Chapter Text
He was at home when he got the news. Peter remembered; he was reaching to the cupboard on his tippy-toes, trying to grab a granola bar from the almost-empty box. (It's kinda funny how he didn't even know his entire world was about to fall apart)
His phone rang on the countertop, and, groaning a little in annoyance as he answered, a grin lighting up his face when he saw it was his Aunt May. She had promised to get him food from their favorite Thai place.
"Hello?" Peter said happily, managing to grab the granola bar. (Little did he know that the happiness would slowly fade into horror as a doctor informs him Aunt May got into a car accident. The man's voice was sympathetic, dripping with pity.)
"It was a drunk driver," The doctor told him. Peter's heart twisted, breaking into two. (He could have saved her. If he was out on patrol that day, he could've stopped the crash)
Peter's vision became blurry as the doctor told him they tried their best. They couldn't save her. It was the same spiel he heard after his Uncle Ben died, and though he didn't remember it, he probably got it when his parents died too. He was a double orphan. The thought made hysterical giggles bubble up in his throat. He's gone through two sets of parents. He's a curse.
"A social worker will come to your apartment tomorrow," He said, but Peter was numb. The doctor's words were nothing more than a quiet buzz in his ears. He moved robotically to his room, the floor covered in dirty clothing. Peter flopped on his bed, staring at his Star Wars poster above his bed.
Peter didn't know how long he was lying there, unable to move, not wanting to do anything. (How could he do anything when Aunt May was lying dead in a hospital?)
His phone began to blow up with condolences from his friends, from family friends, from people he didn't even know. He hung up as the doctor expressed his condolences, promptly turning his phone on silent the second he could (like anyone could truly know the pain he felt). Peter rolled onto his side at looking at a picture of him, Aunt May, and Uncle Ben. They were both smiling, laughing as a young Peter made a funny face at the camera, crossing his eyes and puffing his cheeks out.
A tear slipped down his cheek, and Peter buried his face in his pillow. He screamed in pain, his grief consuming every molecule of his being. Though, to anyone else, the only sound coming from him was a soft sniffle. As dread pooled in his gut, one thought popped into his mind.
I have no more family. Who's going to take care of me?
Little did Peter know, someone was having a similar crisis, but it was less about who will take care of her, but about a certain teen who she was now going to have to take care of.
Natasha Romanoff stood completely still, staring at the man. He was lanky, with wire-rimmed glasses and dark skin, and he fidgeted nervously under her scrutinizing gaze. She was sure she misheard, but everything, from his demeanor to the official papers in his hands told her he was telling the truth. But one thing didn't add up.
"I thought Mary's son died with her in the plane crash?" Natasha questioned softly, her green eyes narrowing in suspicion.
He shook his head, his expression sympathetic, "He didn't even get on the plane. He's been living with his Aunt until recently, but she just passed away in a car crash. He has no living relatives left to take care of him, and you were listed as his godmother under official records."
Natasha paused at those words, warmth blooming in her chest. She never really expected Mary to actually make her Peter's godmother, even though she said she would. Natasha had so much red on her ledger, she was surprised when a SHIELD agent actually tried to become friends. Mary was one of her few friends, and Natasha remembered meeting Peter for the first time, he had been born a few hours ago, after five hours of painful labor (according to Mary, at least).
Natasha sped across the freeway, her red hair free-flowing in the wind as she drove her motorcycle as fast as she could to the hospital. Richard called her, slightly hysterically, that Mary was going into labor, at midnight. At the time, she was out on a mission, but she finished as quickly as she could once she got the message, not even bothering to do the paperwork before she left SHIELD headquarters (Though she was several hours late). She pulled a hard stop, the tires of her motorcycle screeching as she got to the front of the hospital. She quickly pulled off her black helmet and impatiently paid for a parking spot in front of the hospital. As soon as the ticket was printed, she put it on the handlebar of her motorcycle and dashed inside.
Natasha took a second, smoothing her frizzy hair and taking a deep breath as she approached the front desk. Her black converse muffled her steps slightly as she made her way to the front desk. A black woman was talking on the phone, but as she approached, she hung up and turned to Natasha with a tired smile.
"Hello, What can I do for you?" She said, Natasha shifted on her feet, staring resolutely at the desk.
"I'm here to see Mary Parker," Natasha said firmly, pushing her nervousness down. The woman clicked something on her computer and moved her mouse around, muttering under her breath a little, before turning to Natasha and informing her Mary was in room 203 on the third floor in the maternity ward. Natasha politely thanked the woman, and with purpose, she strode towards the elevator.
Just as she got there, thankfully alone, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked at who was calling, she chuckled softly and answered the phone.
"Hey Richard, How's Mary?" Natasha smirked, quirking up an eyebrow as she clicked the button for the third floor.
"She's sleeping right now," He chuckled, his voice low and scratchy for exhaustion. "The doctors say Peter's healthy as a horse,"
Natasha smiled a little, ignoring the unreasonable jealousy stirring in her gut, "So you two finally decided on a name?" She lightly teased, knowing how they had argued over his name just before she left. Richard wanted to name him Benjamin, but Mary was firm on the fact his name would be Peter. It seems Mary won that debate, Natasha thought to herself wryly. Richard let out a quiet laugh as the elevator dinged for the third floor.
Natasha stepped out and started making her way to the maternity ward. "By the way, it was a pain in the ass to get here all the way from Europe, I want to meet your kid, so all the jetlag is worth something," Richard laughed loudly, but then a quiet crying noise made itself known. Richard cursed under his breath just as Natasha got to the door.
"See you soon," Natasha said ominously as she hung up, before gently making her way into Mary's room. The aforementioned woman was snoring on the hospital bed, and Richard was sitting in a chair beside her bed, quietly shushing a little blue bundle.
Natasha made her way over beside Richard, sitting on one of the chair's armrests. It was hard and uncomfortable, but it was worth it when she saw little Peter. His face was screwed up and he was crying as Richard attempted to rock him. Natasha chuckled, and Richard's head shot up in surprise.
"God, Natasha, give a guy some warning, would you?" He teased, gently bouncing Peter in his arms.
"So, that's Peter?" Natasha smiled softly. Richard nodded, his gaze soft as he looked at his son.
"His name is Peter Benjamin Parker," Richard murmured, Natasha peered at the newborn, "We'll take him home as soon as Mary wakes up," Peter refused to stop crying, causing Richard to sigh.
"Can you take him for a minute?" Richard pleaded, not waiting for a response as he plopped Peter in her arms, he dashed out of the room- to go to the washroom, she deduced, though why he didn't use the one in Mary's room, she didn't know. She moved Peter around in arms so his head was supported, and started to hum softly as she held him. Gradually, Peter's cries quieted until they were just sniffles. Natasha looked at him, and Peter opened his eyes, revealing them to be a clear blue color, and the corners of his mouth lifted up, making an awkwardly adorable smile.
"Hey Peter, I'm Natasha," She murmured softly, Richard walked back into the room, raising an eyebrow at the fearsome Natasha Romanoff cooing at Peter. His shoes softly hit the tiled floor.
"Peter seems to like you," He commented, Natasha rolled her eyes at Richard,
"He's my godson now," She says firmly, leaving no room for argument. Richard nodded, smirking at Natasha as he walked towards her, looking at Peter looking around the room with, wide, curious eyes.
Natasha sighed, nodding as she made up her mind. "I'll take him in," She says firmly, praying her voice didn't waver, "As soon as possible,"
The man nods, before informing her that in a week, someone will come to her apartment to make sure it's suitable and that she's been treating Peter well, that she can afford to take care of him, etcetera, etcetera. Natasha tunes the social worker out until he finishes talking, before asking some basic questions about her godson. She learned he turned fifteen recently, goes to Midtown High on a scholarship, his uncle died in a convenience store robbery almost two years ago. The social worker shows her a picture of him. He has unruly curls like Richard did, light skin, and Mary's brown eyes. He was like the human version of a puppy (which, honestly, knowing her best friend, he probably was).
The social worker informs her that he'll come to her house tomorrow, with his belongings. She nods before asking where he's currently living, and the social worker gives her Peter's current address. She thanks him politely, and waits patiently until he leaves. Swiftly shrugging on a leather jacket, laces up her Doc Martins before standing up at appraising her reflection. Once she deems herself suitable, she makes her way downstairs to her apartment's parking garage. As she revs up her motorcycle, she grins under her tinted helmet.
Time to meet my godson.