Chapter Text
Ben didn’t worry very often.
Not about bills, not about the state of the world, not even about the long hours that came with trying to hold a family together.
But Peter was different.
He loved his nephew with his whole heart, and he understood that as Peter grew into his teenage years, there would be distance, doors closed a little harder, moods that shifted without warning, a need for space that Ben and May could only respect from afar.
Still.
At 10:30 on a school night, with no text, no call, and no explanation, worry settled into Ben’s chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. This wasn’t Peter.
He kissed May on the cheek before heading out, lingering just long enough to memorize the warmth of her skin.
“Call me once you find him,” May said softly, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Ben nodded. He saw the fear she was trying to hide, the same unease twisting in his own stomach. Something was wrong, they both felt it.
He headed toward the convenience store a few blocks away, calling Peter’s name into the quiet night and dialing his phone every few minutes, hoping, needing, to hear it ring somewhere nearby.
“Pete—”
The word never finished leaving his mouth.
Someone slammed into him from the side, shoving him hard into a narrow alley. The breath rushed from his lungs in a sharp gasp, pain exploding across his back as he hit the brick wall. Before he could recover, rough hands grabbed him again, pinning him in place.
The man smelled of sweat and panic, clutching what looked like stolen goods against his chest.
Ben forced himself to breathe. Years as a cop screamed at him to react, to disarm, to fight, but one thought drowned out all the rest. Find Peter.
He slowly raised his hands in surrender.
“Please,” Ben said, voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. “I didn’t come out with anything. I’m just looking for my nephew.”
“Give me your wallet, old man,” the robber sneered. His eyes were wild, unfocused, darting like a trapped animal’s.
Ben swallowed. He could see the unmistakable bulge of a gun at the man’s waistband. “I don’t have it on me,” he said carefully. “I’m just looking for my nephew.”
The man growled and slammed him harder against the wall, hands digging into his pockets with frantic desperation. Ben tried to shove him away, but his strength wasn’t enough. Not like this. Not now.
“I don’t have time for this,” the man snapped. “Give me your money or I’ll—”
“Uncle Ben!”
Ben’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
“Peter, get out of here!” he shouted, terror ripping through his voice.
The man froze, eyes flicking between them. Cornered, panicked, he yanked the gun free and aimed it squarely at Ben’s chest.
“Money. Now.”
Peter stepped forward anyway, hands raised slightly, voice shaking but determined. “We don’t have any money. Just let us go. We won’t tell anyone, we didn’t see you.”
“Peter,” Ben pleaded, desperation clawing at his throat. “Back away. Slowly.”
The man cocked the gun, shoving it closer to Ben. “Back up, kid, or your uncle gets it. Wallet. I don’t care what’s in it.”
Ben reached instinctively toward his pocket.
It was the wrong move.
The gun went off with a deafening crack.
Peter screamed as he shoved his uncle aside, and Ben hit the pavement hard, shock and pain exploding through his arm. For a split second, everything went silent, until he saw the blood blooming through the fabric of Peter’s shirt.
“No, Peter!”
Panic tore through Peter’s body as the adrenaline surged. He barely felt the pain at first, only the horror as he turned toward the man, intent on stopping him. But a brutal kick slammed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, catching himself against a garbage can.
Through sheer instinct, he lunged forward and punched the man square in the face. The impact sent the robber crashing to the ground.
Peter stood there for a moment, chest heaving, hands shaking as the adrenaline faded. Pain followed swiftly behind it. His breath came out in ragged gasps as he pressed a hand to his chest, then pulled it away, staring in disbelief at the blood coating his fingers.
“Peter!” Ben cried, trying to push himself upright despite the searing pain in his arm. He couldn’t move fast enough.
Peter collapsed beside him, the world spinning.
Ben’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of his nephew, blood pooling beneath him, chest rising in short, painful jerks. Before Ben could reach him, the man staggered back to his feet, gun shaking wildly in his hands. His breathing was erratic, eyes glassy with panic.
Ben had never been so afraid.
“Fuck you, kid!” the man screamed and fired.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Peter’s body jerked violently as the bullets hit, and then he fell still.
The man stared at what he’d done, horror dawning across his face. With a broken sob, he dropped the gun, grabbed his stolen items, and fled into the night.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
Ben snapped out of it at the sound of a wet, rattling cough. His gaze raced over Peter’s body. There was too much blood. Far too much. With his good hand, he pressed down on the wound at Peter’s head while fumbling for his phone with the injured one.
He dialed 911 with shaking fingers.
Peter weakly grabbed his wrist. “Uncle Ben..”
“I know,” Ben said desperately, pressing harder. “We need to keep pressure. I’m here. I’m sorry..”
The call connected. Training kicked in despite the terror threatening to drown him.
“We need help,” Ben said, voice breaking. “Two gunshot victims. Second and Main street in Queens. One is a fourteen-year-old—multiple wounds.”
Peter’s grip tightened, his face contorted with pain. “Uncle Ben...”
“Don’t talk,” Ben cried, tears spilling freely now. “Help is coming. Just hang on. Please.”
Peter whimpered, the pain overwhelming. His chest burned, his head throbbed, and for the first time, fear eclipsed everything else. He wasn’t healing. His powers weren’t saving him.
Sirens wailed in the distance, too fast, too slow, he couldn’t tell. Ben dropped the phone and tried to cover Peter’s chest wound, blood soaking through his sleeve.
“Hold on, Peter,” Ben begged. “Don’t stop fighting.”
Peter coughed, blood filling his mouth. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t want to die. Not like this. He tried to speak, to say he was sorry, to tell Ben he loved him—but the words wouldn’t come.
Ben understood anyway.
“It’s okay,” he whispered fiercely as paramedics rushed toward them. “May and I love you. You’re going to be okay.”
The world blurred. A stranger replaced his uncle, hands moving quickly, voices overlapping. Cold air hit his skin as his clothes were cut away. Or maybe it was the blood loss. He wasn’t sure.
He just needed to close his eyes for a second.
One blink, and the alley was gone.
Another blink, he was in the back of some sort of truck, his chest was so tight.
A third blink.. Light flooded his senses. Voices echoed too loudly, too brightly. Everything hurt. Everything overwhelmed him. His body shut down, retreating from the noise, the pain, the fear.
It was too much.
And then....
There was nothing.