian.”

Right. May.

“Am I going to have to talk to her, now that she’s awake?” Tony shook his head.

“Of course not. You’re not obligated to do anything- talk to her, look at her- don’t give that woman the time of day if you don’t want to- unless-”

“No. No, I don’t want to.” Peter interrupted. Tony’s shoulders relaxed.

“Good.” Bridgette nodded in approval at the decision as well, before opening her own mouth to speak.

“You’ll let me see him? Even when he’s off living in that big fancy penthouse of yours, and I’m still in the dumps?” Tony’s thinking face, no doubt pondering his next moves, softened.

“Of course, Bridgette. You seem good for Peter. In fact, I’m sure I can-”

“Nope. Sorry. I don’t take handouts from billionaires. I almost have enough for a down payment on an apartment anyways.” Tony shrugged.

“Well, I tried.” In response, she patted him on the back condescendingly. Peter tried scooching over in his bed, but was stopped in his movements by the short IV.

“Okay, seriously, when is this thing coming off?” He complained, rotating his arm in its socket. Tony reached out and fastened his fingers around Peter’s wrist gently.

“I’ll call in a nurse and ask them, hm? Is that alright?” He asked, leaning over and finding the button on the side of the bed before gently placing the teen’s arm back down. Peter nodded, and Tony pressed it. Immediately, an unfamiliar woman stepped into the room.

“Everything alright? What do you folks need?” She said, walking over to the machines next to them.

“Peter wants to know if he can get his IV out, since he’s feeling much better now.” The nurse eyed him up and down.

“Well, I suppose, if he can keep hydrated.” She turned her gaze back to Tony, giving him a pointed look as to remind the man of his new medical obligations. “Is that all?” She snapped on some blue gloves, and snagged a circular bandage from a box located behind the headboard. Peter hissed as she gently slid out the needle, and dressed the bruised and bloody spot with the sliver of gauze.

“Actually, yes. I need to speak with your legal department.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Instead of giving the nurse what she wanted (some premium Tony Stark gossip), he asked again.

“Could I please get in contact with a higher-up?” It sounded suspiciously like a demand for a manager, and Peter slunk down into the bed with a twinge of second-hand embarrassment. The nurse pursed her lips.

“Come with me.” Tony tailed her out of the room, expression settled into something guarded, something that Peter only saw in the media. Bridgette shifted over and took his seat in his absence. They sat in silence for the next half hour, Peter trying to keep himself awake as his heart slowed down with the lack of movement, until the door swung back open. Tony popped his head in.

“You’re coming with me.”

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

Notes:

im back mofos

Bridgette waved him goodbye from the curb outside the hospital through the car window, having wanted to go back to the shelter, as well as having needed to work a night shift. Upon hearing this, Tony had, once again, offered her his charity, but was promptly rejected. Bridgette wasn’t stubborn enough to let shame get in the way of her life, unlike Peter, but, as previously established, she was both older and much more financially sound than him.

Meanwhile, Happy shifted into drive, pulling the Audi away and into traffic. Tony’s phone began to ring and, with not much more than a glance, he hit decline on the call. Peter shot him a strongly curious look.

“Just the police. Again.” He said in reply as he pocketed the device, sounding slightly annoyed. “We’re gonna have to return their calls eventually, but not until we get back to the tower, alright buddy?” Peter nodded slowly, not knowing what to verbally say in response to that.

Having to recount the experiences he endured with Skip wasn’t on his bucket list, really, but it was some kind of necessity for the investigation concerning his Aunt to go forward, and also it seemed to bring Tony some kind of peace of mind. He also wasn’t adverse to the thought of Skip rotting in a cell, especially with the other potential, supposed, probable victim in the back of his mind. On the other hand, Peter just wanted to forget about the whole thing and continue pretending that he was alright, that nothing horrible had happened to him, and that he wasn’t a victim.

That was when Peter got another phone call of his own.

This time, it actually was Ned. Or the “Man in the Chair,” as the caller ID flashed to him.

Peter couldn't ignore his best friend for the rest of his life, he supposed, and so he took the call, unlike his now-guardian.

“What the hell, dude, I’m at your old fucking apartment, because I still have no idea what shelter you’re staying at and I was concerned as to you dropping off the face of the earth. Peter- it’s warded off by goddamn police tape. What happened? And MJ is telling me all these… these theories and I have no idea what to believe!” He said, shouting down the line. Peter flinched. He’d always kinda thought of Bridgette and MJ as similar souls, but now having heard Bridgette and Ned at their most worried, he was beginning to consider a different comparison.

“Can you come to the tower? I’ll be there in a few with Tony.” Ned went quiet for a moment, not even reacting to the fact that something had happened to warrant Peter needing Tony’s help.

“You’ll explain? You’ll explain everything- and I mean everything- if I come to the tower right now?” He said, sounding desperate to hear any kind of news. Peter felt like a bad friend- because he was. A horribly, horribly bad friend, who had driven Ned to such a state that he was. “Please don’t tell me this involves him.” He pleaded, in a small, quiet voice. Almost as if Peter wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Just come to the tower.” Peter said, flatly, right before he hung up again, now feeling like an even worse friend. He caught Tony looking at him with an unreadable expression, and turned his gaze out the window, as it began to rain.

Peter blanched when he noticed two police cars parked right outside the tower as they turned onto the street. Tony also seemed to have noticed, and swore softly under his breath.

“I guess we can’t put this off for even a minute.” He grumbled, patting Peter’s back as if to let the boy know that he wasn’t the source of his anger.

It didn’t really help.

Happy pulled over so they could get out and meet the officers, and it was then that Peter noticed the two adults talking to a hooded teenager.

“Ned!” He shouted, jogging over to the other boy, shoes whipping up dirty rainwater onto his jeans. Ned spun around at the sound of his friend’s voice.

“Peter!” They clashed together in a mess of arms and clutching hands, but only for a moment before Ned pushed him back to get a better look.

“You look alright.” Was all he said after the quick once over.

“My injury wasn’t really surface-level visible.” Peter responded, not being able to stop a grin despite the words coming out of his mouth. He really did miss Ned.

“Hello, Peter Parker.” One of the two officers said, introducing himself. Peter felt like a reproached child at the use of his last name.

“Uh, hi?” He said, Tony coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder.

“What can I do for you two?” Tony asked with a thin smile, butting into the conversation.

“We need to speak to Peter, the sooner the better. You two are at his temporary home, so how about now?” The other officer said, in a false cheery voice that did nothing to reassure neither Peter nor Tony. Tony opened his mouth to say something, when Peter took the reins.

“Sure. But only if Ned can be there to listen.” Ned flinched back.

“What?” He whispered loudly, defeating the purpose of doing so.

“Yeah, I want Ned there to listen to what I have to say. I’m not in the mood to repeat myself twice.” Peter said, recounting what he had already said.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tony asked, brow furrowed in worry. Worry about Peter, his emotional state, and whether or not he’d be able to tell his best friend the nitty gritty details of what had happened to him. He also, faintly, worried for Ned, who seemed up to the idea but had no idea how grueling the process would turn out to be.

“I’m sure. God, why does nobody believe anything I say?” Peter said, his words a double-edged sword. Tony let the entendre sink in.

“We believe you. Me and Ned.” He said, nudging the boy’s friend, who nodded when prompted. Peter scoffed. The two officers looked more than uncomfortable at how the situation had turned out, turning to each other with tense expressions.

“Let’s go inside, shall we? As long as the interview proceeds as it should, we have no objection to Peter’s request.” Tony frowned tersely, but shot them both a single nod.

“Let’s.” The group awkwardly shuffled into the building, the receptionist looking slightly confused but letting them all in without a flash of badges anyways, courtesy of Tony’s mere presence. The ride up in the elevator was equally as awkward, with each member surreptitiously sneaking glances at each other the whole way, trying to make half-baked judgements.

The elevator dinged once to let everyone know that they had arrived at the destined floor, sliding open to reveal Tony and Pepper’s personal quarters. And Peter’s now, he supposed. Happy was supposed to be picking up all of his stuff from the shelter and some of it from May’s right as they were speaking, with the help of some other S.I. employees. Peter didn’t really know what to think about Happy and a bunch of strangers rifling through his stuff to decide which items were of importance, but he made no comment when Tony mentioned the issue in the hospital.

“So, uh. This is where the magic happens.” Tony introduced awkwardly, waving around at the entry hall and living room. Officer Hammond (Peter had taken the liberty of reading his name tag) pulled out a notepad and jotted something incomprehensible down. Tony shot him a glare but said nothing, probably not wanting to offend the policeman who would be interviewing his temporary adoptee. “Would any of you like a cup of tea?” He asked, reapplying a bright smile.

“We’re good.” The two officers said, gruffly, whilst looking at one another. Ned, trying to save the situation, piped up.

“Uh, I’d like some. Do you have any kind of green tea?” He asked, looking past him and into the kitchen. Tony, finding his gaze, turned around and made his way to the electric kettle sitting next to the stove.

“Sure, kid.” It was already filled with water, apparently, and all he needed to do was turn it on and grab the bags of tea from the overhead cabinets. The other officer, Officer Molina, tapped her shoe impatiently. Tony’s grin grew even terser, as Peter shifted his attention to surveying his new place of residence.

To say the very least- it was nice. Not exceptionally over-the-top, the windows weren’t lined in gold, but nice pieces of muted, yet obviously expensive, art were all over the place. Probably courtesy of Pepper. The windows were large, and showed off a great expanse of city. Peter wondered if he could see Queens from one of them, so high up. See his old apartment, his old way of living. Because as much as he loved Tony, he didn’t think that he’d ever get used to this level of opulence.

“Here you go, Ned.” Peter was startled out of his thoughts by Tony delivering a mug of tea to his best friend, who took it from the man lightly.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” He said, picking up on Peter’s old, and sometimes new, habit.

“It’s Tony, kid.” Peter snorted. He’d heard that one before.

“Are we ready to start?” Officer Molina asked, gesturing towards the large couches in the living room. Tony looked at Peter, who shrugged.

“I suppose.”

“Just let me know if you need to stop, or if you need a water, or-”

“Tony. I’m good. I need to do this. I can do this.” Tony looked at him with an expression that bordered between proud and saddened.

“Attaboy.” He whispered, gently, patting the teen on the shoulder. Ned, in comparison, seemed nervous. Perhaps more than nervous- scared, even. And yet he was trying his hardest to hold himself together, to pretend that this wasn’t going to change their friendship forever, in some capacity. They all sat down, the officers opposite Peter, with Ned and Tony on either side of him. Officer Hammond pulled a professional-looking recording device out of his bag, setting it up on the mid-century coffee table and then turning the equipment on.

“Today is April twenty-seventh, 2018. In front of me is Peter Parker, alleged victim of one Steven Westcott. Peter, can you confirm this information?” Ned’s already ashen face fell at that, and he turned to his friend frantically.

“Yes, that’s all correct.” Peter replied, ignoring him. Ned made some frantic motions with his hands, not wanting to interrupt the recording, but also experiencing a myriad of conflicting emotions. Mainly, from Peter’s assessment, confusion and shock.

“Can you describe how you and Steven first met?” Officer Molina asked, lowering her gaze to the beeping green light on the side of the machine. Peter thought it over for a minute.

“Well.” He said, considering how much was necessary to reveal. “I caught my aunt and him at dinner one day. So I suppose that’s how we met.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Caught? How?” Peter looked down sheepishly at his beat up sneakers.

“I followed May to a restaurant. She’d been staying out late and acting really weird so I got curious.”

“Acting weird in which ways?” She said, leaning forward. Peter lifted up four fingers to count off on.

“Not greeting me after school, generally ignoring me, again, staying out late, leaving the apartment sporadically- you get the picture.”

“And you two were very close before… all this, right?” Officer Hammond said, to which Peter nodded.

“I- yeah. We were close. Very close. I mean- I have no other family.” He reminded them all. Tony reached over and grasped his hand.

“You have me.” He whispered into Peter’s ear, gently reminding him of his situation. Peter normally wouldn’t find such heartfelt sentiments to be reassuring, but at this time, in this situation, it meant the world to him.

“She and my uncle took me in when I had nobody else left.” He finished, somberly.

“And what happened to him- your uncle. Where is he?” Officer Molina asked, shifting her weight slightly back again.

“I don’t think-” Tony started.

“Dead. Shot in a mugging.” Peter finished, dryly.

“Oh.” Officer Molina said, pausing a little afterwards. “That’s unfortunate.” She cleared her throat. “So what did you immediately think of Steven?” Peter shrugged.

“I mean- he was alright. Like, he was my Aunt’s boyfriend, and I didn’t like that he was taking so much of her time up- but other than that, he was chill. Nice, even.” She paused again.

“So flash forwarding- what happened the night before you were assaulted?” Tony exhaled deeply, with one long, shuddering breath. Ned’s eyes hadn’t yet unwidened.

“Well, May had some business she had to attend to, so she left me alone in the house with him. The uh- shit, the day before this all happened- Friday- me and Ned found out some information on Skip.” Ned’s head slowly dropped to his chest. “We found these old records that showed that he’d- Steven- been accused of sexually assaulting a kid. Someone like me. So I was wary of him at this point.” You could hear a pin drop in the room.

“What?” Tony asked, sounding unimaginably hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me the second you-”

“Because it’s embarrassing, okay! It was fucking embarassing to realize that this- this random dude your Aunt is dating is probably, most likely a creeper who views you sexually.” Peter shouted, voice cracking multiple times over the course of his rant.

“Could we please return to-” Officer Hammond started.

“No! No, we cannot return to the fucking recording!” Tony shouted.

“Of course.” Peter said, looking directly at the policeman in front of him. “Let’s.”

“Peter-”

“Another time.” He said, with a finality that dared his guardian to speak against him again. Tony Stark decided to shut his mouth for once in his life. “Anyways, we uh. Shit. We started watching a movie together that night and I… I thought he made a move. It was during a sex scene- on the TV in the living room- he put his hand on my upper thigh. So I left and went to Tony’s.” Officer Hammond jotted something down on the pad of paper he’d brought with him.

“And this Tony is Anthony Stark, yes?”

“Yes, correct. And when I came back early the next morning… that’s when it happened. I knocked on the door to get in and he made some comments and then he-” Peter was breathless. “He- he threw me to the ground.” Peter chose to leave out the comments about Tony made during the scuffle. “I got back up and ran to my room and locked it. But when I woke up the next morning, I needed to use the bathroom. So I tried tiptoeing over, but… Skip- he was waiting in the bathroom for me. It was a trap.”

“Steven waited inside the bathroom the whole night for you to need to use it?” He asked, flatly, trying not to add any implications to that question.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter said, sounding slightly smaller. Because it sounded like quite an unreasonable thing for one to do, now that he thought about it. He wondered who would believe his story, in the end, and unpleasant thoughts raked his mind. Well- more unpleasant than normal. “He had a friend over. The friend locked the door from the outside, but I kicked it down, but-”

“But?” Officer Molina questioned after a moment of silence.

“His friend held me down and they took turns. With me. Uh, orally, if you need that for the record.”

“It’s appreciated.” Officer Molina reassured. “So him and his friend sexually assaulted you orally?” Peter nodded, and then remembered the recording device again.

“Yes. That is what happened.” Ned’s head still hung low, but when Peter looked closer, he could see small wet patches on his jeans. “After that, May bust in the room. She was back from her trip. I explained my assault, she didn't believe me, and that was when I moved out. Permanently.”

“She didn’t believe her own nephew? Why’s that?” Peter shrugged again.

“I’m not sure. I wish I knew. Probably has something to do with the drugs, I guess. I didn’t know about those, by the way.” The officers were happy with all they had gotten, apparently, and Officer Hammond reached out and turned the recording device off, before telling Tony that they’d “be in touch.” Once they’d been ushered back out of the apartment by the man, it was as if the strings holding up Peter’s facade had been cut. He leaned to the side and started sniffling into Ned’s arm. “I wish I knew.” He repeated, once more, and then again. “I wish I knew.”

“Peter?” Tony asked, walking over. “Peter, are you alright?”

“Does it look-” Peter broke down in sobs.

“Oh, buddy.” Tony came around to sit in front of Peter’s knees and wrapped his arms around the teen. “I’ve got you, Pete.”

“Yeah, I got you too.” Ned repeated, pulling him closer. For one moment, Peter was able to push away his pain when faced with such enduring love, and took a deep breath to clear his airways.

And then it all came crashing back onto him, and he let out another sob. And another.

He fell asleep on the couch that night, Ned and Tony next to him. When Pepper walked in on the scene, she just sighed and laid a blanket over the three of them, before tip-toeing back to a guest bedroom. It didn’t feel right to sleep in hers and Tony’s bed alone.

Notes:

comments are appreciated, as always. lemme know what you think, cause i have no idea where this is going either.

Chapter 15: epilogue

Notes:

i might do some one-shots in this world but for now this is the end! sorry for it being so abrupt, i wanted to do a proper ending but at this point i can't be bothered and i can't leave you all hanging.

It was unsurprising that, with Tony’s pull, Skip was sentenced to a lengthy twenty years- partly based on Peter’s testimony, but also taking into account his repeated drugging of May, and the testimonies of a few other victims who had popped up.

Speaking of his aunt-

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Tony said, frowning. “Because it’s okay if you’re not- that’s fine. We can reschedule and go another day, it’s no biggie- I’m in your corner.” Peter shrugged, grabbing onto the door handle.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” He said, simply. Tony seemed to begrudgingly accept the answer as he slammed the car door behind him, rolling down the window so he could watch Peter walk away in full definition.

“Fine. I’ll be in the car if you need me. Just… shoot me a text. Or call. Or shout. And I’ll be there in a second- faster than a second.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Got it.”

“Love you!” He yelled out the window, before pulling around the corner. Peter’s cheeks burned as passerby watched him curiously, but he found that he didn’t quite mind the over-the-top profession. It was nice to be wanted, he thought, as he walked into the cafe. It reeked of gentrification, and Peter wondered why May had chosen it for their meeting spot, being so far away from Queens as well. Maybe she was seeking neutrality, something that wouldn’t remind either of them of their pasts.

May had changed considerably in the many months since he’d seen her up close. She looked… tired. Older.

Regretful.

She waved him over with a tentative smile that Peter didn’t return.

“Hello, Peter.” She said, not faltering whatsoever. Peter still said nothing, silently taking the chair across from her. Finally, after a few moments of Peter staring her down, she cracked.

“Baby-” May said, reaching across the table with shiny eyes. Peter leant back, avoiding her right hand. “I never meant to hurt you-” Peter scoffed.

“Try again. Or I’m leaving. Make this visit worth my time and energy.” She steeled herself with a deep inhale, wiping away a tear that had fallen down her sunken left cheek. Peter, at this point, couldn’t find it within himself to feel bad for setting boundaries and not cleaning up other people’s messes.

“Okay. I promise, I will. There’s something I’ve never told anyone.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Not even the courtroom.” She continued. Well.

Color him intrigued.

“Go on.” He ushered his aunt, suddenly somewhat interested in what she had to say.

“I didn’t- I didn’t tell the full truth. About my time with him. My memories…” She said, trailing off into remembrance. “I testified that they were murky- and that’s true- but I remember more than I said I did.” Peter narrowed his eyes, looking at May carefully, like she was some kind of artifact.

“How does this exonerate you, exactly? I should have Tony come and drag you back to court over this admission.” May held out her hands.

“I know. I know, it sounds bad. Just- listen.” Peter motioned for her to continue again. “I remember a few things. Just a few. Remember when that doctor testified that the drugs he roofied me with made me more susceptible to faulty reasoning?” Peter nodded slowly. May looked out the window at the passersby. “Well- I ignored a lot of red flags. A lot. Most notably, I didn’t call his bluff when he said that he wouldn’t touch you if he had me.” Peter short-circuited.

“What. You knew?”

“No, I didn’t. What I believed was that- if he hurt me, he wouldn’t hurt you.” Peter paused to think.

“Wait. He did what to you?” It was as if the last puzzle piece came together and joined the others. The broken and bloodied picture was finally complete. “Oh.” May moved her gaze to her lap. She was wearing a blue and yellow sundress. It looked quite nice on her, Peter thought, though he’d never admit it. Seasonally appropriate. “He raped you.”

“Yes.” She breathed out. “And I was too embarrassed to admit it. When you- when you came to me… I didn’t want to believe that all the suffering I went through was for nought. The controlling behavior. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t as perturbed by it. Looking back now…” Peter looked down at his own jeans.

“I still don’t forgive you. Drugged or not.”

“I know.”

“I might not ever forgive you.”

“That’s okay.”

“...But maybe we can meet again in a few months.” He held out his hand for a solemn shake. May took it, and with that, the deal was sealed.

“I just want to know that you’re okay. That Tony is taking good care of you.”

“He is. Better than you took care of me.” Peter didn’t flinch at the obvious hurt in her eyes. It was the truth. He wouldn’t apologize for the truth anymore. He stood up, and left the cafe, leaving her behind with her cold cup of chamomile tea.

When Peter found Tony parked out back, the man was answering an email on his phone. He looked up with a grin at the sight of the boy.

“Was everything okay?” He fussed, surveying Peter up and down. “No tears?” Peter shook his head. “Good. Not that I’d be mad if you did cry.”

“I’d be mad. I need my big, strong, manly man.” Bridgette joked from the backseat. Peter gave her a frown. “Kidding!” She sing-songed, opening the back door with a socked foot. Tony shot her a frown.

“Keep your shoes on, Bridge.”

“No can do!” Peter slotted himself next to her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. Tony’s expression molded into something pinched, as always when confronted by their PDA, but said nothing.

“Home?” He asked, turning onto the main street.

“Home.” Peter replied.

Notes:

kinda wanted to explain myself and why i wrote this ending and may's perspective. i really don't like the lack of nuance in a lot of stories that use the abusive bf trope. i know a fair bit about IPV (intimate partner violence) and it's definitely more common for an abuser to be abusing multiple people in their household rather than focusing on just one- not saying that it's impossible for an abusive boyfriend to direct their attentions solely to the child in the relationship, but especially with may's drugging, i find it more... realistic that he would also be abusive towards may.

this isn't excusing her behavior, and as peter says- he doesn't forgive her. but it does give some kind of reasoning besides "may's just an evil bitch" y'know?

feedback on my decision is allowed and appreciated but i won't tolerate victim blaming, for the record. this also hasn't just been pulled out of my ass believe me it was my intention from the beginning to have may be an abuse victim as well as a perpetuator.

thank you so much for loving this story over the months i've been writing it! peace out <3

Notes:

sooo... i think i found my new muse? not sure how long this is going to be but definitely over 20k. again- please leave a comment if you'd like me to continue. tags will DEFINITELY change so please read those before every chapter- i got the big ones out of the way but still.