Chapter Text
Peter’s life started going downhill when he turned 13. That’s when the incident happened. On a school trip he was bitten by a radioactive spider.
At first it seemed really cool, a novelty of sorts. He was suddenly stronger and able to climb up walls with his bare hands.
Less than a month later, Uncle Ben was murdered. And it was all Peter’s fault. People started treating him like glass. Even Flash said he was sorry. Everyone was sorry, even though Ben wasn’t dead because of them.
Ben was dead because of him.
And so, Peter threw himself into protecting civilians. He made himself a suit and a web formula to emulate the spider that had bitten him. He saved as many lives as he could.
He didn’t save enough.
Peter was 14 when he lost May. It was stupid, he thought to himself after the fact, that everyone used the word “lost.” “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Or, when finding out that she was dead, “When did you lose her?”
She wasn’t really lost, Peter wanted to tell them. She’d been taken. Literally, she’d been kidnapped and then never came back.
Again, it was Peter’s fault. It really was. If he’d just saved that one life, then the man wouldn’t have gone after Aunt May, seeking revenge against Peter for not saving his brother. A life for a life, he’d said. To Peter, the logic was infallible.
Peter started to hate Spider-man. His life had been great before it happened. Peter was sure that his powers must be the reason for everyone he loved dying. It was some kind of karma. It had to be. He gave up on being Spider-man for a while. He was destroying more lives than he was saving, or so he had convinced himself.
Peter was thrust into the foster care system. Sure, he was a well-behaved polite young man who didn’t take up much space, but almost no one wanted to adopt such an old kid. Especially not one who kept disappearing at night and having panic attacks. His good nature wasn’t worth the baggage.
School continued on as normal, not that normal was good. Peter had no friends, so there was no one to tell about Aunt May’s passing. The faculty had been informed, of course, and put in contact with his case manager, as well as whichever adult he was staying with as he was hopped around from home to home. Some of his teachers tried. They really did, but Peter didn’t want their help. He didn’t deserve it. Not after inadvertently killing everyone everyone close to him.
Flash continued being an ass to him, once the novelty of having a dead family member wore off. It was worse after May died because Flash didn’t even slow down in his abuse when it happened, courtesy of him not knowing. Flash made fun of his clothes, his grades, his inability to get a girl. Peter stopped going to school and his grades dropped. He started caring less and feeling numb more.
The foster family he was staying with was just two adults who were never home, and him. They made sure he was fed and clothed, and that was about it.
Peter was just glad he was out of the first place, where there had been so many people stuffed into one house that he’d constantly felt on the edge of freaking out. And the second place where the man of the house had hit him.
Either way, they weren’t present enough to care about Peter’s personal well-being, and they definitely weren’t making him go to school.
Eventually, Peter hit rock bottom.
After a particularly bad day (he’d actually gone to school. Flash had said some particularly unkind things about his lack of friends and he was feeling the loneliness rather acutely.) he went to go visit May in the cemetery.
Peter sat down in front of her headstone and cried. “I-I never told you this before.” he said shakily. “But I’m spider-man.”
He waited for something to happen. Nothing did. The world kept turning; nobody cared. Peter started crying even harder.
Through many broken heaving sobs and gasping, Peter told his entire story to a grave.
“And now you’re gone, and I can’t even help people right without hurting other ones more and I just want to- to give up.” He finished, curling into a ball with his head between his legs.
Still, there was nothing. Peter wasn’t even sure his aunt was listening. After all, who knew if there was really anything after death? Only the people he couldn’t save, that’s who.
Peter drew in a shuddering breath. Maybe there wasn’t anything after death. Nothingness was sounding really good right now. Maybe he should just-
“Hello?” He heard a soft voice coming from above him and for a wild second he thought it was Aunt May.
He looked up with something close to hope and was rewarded with a sharp stab of disappointment. It was an older women with faint creases around her face. She looked unbelievably kind.
“Are you okay there, young man?”
She looked concerned, Peter thought. It had been so long since someone worried about him.
“I-” Peter couldn’t go on. He couldn’t say he was fine, and he couldn’t tell her the truth. He got up slowly, rubbing at his face.
“Can I ask who you’re visiting today?” The lady asked gently.
“It’s-it’s my aunt.” Peter said, hating how his voice broke on the word ‘aunt.’
“She was all I had left.”
“When did she die?” Asked the woman.
“Almost a year ago.” Peter told her. He sniffed pitifully.
“I’m Rachel,” the woman said, holding out a hand to him.
“Peter.” Peter reached out to take her hand, surprised when she swept him up into a hug.
He couldn’t help it- he melted. It had been so long since he’d been exposed to human contact, discounting any and all physical abuse.
“Now, I didn’t know your aunt, but I am an extraordinarily good judge of character.” Rachel told him, “And I can see that she raised an extremely kind, intelligent, and sensitive young man. She’s very proud of you, I’m sure of it.”
“Th-thank you.” Peter said humbly, eyes watering.
“And she doesn’t want you to give up.” Rachel said. Her eyes were sharp, and Peter was sure she knew exactly what he’d been thinking when she stumbled upon him. “Not ever.”
“No ma’am.” Peter mumbled.
They stood together in silence for a minute, looking at May’s grave.
“What do I do now?” Peter whispered.
Unexpectedly, Rachel smiled. “Exactly what your aunt would want you to do.” She said. “Keep going. Keep fighting. Live your life in a way that will make her stay proud of you.”
Peter squared his shoulders. He could do that.
“Who are you here for?” He asked, partly to be polite and partly out of genuine curiosity.
“My wife.” Rachel gestured at a headstone a few spaces away. “She died from cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” Peter said.
“Oh, don’t be.” the woman said, “It’s been five years and we’re closer than ever.”
“How do you,” Peter bit his lip. “How do you do that?”
Rachel sighed. “It takes time. And practice. Having friends helps.”
Peter nodded. He would try. It was all he could do.
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Peter picked up his grades as well as being Spider-man after meeting Rachel. The woman had convinced him that helping people and reaching his full academic potential was the best way to make all of his dead family members proud. His 15th birthday passed in a blur. There was no one around to wish him a happy birthday, but he barely noticed.
He worked harder than ever to save everyone, not just as many as he could.
Unfortunately, with the rise of Spidey came a leap in Peter staying out late, sneaking out when he had to, and more injuries than ever.
His foster parents eventually noticed once the school faculty took note of the cuts and bruises he appeared with regularly and contacted them about it.
That was how Peter ended up in his fourth and final foster home.
The last one was just a middle-aged woman named Tabitha who was terribly nosy. She hovered and asked about everything. She wouldn’t let Peter deflect either. Sometimes she wouldn’t let him go to bed until he gave her a few details about school or where he’d been all day.
Peter was fairly sure that Tabitha was trying to live vicariously through him, or she just thought that her method was a good parenting style.
The sneaking out at night didn’t go unnoticed. When Peter refused to tell her why he was sneaking out at night and to where, Tabitha bolted his window shut and started locking his bedroom door so that he couldn’t go out. He felt like he was living inside of Harry Potter.
Being unable to leave and do his job as Spider-man was the last straw for Peter. When he tried appealing to his case manager, the man insisted that Tabitha had a right to look after him how she thought was best, and keeping him inside the house was reasonable as long as he kept disobeying her.
In that same conversation, Peter found out that Tabitha was interested in possibly adopting him. Apparently she thought they were making progress in the family department.
The next day Peter disappeared somewhere in between school and her house. He’d made sure that his backpack was full of clothes, including his Spider-Man suit, and all the money he possessed, which was barely more than pocket change.
He had to leave behind his cell phone so that he couldn’t be tracked.
He had to leave school with five months of his sophomore year of high school left, leaving it unfinished and rendering him a drop-out.
Peter was just barely 15 and homeless, with absolutely no one.
After a few close calls with the police, Peter realized that remaining Spider-man almost permanently would be easier than being a homeless Peter Parker. He knew that his face was appearing occasionally on missing children lists. Spider-man’s was not. On the occasions where he didn’t want to patrol anymore, public libraries were a blessing. He could stay there until closing if he wanted and no one cared.
Since Peter refused to compromise his morals and steal, he did a lot of dumpster diving.
It was surprising, how much edible food restaurants tended to throw out.
Unfortunately, they also disposed of some less edible food, which was how Peter found out that he was not immune to food poisoning.
He kept fairly clean from the many beaches nearby which weren’t too far with public transportation and web-slinging.
Keeping clean in the winter was hard, since he had no place warm to go and therefore didn’t want to get wet.
In the warmer months he almost always felt uncomfortably sticky and dry from bathing in saltwater. Rain was a blessing. Peter couldn’t use gym showers like many other homeless people did because he was a minor with no identification, no money, and he was technically on the run.
Peter also had limited means to make more web fluid, so he couldn’t go swinging around the city for leisure anymore. It had to be saved for webbing up bad guys. Sometimes he would miraculously gather all of the ingredients needed, and Peter would brew up some new batches. Some things he would save up for with money he found lying on the ground, and some he would find in laboratory dumpsters. Occasionally the materials were corrupted, and did interesting things to the webbing.
Sometimes it was fine, like when it was just a little tougher than usual, and sometimes not so much, like that time it hadn’t been able to support his weight at all without stretching alarmingly.
He found odd places to sleep. He’d run away during a warmer month and it really wasn’t so bad. There were rooftops readily available for him to spread out on and look up at the stars. (The ones he could see with all the city pollution.)
The winter was harder. There were all the places homeless people stayed, but they were dangerous, even for him. Shelters were out of the question since he’d have to go as Peter, not Spider-Man, and risk being found. Either way, Peter didn’t want the city knowing that Spider-Man was homeless.
Eventually Peter found himself sleeping in an air-duct behind The Avengers Tower. For some unknown reason, they were very wide and warm and dry. They made for a more than decent shelter.
Peter couldn’t help wishing passionately that he was an avenger at that moment. He curled up in his suit and a not-too-moldy blanket he’d filched from someone’s trash, holding his backpack full of essentials close, and fell asleep.
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“Sir?” Jarvis said.
“Yeah, J?” Tony asked
“There appears to be a disturbance in the air-ducts.” Jarvis said hesitantly. “It could be an animal seeking shelter from the cold, but the weather is corrupting my outside sensors.”
“Tell Clint to go check it out.” Tony grunted. He was busy. The armour was having trouble with the cold and he couldn’t figure out why.
“Yes sir.”
Clint, as it turned out, was already in the vents. It wasn’t too hard for him to navigate his way to the ones outside the tower.
He was expecting to see nothing. Maybe a squirrel at the very least. He was definitely not expecting to stumble across the inert form of Spider-Man snuggling a backpack and lying underneath a disgusting ratty blanket. He crouched next to the man, reaching out and prodding his arm lightly.
Peter startled awake when someone touched him. He sprang up, sticking to the top of the unusually large air-duct.
“Woah there.” The man who had touched him held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He was sandy haired and wearing purple, Peter noted. And . . . there was a bow and quiver slung across his back. “You’re Hawkeye.” He realized
Clint knew, as soon as the suited figure spoke, that he was dealing with a kid. A homeless kid. There was no other explanation. “In the flesh. And you’re Spider-Man, right? We’ve been keeping tabs on you.” Thinking fast, he said, “Hey, you wanna come inside? The team will definitely want to meet you.”
Peter was taken aback. Freaking Hawkeye had found him sleeping (trespassing) in the tower and immediately invited him inside? It had to be a trap. Not a very good one either.
“I- no, that’s okay. I’m really sorry.” Peter rambled, “I’ll go find somewhere else to sleep. Like um. My house. Because, I have one. Definitely. A house. It’s my own house too.”
“Just to talk,” Clint insisted. “And it’s totally cool if you’re homeless. We’ve all been there. At the very least, come inside to eat our leftovers and we can get you a nicer blanket.”
Of course there was absolutely no way he was letting the kid go back to on the streets, but he didn’t need to know that yet.
Peter nodded reluctantly. It seemed that the archer wouldn’t take no for an answer. Plus he was starving and cold. Surely if they tried calling the police he’d manage to get out before they arrived.
Clint led the way back to the common floor. “Jarvis? Let Tony know I’m coming back with Spider-man.”
“Done, Agent Barton.” a pleasant british voice came from the walls, startling Peter badly. “Apologies, Mr. Spider-man. I did not mean to cause you distress. I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s Artificial Intelligence butler, of sorts.”
“It’s fine.” Peter murmured. He’d heard talk of Tony Stark’s natural sounding AI, but he’d never expected it to be directed at him!
----------
Tony reluctantly left his workshop to go meet the disturbance. Spider-man. He’d been monitoring the web-slinging vigilante for a while now, trying to figure out who he was. The guy was either homeless, or really good at getting to his house unseen. Judging by how he was lurking in the tower vents, Tony was going to go with homeless.
“What kind of guy keeps saving people when he can’t even take care of himself?” Tony muttered to himself.
There was a faint creaking noise above his head and then Clint jumped lightly down from the ceiling followed closely by Spider-man.
“Hi, Tony Stark. Nice to finally meet you.” Tony said, holding out his hand.
“Um. Hi.” The red figure squeaked, shaking it gingerly. Tony’s heart sank. It was unquestionably a kid. And he could feel the kid’s hand shaking. Probably from nerves and border-line starvation. Tony could definitely see a ribcage. No wonder Clint had invited him in.
How to deal with a child? Pepper. Pepper would know. “You should meet Pepper!” He blurted out.
“Who?” The spider-kid asked.
“My um, CEO. I mean wife.”
“Okay?”
“I have taken the liberty of calling Ms. Potts.” Jarvis said helpfully.
“Why don’t you have some food, meanwhile.” Clint offered. “We have leftover chinese take-out.”
Peter was reluctant to pull his face mask up to eat, even half-way, but the hunger pangs in his stomach won out.
Pepper came downstairs while Peter was shoveling chow mein down without shame. Jarvis had clearly briefed her on the situation, because she smiled warmly, sitting down across from him.
“Hey, sweetheart.” She said. “So I heard you were sleeping in our air-ducts.”
Pepper carefully kept her tone non-accusatory, but the boy flinched anyways. “I-i’m sorry.” He said, after swallowing down a mouthful of food. “I didn’t mean to trespass, I swear. It was just really late and I didn’t have enough web-fluid to swing home, and-”
“Hey, it’s okay.” She soothed. “You’re not in trouble.”
Judging by the tense set of his shoulders, Spider-man didn’t believe her.
“Do you mind telling me how old you are?” Pepper asked.
“Nineteen.” Peter said quickly.
All three adults gave him an incredulous look.
“Eighteen?” Peter tried.
Clint lifted an eyebrow, and Peter hung his head mutely. They had him pinned, but he wasn’t about to admit anything. He was smarter than that; he knew where he’d end up, and it was right back where he started.
“I turned sixteen two months ago,” Peter admitted
“Sixteen. Jesus.” Tony said, shaking his head
Shit, Peter thought. What if they called the police? What if they put him back in the foster system and he had to give up being Spider-man? His breath quickened as he considered all the possibilities, none of them good.
“Where the fuck are your parents, kid?” Mr. Stark demanded.
Pepper glared at him. “Tony, shut up for just a second.”
“Don’t have any.” Peter hazily heard himself say, through the beginning of a panic attack. “I-I don’t-”
His vision actually started going black around the edges, and he frantically pulled his mask down all the way.
“Sweetheart, I think you’d be able to breathe better if you took the mask off.” Pepper said sharply.
“Can’t.” Peter gasped. If he managed to get away with it on then he’d be safe. If they saw him without the mask, it was all over. He clutched the edges of it desperately, terrified they’d try to take it off of him.
“Hey!” Tony said. He stood up and approached Peter. Slowly, trying to be non-threatening. “Kid, you need to breathe. C’mon, breathe with me.” He took a slow exaggerated breath.
“No one here is going to hurt you. You’re safe.”
Peter didn't believe him, not in the slightest, but he was sure the mask was strangling him, and he’d die if he didn’t get if off soon. It was either take it off of his own free will, or Mr. Stark or Pepper would remove it once he passed out.
With a strangled gasp, Spider-man yanked the mask off his head and the three adults found themselves looking into the thin pale face of a terrified looking boy.
Nobody even reacted. Tony kept on insisting that Peter do the breathing exercises until he had calmed down.
“Alright, good. You’re good.” Tony said finally, once the boy didn’t look like he was on the verge of fainting. “What’s your name, kid?”
“If I may,” Jarvis said, “He appears to match the picture of Peter Benjamin Parker, a profile found in the missing children’s list.” he put up a hologram with Peter’s picture and information for Tony to look at.
“Is that you?” Tony’s head whipped back to Peter, who bit his lip and nodded reluctantly. There wasn’t much use in denying it; the picture was clearly him, even if he’d lost some weight and looked rougher around the edges.
“Please don’t call the police,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to go back to foster care.”
Clints face hardened, “You’re not going back to foster care,” he said with conviction, “I’ll adopt you myself if I have to.”
“You’ll do no such thing! Pepper and I are going to adopt him.” Mr. Stark looked at Pepper sheepishly. “I mean, we are, right?”
Pepper nodded, coming to stand beside her husband. “Of course.”
Peter’s mind ground to a halt. “I- you- what?”
“I’ll call my lawyers first thing tomorrow.” Mr. Stark said, ignoring Peter’s reaction.
“Wait,” Peter said. “You guys know nothing about me.”
“Peter Parker, orphan, age sixteen,” The inventor said, reading from Peter’s casefile. “Birthday August 27th, which means you’re a Virgo, by the way. Brown eyes, brown hair, goes to Midtown High, at least you did, before you went missing. That’s perfect, it’s only a couple of blocks from here. And ah, yes,” Mr. Stark waved his hand and the holograph vanished. “You’re Spider-man. And that one isn’t even in the file.”
“I . . . know nothing about you?” Peter tried weakly.
Clint snorted, “Right, because it’s not like our personal lives are splashed across the internet for everyone to see or anything.”
“Peter, honey,” Pepper said consolingly, “We don’t have to actually adopt you if you’re not okay with that. But we are going to have to apply for custody so that we’re your legal guardians.”
“What if you guys end up hating me?” Peter asked quietly.
“Eh, I hate Barnes and I let him stay.” Mr. Stark shrugged. Pepper elbowed him, making him yelp and quickly switch gears. “What I mean is, short of you being a serial killer there’s no way we’re not going to like you.”
Peter wasn’t sure what to say or do. Thank them? This was way more generous than anything he deserved. On the other hand, there was no way he could actually stay. Staying meant he might come to care for them, and everyone he cared about died. That’s just how life worked.
Then Peter shook himself. These were the Avengers. Surely they didn’t get attached to people easily, because of the high fatality rate in their line of work. There were probably smarter than Peter in that regard.
“I-I just don’t want to be an inconvenience.” Peter said finally.
“Kid, my entire life is one big inconvenience.” Mr. Stark snorted. “Saving the world all the time? Inconvenient. So’s having to sign a shit-ton of paperwork everyday. Wanna know what’s not? Helping out the friendly neighborhood Spider-man. Moreso, helping an innocent kid. Got it?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Stark.” Peter mumbled.
“Call me Tony.”