Work Text:
“Here,” Peter says, dropping a sandwich into the lap of the homeless guy sitting under the tree in the park. He’s been there every day for a week. “It’s pastrami on rye,” Peter adds when he frowns up at him.
The guy doesn’t have shoes on even though it’s winter and Aunt May’s been making Peter bundle up every morning, so Peter kneels down and pulls an old pair of shoes (he’d found them in the back of his closet) out of his backpack.
“I’m not actually—” The guy pauses, then smiles and shakes his head. “Thanks. I’m Danny.”
“Peter.”