Chapter Text
The card shook in his hand. Why? Peter didn’t know. Probably the stress and effort of desperately trying to stay alive in New York with no home as a 16 year old boy. He had no job - he was working on it, okay? - and shame stopped him from asking for help. He rubbed his fingers over the imprinted braille and tried to compose himself.
The card was taunting him, someone wanted to help him. He was just a coward. A real fuck-up. God! What the actual hell?
“Screw it,” Peter mumbled to himself in an alleyway - he's pretty sure one of his backpacks was stolen here. He debated on using his phone, it was one of the few things he kept, after all it's the only thing he has with pictures of May and even fewer of his Uncle Ben.
Dead. Of course it was, the solar-panel charger he bought just had to be faulty, didn’t it? He searched in his pockets for some quarters so he could use a payphone nearby. No luck.
Something shiny caught his eye, a coin, thank God. He snatched up from the ground, dashes the payphone and fumbles with the stiff keypad, 4 and 7 missing. It rings. It rings again. Maybe this was a mistake, Mr. Murdock was just pitying him, he shouldn’t be wasting his time–
“Hello, this is Nelson, Murdock and Page,” a calm, firm feminine voice entered his ears.
“Uh- Hi- I- I was um given this card by Mr. Murdock. He said to ring if I needed his help,” Wow Parker, way to make conversation.
“You wouldn’t happen to be the boy he ran into earlier this afternoon, would you?”
Shit, Mr. Murdock talked about him? Jesus, he was probably the laughing stock of the whole firm by now. He shouldn’t have called.
“Haha, yes ma'am that's me. Unless he ran into any other teenage boys this afternoon by chance.” Why does he do this to himself, he's actually only making his life worse by continuing this fucking conversation. Okay, maybe he needs to cut down on the swearing, cut him some slack.
“Great,” the woman cuts his rambling off, “well, you should definitely swing by soon. I know Matt has been worried about you. He won’t show it but I know him and Foggy’s, you know, Foggy - I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a search party out right now.”
Her sweet laughter echoes through the line, he's struck by a sudden vision of May and Ben listening to some cheesy 70’s song and dancing in their small yet well-loved apartment. Peter, only 8, watches from afar in his even smaller bedroom. Ben curses, she’d stepped on his foot again. She smiles, a beautiful smile. He smiles back.
Their laughter echoes in his mind. His memories.
“Yes. I mean I'd love to stop by, just to let them know I'm doing alright. But you know with school and my job-”
What kind of bullshit excuse is he giving this poor woman?
“Ah, right of course,” she says in a certain way that Peter knows she knows that he is talking utter horsecrap. “School. As a matter of fact, Matt and I will actually be in on both Saturday and Sunday,” he hears her mutter some not nice things he should not have heard, something about overtime and workaholics.
“Ah, right… perfect.. I’ll uh check with my boss, yeah, my boss to uhh look over my schedule this weekend. Okay, bye!”
He says the last part in such a haste he barely hears her protest. So what now? Currently, it's Thursday and he’ll most likely go on Saturday. Not too early, he doesn't want to seem desperate. Not too late, he doesn't want to make Mr. Murdock stay later than he has to at work. But from what he heard from the woman on the phone, that’s practically impossible.
He needs a plan, desperately. He reeks of whatever can be found on the streets of New York, honestly, he doesn't want to know. He could take a shower at a gym. He’ll also need different clothes. He doesn’t want to look like he owns one outfit , he does, and that's beside the point. Even If Mr. Murdock is blind - wow, again with blind comments, Parker - it's more for Peter’s own comfort and very little sanity.
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Hate is a strong word. Peter has said many things, about many people. He never really meant it, of course not. He was raised better than that. Sure he said he hated the sequels of Star Wars, Ned almost threw a chair at him for that one, and sure he hated Flash Thompson with his endless remarks, but Peter knew home life wasn’t the best for Flash so he lets it slide but, dear Lord, Peter is about to hate himself for what he’s about to do.
It's not a difficult task by any means whatsoever, yet it has Peter want to rip off his skin at the very thought of it. He’s not a religious guy either, despite the connotations of his name, he most certainly isn't stable enough to be a Rock. In this moment now he feels more like when Peter denied Jesus. He’s betraying all the good inside of him, pushing away everything that was taught to him. That be May, Ben, his parents - what little they could teach at such a young age - and perhaps most importantly, Mr. Stark.
All those lectures about how to be in that little grey area, don't do stuff he would do, and most certainly don't do anything he wouldn’t do.
“Be better but be humble, be strong but don’t let them know it. And for the last time Parker, don't do anything that would get you arrested, killed, or put on the internet for all the wrong reasons. Trust me on that last one. Just, I don’t know, keep getting churros from nice old ladies, kid.”
“You listen to my messages?” such innocence and hope in his voice.
“Irrelevant” and that was that.
So here he was, standing in front of the ATM, about to rip it out and steal the money inside.
Very reminiscent of when he met those goons working for Toomes. He was the criminal now. Unlike them he didn’t need a mask, no one knew who he was, yet he found he had pulled his hood over his head. He shook his hands up and down, nervous tremors racking through his body.
Three deep breaths in and three deep breaths out. Okay, he could do this. His hand reaches for the machine, hands curl sound the edges of the smooth metal and-
He turns around. No. No he couldn’t.
And so he doesn’t.
Instead he runs into a nearby alley, climbs up to the roof of one of the enclosing walls, and he cries. He cries good and hard, thinking about the monster he’s become. His body shakes and crumples in on itself, sounds of pain and hysteric sobs force their way out. Tears cascade down his thin, hollow face. The hairs on his arms stick up like dog’s hackles. Wait, the hairs on his arms-
Footsteps make their presence known. Peter’s head snaps to the side, body following, he gets up clumsily.
Daredevil is looking right back at him.