Chapter Text
It took Peter a bit to realize his phone had died while he was unconscious. No problem. He could charge it.
When he finally checked it, there was a missed call.
And one voicemail.
Peter didn’t listen to it. There was only one person who called him.
He called her back instantly, even if the thought of web swinging was as terrible as it was when he first woke up. “Is everything okay?”
Worry thrummed in his chest. He’d been out for days, and Frank didn’t say anything had happened while he was down, but-
“Whoa, whoa, hey.” DeWolff said the words like she was trying to comfort him. He tried to force himself to calm down.
It didn’t work, but he still tried.
“I’m just checking in,” DeWolff told him. “You gave us a pretty big scare.”
Peter didn’t ask who “us” was. The NYPD, DeWolff and her kids, New York itself… He didn’t really want to know. There was a speck of curiosity, sure, but it was almost completely and utterly drowned out by a larger feeling he couldn’t quite identify.
“I’m fine,” he told her, and he could practically hear her disapproving look.
“You got shot, Spidey.”
“I have a healing factor.”
“You still got shot.” She paused. “You got anyone taking care of you?”
“I- Yeah.” Peter tried not to be too obvious about glancing in Jean and Frank’s direction. They were in the kitchen. They always seemed to be there these days, always worrying about feeding him.
Which, yeah. Enhanced healing meant enhanced metabolism, at least for him. He needed to eat. Surviving off pizza and protein powder was never going to be sustainable, no matter how much he told himself it would be.
And Jean was still growing, and Frank wasn’t enhanced, which meant he had to take care of his body if he was going to live this life.
So yeah. Food. They all needed it.
“I’ve got some friends with me,” he told her, and he immediately regretted it.
“Friends?” She sounded like a doting mother. Which, she was. She just wasn’t Peter’s mother, which made it weird. Or, not his aunt? He didn’t remember having a mother, even if he remembered what it felt like to have someone care about him, so maybe it was an odd comparison.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Peter told her, and he could feel himself starting to smile, not because he had friends to speak of, but because it was starting to feel a little like their old dynamic and less like… what it was.
“You have no idea what a big deal this is, Spidey,” DeWolff told him, and her tone was light and teasing, but Peter still knew she meant it. “I’ve been telling you that you need a life outside of Spider-Man forever. Getting shot might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you if it means slowing down.”
It was so unexpected that a sharp bark of laughter escaped his throat. “I thought you of all people would say it’s too soon to joke about that.”
“I work for the NYPD. I’ve got to joke about stuff like this,” she told him, and Peter was pretty sure she was kidding. “Seriously though. Take some time, Spidey. When I check in, I want to hear you’re making an effort to have a life.”
He groaned, but it was more for the theatrics than for anything real. “You’re giving me homework?”
“If that’s what it takes to have a happy, healthy Spider-Man,” DeWolff told him, and he hated that she was kind of right.