Chapter Text
With Ned still not talking to him other than small moments where Peter asks about assignments or notes, days become unusually flexible and comfortable. As it’s only been a week since Ned began ghosting him, he decides his friend deserves some more time to think.
And of course, Peter may or may not be avoiding the conversation he’s sure Ned wants to have.
He mulls over the idea of starting patrol earlier to fill his time, wondering if the public will notice and question his sudden schedule change.
Coming back to the apartment early is something he’s also still getting used to. Though, he doesn’t realize it’s something May must also be adjusting to as well.
Peter freezes as a familiar, shaky breath sounds out from inside the apartment. At first, he wonders if there’s some sort of danger present, but there’s nothing around him that alerts his awakened senses.
“I don’t know what to do…” May sniffles, voice muffled through the door. Peter’s holding his key right in front of the doorknob with a frozen hand, merely seconds from entering.
“Thankfully they gave me the antibiotics so soon after my appointment this morning, but I…I can’t believe my card declined at the store.”
Unease swirls in Peter’s gut. He had no idea May even had a doctor’s appointment this morning, she was supposed to be at work.
“It was just some basics for the week, and I couldn’t even buy those,” May cries softly, “I had to put back my favorite tea and those chips Peter absolutely loves.”
Whatever the other person says is too quiet even for Peter’s ears, though, he imagines the words are placating, because May is silent for a little while longer. Peter’s chest becomes familarly heavy, especially as May continues.
“No, I won’t tell him…he doesn’t need to worry about this.”
Instantly, he knows May is talking about him and he can’t help but hang his head low, guilt eating him alive.
Unable to keep listening, he lets the door creak open, just loud enough for her to hear.
“I have to go, Peter just got home.” He hears May mumble urgently.
Peter clears his throat.
“May?”
She takes a shaky breath.
“Peter,” she huffs a bitter laugh, “you’re home early.”
He winces as he enters the living room, watching as she wipes her eyes swiftly, giving him a weary smile.
“How was work?” He asks, offering an olive branch that she promptly dodges.
“It was okay,” she lies, “just some rough cases and patients is all.”
Peter frowns.
“I’m sorry…” he says, the apology carrying more weight than he means. Momentarily, she stares at him thoughtfully before rising from the couch.
“Want to get some takeout?” She smiles, already grabbing her keys, “I think we both deserve it!” And some of the heaviness in his chest lifts at the way her shoulders have relaxed.
Though, most of it remains as his aunt remains tight-lipped about that phone conversation. Consequently, Peter solidifies his newly formed plan for tomorrow.
Turns out, Queens is filled to the brim with small restaurants, stores, or whatever it may be that could use an extra hand. Only problem is, about half of them are looking for someone over 18 and then most of those require some sort of working permit. Where the blank parent/guardian signature makes Peter feel queasy as he hands it back to the poor restaurant worker he’s been asking questions for the last 10 minutes.
Fortunately, she’s nothing but kind, blonde curls springing around her face and light brown eyes watching him warmly. Almost pitifully.
“Thank you, I’ll um…have to pass.” He admits ineloquently, watching curiously as understanding dawns on the girl’s face before her eyes soften. She’s clearly no more than a couple years older than he is.
“You need your dad not knowing you’re looking for work?” She asks politely, blind to the way Peter flinches at the innocent question. Though, a certain genius billionaire flashes through his mind and he almost laughs.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Then, she leans in close, eyes darting around before they rest back on Peter.
“The private-owned convenience store over on 7th isn’t as picky, maybe you can work something out with them?” She offers, smiling gently.
Eyes brimming with gratitude and relief, he gives her a lopsided grin before heading to the door.
“Thank you,” relief drips from his voice, “thank you so much.”
“No sweat, good luck!”
The chime of the door’s bell rings in his ears as he briskly makes his way over to the store.
The man in front of him lets out a disbelieving snort.
“You really want to work here?”
The store itself isn’t particularly presentable, so he understands the older man’s hesitance, but Peter can’t be too picky, not with the demands he’s going to have to make.
There’s dust settled on nearly every surface that isn’t the countertop, cobwebs in each corner and a suspiciously outdated-looking fire hydrant that he’s sure a Fire Marshall would love to document to get this place shut down.
“Why not?” Peter quips with a smile and the man laughs heartily.
“I like you, kid,” he looks around then, “how about we have you cleaning the store up first, then maybe get you on register once you’re more settled.”
Gratitude settles into his entire body, shoulders sagging, before he realizes what he has to do to keep this a secret. At the complicated look crossing his features, the man’s brows furrow confusedly.
“Is there any way to uh-” Peter scratches the back of his neck nervously, “to make this be…under the table?”
The man sets him a suspicious, calculating look to which Peter splutters, fearful he may lose the only place that’s let him get this far as far as a pseudo-interview goes.
“It’s not like that, but um…I don’t want my Aunt to know…and she’d have to sign my permit.”
Settling into his worn chair, the man sighs, raising a brow at him.
“She your legal guardian?”
Peter nods, finding his guard is down with how wrung out he feels.
“I’m still in school and things have been tight for us financially,” he attempts to look as pitiful as possible, though based on the way the man’s rough edges are softening, he must not need to try hard, “I just want to help her out without making her worry.”
Thoughtful, he stares at Peter’s stiff form in that cheap stool before sighing so loudly that Peter startles.
“Alright kid, you got yourself your first job,” He grunts as he stands up, offering his hand, “you don’t have any other extracurriculars right? No sports or anything?”
Briefly, Peter’s mind flashes over the red and blue suit tucked in his backpack, but he shakes his head.
“Nope.” He grins, eagerly shaking his calloused hand.
The job itself is simple enough, Peter finding more than enough to clean with how old everything in the shop is, secretly moving entire shelves when no one is looking so he can clean underneath and around them.
The difficulty rather, comes with balance, as all things tend to in the end. Technically, he hadn’t lied to his now-boss about not having any school-related extracurriculars, but he finds himself still itching to patrol even after his five hour shifts. The next two weeks blur together like this: school until 3pm, work from 4pm to 9pm, then patrol until he feels like his limbs may fall off. Typically, the time he now works during would be used to study or hangout with Ned, but he’s been doing decently in his classes, and finds he doesn’t have the mental energy to put in much more effort than needed to maintain his A’s. And…he and Ned only meet up at lunch lately.
“Pete, can you help me with this?” A raspy grunt sounds out from the back of the store and Peter jumps up from where he was sweeping and runs to meet him, eagerly grabbing the box the man was holding.
“Thanks.” He says, eyes following Peter as he places the box of products next to the shelf.
Silently, Peter curses, he’d forgotten Thursdays mean inventory day. Which was not much of an issue last week, but he’s about 80% sure he dislocated his own shoulder patrolling the previous night. Unusually, the pain didn’t fade away by the morning and has been a nagging reminder throughout the day.
And yet.
“I can grab the rest of the boxes off the truck Mr.Lee!” He turns his head with a polite smile, “if you want to check things off the invoice!”
Simultaneously surprised and relieved, the older man smiles.
“Thanks, Peter, just place them here and you can go home for the day.”
For a moment, Peter’s eyebrows furrow before he turns to the clock.
8:55 PM
Suddenly Peter wishes he hadn’t volunteered to do that.
Half an hour later, Peter is wiping his hands on his pants, thick dust coating his fingers and his temples slick with sweat.
“Good job, kid. Feel free to grab a soda or something on your way out,” Mr.Lee claps a hand on his back, “get home safe.”
Thankful, Peter lowers his head before grabbing a bottle of the iced tea that May likes before shoving it into his backpack. The red and blue tucked away at the bottom sits. Waiting.
Less than an hour later, he’s swinging through an alleyway, wind filtering through his mask and cooling off his face. Feeling a twinge in his shoulder, he winces, pulling himself up to a roof to take a short break.
“Why the hell won’t you heal?” Peter grumbles to himself, his hand shifting his shoulder around like that will cure it.
On cue, his stomach growls loudly, startling him out of his thoughts.
Though, before he can think of calling it a night and heading home early, Peter’s ears pick up on the sound of a whimper. Quickly, he’s swinging his way over to the direction he heard it from, ignoring the pain resonating down his arm now.
As he arrives, there are three men, likely his age, or older circled around something or someone. Narrowing his eyes, Peter recognizes that bleach-blonde hair anywhere, one of the men grabbing a hold of her curls before Peter finally jumps down.
“Now, fellas, this fight just doesn’t seem fair does it?”
The three of them visibly startle at his presence, backing up from the girl only to ready their stances before him. The girl gasps, backing into the alleyway more as her wide, brown eyes scan for a possible exit.
Peter notes the three of them are unarmed, no holsters and Peter can’t feel any sharp sense of danger from any of them. He raises his fists.
One of them charges at him recklessly, arm cocked back, but Peter is much faster, spinning out of the way before scoring a punch right into his abdomen that has the other man keeling over. The second one is much smarter about it, though Peter’s sense heightens momentarily and he dodges the kick coming his way, but is unable to avoid the hook to the side of his jaw. He barely lets himself stumble before he jumps to the other wall and uses the height to kick the guy down, watching him fall miserably to the wet, dirty concrete floor.
“Watch out!” The girl screams, and Peter mistakenly looks toward her as if she were in danger as a dull pain blooms on his back, turning around sharply to find the last guy standing timidly with a pipe. He swings again, though this time, Peter grabs a hold of it, nearly bending it as he rushes forward to trip the man. The three lie around him, groaning respectively and Peter takes that as his cue, looking back up at the girl.
He clears his throat, lowering his voice.
“You’re safe now, miss,” he assures her, looking over her for any injury, “are you alright?”
She nods gratefully, looking down at the men with utter hatred.
“I was just trying to get home after my shift at the restaurant and these bastards ambushed me.” She kicks one of them for good measure, making Peter snort.
“Would you like me to escort you home?”
She mulls over it for probably fifteen seconds before shaking her head.
“I’m okay,” her expression falls guiltily, “you have blood coming from your back though…”
At that, Peter turns his head over his shoulder, staring down and he realizes she’s right, the pipe was jagged and left its mark in that first swing. Ignoring the pain that begins to make itself known at the revelation, Peter sighs.
“I’m alright, I can walk you to your neighborhood still.”
Despite her hesitance, earlier, she nods slowly, allowing Peter to fall slightly behind her wordlessly. Peter attempts to ignore the dull ache in his skull and the sharp pain burning near his shoulder blade.
As quietly as possible, Peter makes his way through his bedroom window, wincing as he pushes the plastic up before sliding in. His steps are uncoordinated, heavy as his head swims with dizziness, his guard falling apart at the sight of his familiar room. Though, he stumbles over something lying on his floor and practically faceplants, his backpack falling to the floor with a thump and the sound of something rolling around makes him lift his head.
May’s iced tea.
He should put that in the fridge.
Though, with his current state, the fridge may as well be miles away, a deep-set exhaustion settling into his bones. He’d question it, but in the back of his mind, he knows the answer.
A mildly annoyed, charismatic voice fills his head and he huffs a quiet laugh.
Don’t you know baby spiders need to sleep? Especially ones with four times the metabolism of a regular teenager?
Tony’s reminders echo in his mind repeatedly, Peter barely getting his mask off his sweaty face before he slowly rises from his spot on the carpet, grabbing the bottle with shaky hands and slowly opening his bedroom door.
He breathes a sigh of relief as silence greets him - no sound of May’s heartbeat and the only sound of footsteps being the apartment on the floor above.
Limping over to the fridge, he reaches for the door handle, pausing as he sees a small sticky note in messy handwriting.
Don’t stay out too long!
You’re going to give me gray hairs
See you tmrw
XOXO
- May
He smiles at that, trying to ignore the guilt that rises in him as he shoves the bottle in the fridge with shaky hands, because May doesn’t know why he’s spending more time out of the house. And May has to spend time worrying about him while also dealing with the bills that come with being an adult, and that come with being the legal guardian of your nephew. Jaw clenching, his vision blurs and he’s unable to tell if it’s due to the stinging of tears behind his eyes or the way his dizziness has only worsened while walking over here.
One second he’s reaching for a water bottle off to the side, the next, the room tilts and the cold tile greets him with a cruel smack, his shoulder bumping the refrigerator door closed.
A prickling sensation makes his eyes blink awake, and for a second he wonders if it’s the stabbing pain in his back, but then he hears it. Quiet, familiar footsteps.
Ignoring the discomfort, he stumbles as quickly as possible to his room, the door clicking shut behind him right as he hears the front door swing open. Wrenching off his suit, he doesn’t bother putting any new clothes on, staying in boxers as weary eyes fall to the alarm clock on his desk.
3:12 AM
Where he also knows his alarm for 6:00 AM awaits him like an endless time loop. He groans quietly, slumping onto his bed with little grace before burying his clammy face into his pillow that he’s most definitely going to have to throw into the wash before leaving for school.
As sleep overtakes him yet again, the sharp pain in his back and shoulder fades to a dull, numbing ache he can only hope won’t linger.
Rinse and repeat.