Chapter Text
Dear Card Dealer of Life,
I feel like there is something sketchy happening within your system. You see, for whatever the reason, I keep getting handed the crappy cards. Maybe it’s just a bad hand this round. Maybe next time I play, I’ll be lucky.
The thing is, though, too many bad things have happened for it all to be a coincidence. Here’s just a basic list of things that have happened to me in my short 15 years of living:
- My parents are killed in a plane crash
- Uncle Ben is killed in the Battle of New York (in which literal aliens fly out of a giant wormhole in the sky).
- I got bit by a radioactive spider and gain super powers (this is not necessarily a bad thing)
- Aunt May is shot and killed in a mugging gone wrong.
I hope you can see how this all is just a little too much. So, if you could very kindly back the fuck off, I’d appreciate it.
Sincerely,
Peter Benjamin Parker.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It’s public knowledge - for anyone who bothers to look it up - that Peter Parker has had a tragedy filled life. He has been orphaned twice now, and he’s barely 15. Like, his birthday was not even 10 days ago. He’s not sure what he did to piss off the universe so much, but he’s sorry, okay?
For a 15 year old, he can (and has) survived a lot. When May died, Peter went into the foster care system. The first family he went to was very kind, but two weeks into the arrangement, the mom’s job moved them across the country, and Peter wasn’t allowed to go with them. He just hoped the next foster home was good.
As the car pulled up to the small house, his spidey sense started buzzing. It was a soft hum at first, but the closer he got to the door, the louder it got. Peter nearly doubled over in pain when the door to the house opened. He felt like he was being electrocuted on the inside. His spidey sense was screaming, but not like an ‘ah, I’m scared’ scream, it felt more manic, like a patient in a psych ward who didn’t take their meds.
Mrs. Gunther, Peter’s social worker, introduced the teen to the man standing in the doorway. “Steven Westcott, but you can call me Skip.” The man had a large crooked smile plastered on his face - his yellow stained teeth on display. If Mrs. Gunther saw through the large man’s facade, she didn’t say anything. In fact, she didn’t say anything else to either of them before pulling Peter’s duffel bag out of the trunk of the car, placing it on the ground by Peter’s feet, and leaving.
Once the social workers car had turned the corner, Skip dropped his act. His eyes scanned over Peter’s body, up and down several times, before promptly turning on his heel and marching inside the house. When Peter didn’t follow, Skip grabbed his arm, and dragged him inside the house. The door hadn’t fully closed before the older man slapped the teenager across the face. He pinched Peter’s cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefinger, pulling his face closer to his. “You get in my way, and I will kill you.” The strong scent of alcohol, assaulted Peter’s sensitive nose, almost making him gag. “You are just my paycheck. I can always replace you with someone else.”
Two weeks.
There is a lot that Peter Parker can handle, but in just two weeks, Skip had broken him. Between the daily (sometimes twice daily) beatings and restricted food (meaning he was only given one PB&J sandwich everyday) Peter was already close to his breaking point.
Then Skip had to come into his room one night.
After that, Peter left.
He packed a few items into his duffel bag (Including the blanket from his bed, because he’s not an idiot. He knows it gets cold at night.) and left.
Okay, he also may have stolen the cash from Skip’s wallet, but in his mind it was the least the man could do after he had stolen Peter’s childhood from him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Peter Parker has been living on his own - as a homeless runaway - for a month. He is currently “living” in an abandoned apartment building. It’s only temporary. There’s a risk that comes from staying in one place too long, and it’s not one Peter is willing to take.
Since leaving, Peter’s had to stop going to school. He went to school the first day after he ran away, but was called to the principal's office during his second period class. Ned had given him a weird look, but Peter shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide his panic. He doesn’t know if it was his spidey sense that helped him out or just a gut feeling (would they be counted as the same thing?), but Peter knew something bad was going to happen.
When he walked into the office, Principal Morita was sitting behind his desk. In front of him was Mrs. Gunther and Skip. All of them wearing an expression filled with worry - although Skip’s worrying was for a different reason. One look at the adults in front of him, and Peter was sprinting out the door. He ignored their calls for him to stop. There was nothing - NOTHING - that was going to make him willingly go back to Skip’s house. Or foster care for that matter.
So he stopped going to school. No biggie. He is a genius after all.
Going out as Spider-Man - while still his favorite thing - was becoming harder to do. He just didn’t have the energy to fight criminals. His reflexes were slowing, his spidey sense had stopped working, and his healing wasn’t enhanced anymore. But, if anything, Peter is determined to do the right thing - even if it means possibly getting himself killed. Quitting on being Spider-Man isn’t an option.
As for food, he still wasn’t eating enough. He wasn’t even close to eating enough, but he was eating more than he had with Skip. You’d be surprised how many people want to buy Spider-Man food as a way of showing gratitude. An innocent comment here or there about figuring out what to eat for dinner, and BOOM! Someone buys you a hotdog. For the days people don’t feed Spider-Man, Peter resorts to...well, to less than legal ways of obtaining food. He doesn’t feel good about sneaking into the back of restaurants and taking a plateful of soon-to-be thrown away food. He only takes what other people didn’t finish, but still, he feels guilty.
Things aren’t perfect. It’s actually really far from perfect. But, Peter is managing it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Peter once dreamt of meeting the Avengers. They’re literal superheroes - who wouldn’t want to meet them? As a kid, he would run around his room pretending to fight bad guys. He would imagine fighting alongside the Avengers. In his mind, he would save the day and his heroes would tell him how good he was or ask him to be an Avenger with them.
The Battle of New York changed that for Peter.
The Parker family - Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Peter - went out to get ice cream to celebrate the end of school. Peter had finished his first year of middle school with straight A’s. (Well, actually, straight 100’s in all his classes - to be more specific. The course work really was too easy for him.)
In the middle of Manhattan, there is a small hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlor, that serves the best banana splits. It’s where Ben took May on their first date. “Parker family tradition states that any and all special occasions are to be celebrated here.”, according to Ben.
Thanks to a giant fucking wormhole in the sky, their nice afternoon was interrupted. There was so much screaming as people fought their way towards safety. Pieces of rubble and glass rained down on those running through the streets. Ben was holding Peter in his arms, protecting the boys head and face against his shoulder. They were almost to the large shopping mall - where police were ushering people inside - when May heard a baby crying from one of the half crushed cars. Ben handed Peter to May with the instruction to get inside while he helped the baby. Peter and May watched as Ben broke the window and pulled the baby out safely.
He was less than twenty feet from the door, a smile on his face as he held the baby. No one noticed the ground shaking and cracking until it was too late. The last thing Peter saw was his uncle’s bright eyes looking at him before the ground beneath him collapsed in on itself.
According to scientist, the energy that came from the device that created the wormhole, caused the sinkhole to open.
So, as was mentioned, Peter Parker used to want to meet the Avengers. But now? He really didn’t want to.
For a month following Ben’s death, Peter blamed the Avengers. If it weren’t for them, the aliens wouldn’t have attacked. Plain and simple, right? Right?
May, did not share the same sentiment as her nephew. The aliens would have attacked with or without the Avengers. It’s not like they purposefully waited for a group of superheroes to be formed before deciding to take over the world. Things would be much different if the heroes hadn’t jumped in to save the day.
Peter could accept that reasoning. So no, he didn’t blame the Avengers anymore, but that didn’t mean he was eager to meet them. They were a reminder of how his uncle died. The Avengers had saved millions of people that day, it just so happens uncle Ben was not one of those people.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Patrol that night was rough. It seemed every mugger had decided to bring a knife to the fist fight. Which meant Peter was covered in nicks and cuts, but one guy had succeeded in stabbing the young vigilante.
Peter climbed to the top of a tall building, not paying attention to what building it was. The wound on his side was tugging with every movement. When he reached the top, he laid down on the ledge, taking a minute to catch his breath. Peter knew he needed to take care of the bleeding hole in his side, but he was feeling kind of sleepy. His eyes kept slipping closed as his mind was fading in and out of consciousness.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t blast you off my roof right now.” Peter’s eyes shot open and he jolted upright. Hovering a few feet away from him was Iron Man, arms extended, looking ready to shoot. In his hurry to stand, Peter forgot about his stab wound and stumbled when a sharp pain reminded him, sending him to his knees. He couldn’t stop the anguished groan that sounded in his throat.
“Whoa, whoa. There’s no bleeding out on my roof.” Iron Man said, landing on the floor next to Peter. He reached a hand out to grab the boys arm, but Peter flinched, putting a few feet between them again.
“No.” Peter shook his head, making black spots appear in his vision. “No, stay back. I-I don’t need your h-help.”
“The blood stained suit says differently.” Peter kept shaking his head. The realization that Iron Man was talking to him was setting in. He could feel his breathing getting shallow as his panic increased. “Let me at least get you to the ground. Like I said, there’s no bleeding out on my roof.”
Run.
That’s what Peter did. He ran to the edge of the building and jumped off. His side was screaming at him, but he didn’t care. The only thing on his mind was to get as far away from the Avengers as possible.
Peter could hear the sound of Iron Man’s repulsors behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. If he looked back, he knew his panic attack would return and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight it off again. He felt himself slowing with each web he shot, exhaustion was taking over the adrenaline.
Factoring in the agonizing pain, blood loss, panic attack, malnutrition, and lack of sleep, Peter swung further than what should have been possible. He was only three blocks from his shelter when he blacked out.